Salt

The next few days were a blur of agitated faces, packaging of evidence to be sent to the police and an unsurmountable amount of missed calls by both Lu and Jesse. No matter how I looked at it, it remained to be a pretty shit week.

        Perhaps my only highlight was that Zoey was doing a lot better, we'd uprooted her bedroom top to bottom in a successful attempt to discard all of her stashed drugs. Even the weed was gone. We had made some crude jokes as we threw them out, it was just like old times.

        And it definitely solidified the fact that I missed her. Her smile did wonders for my dopamine levels.

        Leaving her alone to contemplate if there were any more, I traveled downstairs to take the trash out. The dim sunlight caught my eye and I squinted as the reflection off the gold from my mother's bag blinded me. She'd gotten a new one recently, refusing to share the gossip on where she bought it, although I knew my boss would want one.

        Prying the sliding door open, I dumped the rubbish. I knew it was likely better to flush, but I trusted Zoey when she said she was over it.

        I was ready to jog back up to join her, but my mom's purse was shining again. Like a beacon guiding the way to safety. Or answers. God knows I needed those.

        Pinpointing that she was in the bathroom, I unzipped it. At first welcomed to the sight of cars keys, an emergency make-up kit and coupons for shopping, I was moments away from closing it back over and going back to my mundane task.

        But then, I saw a material right down at the bottom that was familiar. Like a cushion pressing into my fingertip, I pulled it out, unveiling to me that same tan shirt that had mysteriously appeared in our washing a couple of weeks ago. Once again, there was a red stain on the breast.

        But she'd cleaned it before... so why was it back here? In her bag, no less?

        I never got to think much more about it, as I heard a creak in the stairs. Plunging it back in deep, I quickly scurried to the fridge to pour two glasses of orange juice.

        My mom strode in, cellphone in hand as she typed. She glanced at me briefly.

        "Your father will be home soon and I felt like... well, as you know, we haven't been seeing eye to eye lately and I want to change that, so I'd like to have the house to ourselves. Oh, and take Zoey with you?" She waved a hand in the air, clearly disinterested.

        I could feel my face morphing.

        "We're cleaning out and going over her vices today. I had no–"

        "Change of plans then. Please darling, we need this."

        As she turned to face me, I swallowed my orange juice. It was bitter and sour and stuck in my throat, like a pill I simply refused to ingest.

        I mean, my mom was right, she and dad were having an abundance of issues and when better to air them than at a dinner for two? My problem was that she hadn't seen anything wrong with their behavior until Zoey's overdose.

        If they didn't get over this now, then would it take another life-threatening event to propel them into action again? I hope not, that sounded awful.

        Shaking my head free from those kind of thoughts, I tried for a smile.

        "Sure. I'll think of something."

        Giving me a backhanded wave, she picked up her bag and sashayed into the lounge. No doubt she would switch on the news and pop open a bottle of wine or two before she decided we leave.

        Stuffing it into the back of my mind, I went back to re-join my sister. We exchanged casual conversation and, before long, mom was shouting up at us to get going.

        As we exited, I noted how she fluttered about the place, picking at the couch cushions and then went into the cellar to take out a bottle of wine.

        Well, at least she wasn't lying about dinner.

Texting Fletcher not long after we left, we agreed to meet at Bubba's. Atypical to her usual reaction, Zoey skipped to the diner, giggling to herself.

        I didn't think much of it, except it was good to see her with such zest.

        Making an order of a toffee milkshake to share, she sat opposite me. Her nose piercing glimmered in the delicate rose lights, bright and sweet in comparison to her heavy black eye make-up and purple velvet lipstick.

        In regards to fashion, we were different. I was more casual and colorful, plaid shirts and ankle boots. My younger sister was the moon to my sunlight. She was beautiful, in her own over-the-top way. In fishnet tops or chained jeans... she was still Zoey.

        "Is it just Fletcher coming?" She stirred her straw before taking a large gulp. Her lipstick stained the plastic when she withdrew.

        "Yeah, sorry."

        She shrugged. "It's alright. No Lu or Jesse?"

        I bit down on my tongue. Those were two names I didn't want to hear right now.

        "No."

        "Hey, if this is about what I said at the hospital, I didn't mean to–"

        "No, no. I mean, not completely. There's more to it." When I didn't elaborate, I took a sip of my own. The ice cream immediately sat heavy. "I don't want to talk about it."

        Just before she was able to form another sentence, the bell chimed and Fletcher waltzed towards our table. He was still in uniform, delicious as always.

        Pressing a kiss to my flaming cheek, he bounced down on the seat next to Zoey.

        "I'd have changed, but our washing machine is broken and you know I don't trust laundromats," Noticing my gaze, he licked his thumb and pressed into the mark on his shirt. "I could swear there's a reason I was told to stay away from the jellies."

        I went to laugh, but stopped, remembering what he said.

        "What happened to your washing machine?" My eyes narrowed by themselves.

        He shrugged, pouting.

        "Fuck knows. Could be something about a hose, or maybe it's just dead. I don't know."

        I stared at him for a few seconds more, before Zoey began a detailed story about the oil diffusers she had arriving in the post. When he was totally taken in, I turned my attention to the window.

        My friend wasn't the cleanliest of people, but what God forsaken reason would he give to reassure me that it wasn't his piece of cloth in my mom's purse? It had been stained too, in red. Like a filled donut.

        No, no. Fletcher would tell me if she embarrassed him by mom-ing him in front of his colleagues. She did it often, it wasn't something to hide.

        Things weren't adding up. And that simply couldn't mean anything pretty.

