The Runaway Mom

Chapter 14

Brent Parker . . . I type into the search bar.

Who are you?

Apart from knowing he cheated on my Mom and all that, I don't know anything else.

Back in the early 2000s, during my childhood, everyone around me was super protective about what I could see—no TV, no magazines, not even newspapers. They always said it was to keep me away from inappropriate stuff, and I bought into that. But in reality, it was also to shield me from all the drama surrounding Brent and Mom's messy breakups and toxic relationship. I was just a kid, but I wasn't oblivious—I could read between the lines.

There wasn't YouTube to sum things up during their time, but we had those tabloid magazines and TV shows all about celebrity gossip. If you wanted the scoop on scandals or the latest drama with public figures, that's where you'd find it. I didn't even have a desktop with those old cathode ray tube monitors either, as part of our home protocols, so forget about checking online news or forums—which at that point also played a role for gossip, but they weren't the go-to sources for gossip and rumors like they are today. From my perspective as a kid, it felt unfair and unjust. It's not like I was interested, and you can't tell me not to feel bad.

It was 2001 when I was five, and all the other kids were chatting about shows like SpongeBob SquarePants, Rugrats, Pokemon, Arthur, The Fairly OddParents, and Powerpuff Girls—I was totally lost. Italian kids were all about Winx Club, Lupo Alberto, Hamtaro, and W.I.T.C.H. Meanwhile, my British pals were into Teletubbies, Bob the Builder, The Tweenies, and they even thought Postman Pat could be kinda spooky sometimes. I didn't really get what they meant until I was eleven, thinking back from a five-year-old's point of view.

It wasn't until my teenage years as well that I really understood why they did what they did. It was during my last two years of primary school in Florence, from 2005 to 2007, when I actually set foot in Midways' boarding University in Italy instead of sticking to homeschooling like I'd grown accustomed to—that I faced all those nerve-wracking questions like, 'I'm such a fan of your parents, why did they have to break up?' That's when everything started to make sense, especially with those strict house rules in place. Everyone was all over the place, from teenagers to young adults to mature adults, asking about and sending regards to my parents.

Even as a high-paid model at eleven, my TV time was limited, and we still didn't have a computer. All the CDs were my mom's choice and everyone else's in the house. I was still that Penelope Olivia Primrose Elizabeth Yvonne Somerset Ballinger on my birth certificate, who knows nothing other than being a hopeless romantic and acknowledges that we meet people to learn from them.

I still knew the same things I did when I was five—that Pops wasn't my biological father, and I had to endure seeing Mr. Parker once or twice a week. I'd grown to hate him for trying to get with Mom because I was team Dad—my Pops—and no one could blame me. I grew up with Pops, and he's been a good dad to me. All I knew then was that life happened, and Mom and Brent just weren't meant to be, and that if the relationship doesn't serve you right, you must leave, which was fine with me—until I accidentally got hit with some new information, and everything changed. It was fine, literally, I swear, until it wasn't.

"I can't believe you're googling him." Caspian appears from the kitchen, bringing a tray of food to the back patio. It's past ten, and we just woke up ten minutes ago.

"I think I'm crazy." I close my laptop and turn to face him.

He smiles, sets the tray on the center table, then cups my face. "You're just curious, that's all."

I stare at him for a moment. He's got that way about him, always knowing just what to do. I lean in to kiss him, feeling surprised at my own boldness, but he just pulls me closer.