Homewrecker

52 - 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓮

Even though it took me until around five in the morning before I fell asleep—the scent of chlorine still clinging to my dampened hair and now thoroughly embedded in the threads of my bedsheets and pillow cases—I was awake again a few hours later as the sunlight filtered in through the gaps between the blinds and stretched across the carpet and over my hand against the side of the bunk bed railing.

Andi was still asleep on her bed below, the duvet kicked to the foot of the bed, but her bedsheets pulled up and bunched around her sunburnt shoulders, strands of blond hair against the pillow with her head turned away from me.

Even Natalie was still asleep underneath my bunk as I gingerly climbed down the ladder, on her stomach with her face pressed against the pillow and snoring softly against it. In the hallway, I could smell the coffee as it brewed from the kitchen, the muffled and faint sound of music drifting out with it as I wandered closer.

Amy was in the kitchen again, her hair now brushed and pulled back into a tight middle ponytail that brushed against the floral printed blouse she was wearing. She had pie plates out in front of her on the counter with scrambled egg yolks and cinnamon sticking to the glass inside, an opened package of whole wheat bread beside her, and a griddle with three slices of sizzling French toast already cooking.

The window above the sink was open, the early morning breeze coming in from off the lake rustling the curtain, and the Google Home Mini on the counter emanated instrumental classical music.

"First batch will be ready in a few minutes if you want some," she told me, using a spatula to flip one of the slices of bread over on the griddle without looking over her shoulder at me. "There's also some raspberries I picked out at the farmer's market the other day in the fridge if you want to get those out and wash them."

I hesitated, watching as she slipped another slice of bread before shuffling over to the refrigerator and pulling out the reusable container of raspberries on the first shelf inside. I was pouring water from the sink faucet over them and holding my palm against the berries to keep them from falling out as I drained the water when Amy spoke again.

"David left already for work, but I thought we should talk about a few things." She slid the spatula underneath one of the French toast slices with a golden and brown marbled top and let it flop down onto a plate on the other side of the griddle. "He told me you know about the donations."

I shook out the water from my fingers, stained with juice from the raspberries. "He paid the mayor to keep the police from properly investigating my mother's murder. That's not a donation, that's a bribe."

"Right, it was a bribe. His campaign team thought an incredibly public murder investigation involving your father would be detrimental to the upcoming election and convinced him to do something that was hurtful to you and your mother that he shouldn't have done. It shouldn't have been handled that way and he feels very sorry about that."

I turned back to the refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of orange juice so she wouldn't notice my eyes rolling at how she was saying all the things someone was supposed to say to me. A carefully worded and thoughtfully articulated apology, not too unlike whenever a white celebrity gets caught saying a racial slur or something homophobic and releases an apologetic statement almost certainly forwarded from their publicist.

"Yeah, but he's not actually saying it. Instead, he's off doing damage control at work."

"He thought you would want space."

"Is that what he's been telling you for the past sixteen years or just now?"

"Bronwyn," she warned, like she did earlier that morning when Andi and Natalie were arguing. It was strange, hearing her say my name in such a similar way. "Do you really feel like you've been unwanted this whole time?"