        "Ooh jellies!"

        Fletcher's excitement burst my bubble, as he skimmed over the menu.

        Unable to stop myself, I was already jumping up from my seat before I could talk myself out of it. They both looked at me, brows furrowed and confused.

        "What's wrong?"

        "I have to go... um, I shouldn't be here." Rooting around in my jacket, I handed Zoey my half of the bill. "I'll see you at home, I'm sorry."

        The journey wasn't long, but a walk that every other day only took me ten minutes suddenly dragged on. Each step, although vibrant and electric, was not comforting. Was it even possible to walk with dread? Because that's sure as hell what it felt like.

        Shaking me to the bones, I rattled wildly. In my mind and in body. I was wobbling so much Fletcher would've been ecstatic by the sight.

        A gust of wind blew my hair all over my face – like the most breathtaking of deadly kisses.

        Finally coming upon my house, I eyed the garage. There wasn't a car in view, my dad's blue Dodge missing where my mother said it would be.

        As the storm brewed, and the wind sang my name, I kept up with my feet, as they gently tip-toed up the porch. With a quick and soft twist, I was opening the door.

        Immediately, I was being serenaded by the croon of an old sixties ballad. The lyrics were promising, sensual and reminded me of the songs Jesse played me as we gave ourselves over to the other for the first time.

        I was familiar with the sounds that were echoing in the walls, leading me straight to the living room.

        Where I bore witness to my mother straddling a man on the futon, her typically perfect bun undone and spilling ginger tendrils all over her bare shoulders. There was an unmistakable look on her face as she bounced in a hypnotic rhythm.

        "Oh my God..." I couldn't help it, it just came spluttering out.

        Eyes snapping wide open, she embraced her exposed breasts, as his dark head unlatched from them.

        "Ashley!"

        Grabbing the sofa comforter, she draped it over her naked form, at the same time catapulting to her feet.

        I blinked... what did I just walk in on?

        "Who are you fucking?"

        "Ashley, language. I will not – no! Don't–"

        But I was already by her side, scowling down at the body sprawled across my family couch. He was unashamed, meeting my eyes with a smile that I'd seen dazzle plenty of other women over the years.

        "Mr Ford?" When he just piqued his eyebrows, I turned back to my mom. "Mr Ford?! Are you fucking serious!"

        Holding the blanket closer, she tried reaching out for me with her newly-free hand. I recoiled sharply, I didn't want her touching me.

        "It's not what you think..."

        A laugh escaped me. "Not what I think? It's pretty damning evidence. Helen is your friend, mom. How could you do this to her?"

        She simply rolled her eyes. Bryce was hauling his clothes back on.

        "It's not as black and white as that, sweetie. Your dad and I... well, I think it's plain to see we don't love each other anymore. We haven't for a long time. Maybe we didn't fight hard enough, or maybe too much. The point is: Bryce and I are in love, and we deserve to be happy."

        I gazed at her so hard her head should have exploded. After all, that's what she'd done to mine. It was blown. Gone, out of this world.

        I mean, what kind of reckless logic is that? She was having an affair because she lost the love in her marriage an age ago? What made her think I'd believe such a shitty excuse?

        "In case you somehow happened to forget, you're both married." I aimed the appropriate word at Bryce too. "How long has this been going on?"

        Neither said a word and I couldn't bear another moment of it.

        "Was it because of Ciara?" Looking at him, although his attention downturned, I picked up on why. "Before?"

        "Your mother and I dated in high school," He finished the last button on his shirt. A particular tan shirt that had been seen in my mother's purse earlier that day. "It didn't last, college got in the way and we just... drifted. And I found Helen. I do love my wife, Ashely, she came into my life at the perfect time. Then, we moved back here and it seemed like no time had passed at all. Natalie's just as magnificent as ever."

        I scoffed. They continued to make googly-eyes at each other, meanwhile I struggled not to barf.

        My stern and abrasive mother and the father of one of my best friends – who I was fairly certain I was having conflicting feelings for myself. No, this wasn't icky and wrong at all.

        Is this why Ciara kept commenting on the moments Ambrose and I shared? Because she possibly knew of our parents' affair?

        So, what he was saying was, it had been years. This had been a secret for, what? Twenty-five years, give or take?

        "I don't care. This is wrong. It stops now." My voice was trembling, as I hoped to keep the bile down for now.

        "I won't," I gawked at my mother in horror as she kept her features completely composed. "I'm an adult and I'm also your mom. This isn't some mistake, Ashley, so I'm not sorry. I'm just trying to be happy."

        Was she being serious? She'd risk throwing away her life for a man she'd been screwing behind multiple people's backs? Is this the role model I was meant to look up to?

        I glanced between them again, awaiting some kind of reassurance that they'd confess to their partners soon, but it never came. They stood there, fingers intertwined as their contrasting wedding bands gleamed in the dull amber glow.

        Traitors, both of them. I was growing sick just sharing the same room.

        "No, you're not, you're just being selfish. Have fun with that." I croaked.

        Parts of me weren't just broken, but shattered and lonely, unable to pick themselves back up and start all over again.

        I couldn't do this. Not for her, not ever.

        "Fuck. You."

        Saying it first to Bryce, who just continued to stare at me, bewildered, I directed it towards my parent next. Those divine green eyes that had been passed down solely to me glimmered, an emotion in them I hadn't observed for the lengthiest of centuries.

        There was no time to listen if she said anything else, instead I snatched the abandoned wine bottle and glasses and disappeared upstairs.

        Guzzling it down, I sat on the extreme edge of my bed, waiting for the drowning to ensue.