My Dad Brought His First Love Back

Dad came home less and less.

When he did, he went straight upstairs.

Mom didn't wait up for him anymore.

She didn't cry either.

Before, every time Dad came home late, Mom would sit on the couch waiting till two in the morning.

Soon as he walked in she'd ask where he'd been, voice shaking, eyes red.

He'd get sick of it, smash a glass, call her paranoid.

Mom would crouch on the floor picking up the pieces, crying while she did it.

But now Mom didn't wait.

She went to bed on time and took her pills on time.

She made a lot of phone calls. There were papers all over the dining table.

That evening, Dad came back with his arm around Fiona.

Both their faces were flushed, like they'd been drinking.

Mom was on the couch. The tea in front of her had gone cold hours ago.

When Dad saw her, his arm stiffened around Fiona's shoulder.

He recovered fast, and even managed to sound annoyed.

"Helena, if you've got something to say, just say it. Don't make a scene in front of the kid."

I was tucked around the bend of the staircase, peeking out.

Mom didn't cry.

She didn't even stand up.

She just lifted her eyes — calm, way too calm for a woman whose husband had walked in with someone else.

She pointed at Fiona, and she started talking.

Like she was negotiating a deal.

"She gets on her knees and apologizes to me three times. And you sign over half the company. Then we're done."

The room went quiet.

Fiona went pale and grabbed Dad's arm, shrinking back.

Dad froze. Then he laughed in her face.

"Helena, are you insane?"

Mom picked up her cold tea, took a sip, and said, slowly,

"You think I'm bluffing? Don't sign. But that deal three years ago, and that contract last year. I kept every page of it."

I didn't understand what Mom was talking about.

But I saw Dad's face change.

He shoved Fiona off and walked over to Mom. His voice dropped.

"Helena. Are you threatening me?"

Mom didn't answer. She slid a folder across the coffee table.

Dad stared at it for a long time.

Then he picked up the pen and signed.

When he was done, he threw the pen on the table and pulled Fiona up the stairs.

Fiona never knelt. She never apologized.

But the shares transferred.

Mom folded the signed documents and put them in a brown envelope.

Her hands were shaking.

She coughed twice. There were a few new red specks on the tissue.

She balled it up fast and shoved it in her pocket.

Then she turned toward the staircase.

"Nina. Come on out."

I went over and threw myself into her arms.

Her body was so thin.

Holding her was like holding a bundle of bones.