“Do you want to at least see the video first?” Malaika suggests.
“Let’s find a Starbucks or something,” Calan says. He doesn’t add, Anywhere with a restroom.
They walk back in the direction where they came from. Malaika is by his side: patient, silent. Calan is trying not to look at his phone. He hasn’t played the video yet, but he’s seen the preview image and it definitely is his dad.
His dad and Eva Stone.
Forty-Three
Calan
Friday, November 1st
Calan finds his mom sitting at the kitchen island, leaning against it, eyes on her laptop. He can’t see what’s on her screen, but from the pleased, concentrated look on her face, he guesses she’s working on her campaign for president of the ASC—or else reading a complicated new recipe.
“There you are!” she says, getting up. “Did you have fun with Malaika?” She gives him a kiss on the cheeks. Her brow furrows. She places her palms on his face. “Baby, you’re ice cold. Are you feeling all right?”
Calan is not all right. He feels nauseous and terrified. Still, he manages a small nod.
“I made smoky chicken with patatas bravas. A recipe from Spain. Doesn’t that sound fun?” Her tone is soft, but still cheerful. Her hair is tied up in a bouncy ponytail. Even his mom’s hair seems happy. “Want me to fix you a plate?”
Here’s what Calan wants: he wants a do-over of the last hours. He wants to shed the weight of this secret, which hours ago he’d wanted to uncover so badly. Now he’d give anything to unknow it. What had he been thinking, following Eva Stone like that?
“The recipe didn’t say anything about Parmesan, but I’m thinking of adding some in there before popping it in the toaster oven.” She pauses and steals a quick look at Calan. “Or maybe cheese curds. Is that crazy?”
Just hearing that word—cheese—makes his stomach churn even more. He needs his mom to stop talking about food. To stop being cheery. To stop trusting the world around her.
He needs his mom to watch the video.
Calan has watched the video on his phone at least ten times. The man’s camera skills are subpar: the recording is out of focus, polluted with background noise. He can’t make out what his dad and Eva Stone are saying, not entirely. There are a few words that he’s been able to grasp. Maybe.
Destroy my family from his dad.
Babies and Too late, from Eva.
Babies. Plural.
Calan feels a rush of anger. At his dad, for cheating on his mom (obviously). At himself, for not being a normal kid (because maybe that’s why his dad cheated). At Eva Stone, for being pregnant (with twins, too). That’s when it sinks in: he’s going to be a big brother. His entire life is about to change in ways he can’t even begin to imagine.
Babies. Is his dad hoping for boys? It fills Calan with anger to imagine a second coming of his dad and Uncle Nick. The Dewar twins missing from this generation.
Calan rounds the granite island and reaches for his mom. She casts a confused look in his direction.
“I went into the city today,” Calan says.
“You did what?” Her eyebrows skyrocket. “Calan, you know you have to check with me before you—”
“Mom,” he begins, and then covers his mouth because he can feel a burp coming. There’s a very real possibility he’ll throw up. “I need you to listen to me, OK? This is important.”
She inches away from him, just enough to look at his face with renewed perspective.
“I’ve been hanging outside Dad’s office waiting for Eva Stone to come out. I managed to follow her today.”
She widens her eyes and clutches the counter, as if to steady herself.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he continues. “But I had to find out why she was saying all those things about her and Dad and I figured if I followed her then maybe I could find out—”
“Calan, there are investigators—”
“They’ve found nothing, Mom.” Calan pauses and tries to reel in his anger. This will hurt his mom a lot more than it’s hurting him—he needs to be strong for her. He’ll be the man of the house soon enough. “And I think I know why. Dad probably didn’t tell them to look into anything. It was all for show.”
“Why do you say that?” She presses her mouth into a flat line.
“Mom, I followed her and…” He pauses to take a deep breath. “She met with Dad. At a coffee shop on Tenth Avenue.”
He watches as his mom’s lips part and her face loses all its color. Calan feels his stomach rumble. This is worse than the day he dropped his tray in the middle of the cafeteria because someone tripped him. Worse than the day that someone stole his clothes after gym class, leaving behind a girl’s dress in his locker. Even worse than the day he found out he had been catfished. He would rather do anything than deliver this news to her.
“I caught it on video,” he says.
“You…” She stops. “He didn’t see you?”
“No,” Calan says, leaving it at that. He doesn’t want to bring Malaika into this, not now. His mom has enough to process. He hands his phone over. The image is dark, but his dad’s face is clearly visible.
She just stares at the phone, covering her mouth. She looks… confused.
“This,” she begins, but stops to swallow, covering her mouth. He wonders if she feels like throwing up, too. She shakes her head.
His fingers hit the play button. His eyes move between his mom and his phone’s screen. He should’ve planned this better. What if his dad arrives?
When they’re halfway through the recording, she places a hand on his arm and asks him to stop, her voice but a whisper. He presses pause and takes a deep breath, willing
