to say to that? Except, “Welcome to the family.”
The poor woman.
That only makes her bawl harder and—not going to lie—for a second, I think about bawling right along with her. I’ve never felt more betrayed in my life, and that is saying something, considering the way my last few months have gone. By my father, by my mother, by my favorite aunt. What the hell is even happening right now?
My phone buzzes with a text—Mikey messaging me to let me know he’s looking forward to seeing me in a little while. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing because oh my God. Am I living in the middle of a farce right now? Or just a really intense episode of some practical-joke TikTok? Because how the hell am I supposed to go on a date when my long-lost baby sister has just shown up at my door?
“I’m really sorry,” Sarah says. “I wouldn’t have come here if I had anywhere else to go. I even tried to talk to Dad—”
She broke off when my gaze snaps to hers. I’ve been an only child all my life—or so I thought—and hearing someone else call my father “Dad” shakes me to my already trembling core.
“What do you mean you tried to talk to him?”
Sarah sighs. “I went to his house, but he shooed me off the porch, then texted me to go away. That he would see me on Tuesday evening, just like he has every Tuesday evening for my entire life. But that I’m not to contact him other than that. I tried to tell him that I need help, that I’m in trouble, but he just stopped answering my texts.”
Jesus. I close my eyes, and the horror washes over me. From the time I was eight years old, Tuesdays were poker nights for my father. Every Tuesday night, he would come home from work early. He’d change his clothes, check on my mother and me, and then leave for the rest of the night to hang out with his buddies from law school and play a ruthless night of poker.
Every Wednesday at breakfast, he would regale my mother and me with tales of the cutthroat games he’d played the night before. I looked forward to those stories every week, even when I was a teenager. I shake my head, so annoyed that I hadn’t been a sucker just with Karl. I’d been that way with everyone my whole life.
The lying son of a bitch. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to look him in the face again. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever even want to look him in the face again, because right now I am about ready to say good riddance to bad trash, as my aunt Maggie always said. And she was right about that, even if she was wrong to keep such an important secret from me.
“My mom was your babysitter, just barely in her twenties, when you were a kid,” Sarah continues in between sniffles. “She died last year. She said she regretted the affair but never regretted having me.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I mean, yeah, I want to know, but why now?
“History seems to have a way of repeating itself, at least in some ways.” Sarah lets out a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant and the baby’s father doesn’t care, doesn’t want to be a part of the baby’s life, doesn’t want to be a part of mine. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I lost my job and a place to live all in one fell swoop. You’re my last hope.”
This is a lot to process. A lot a lot.
My dad had an affair. I have a half sister. Does Mom know? Does it matter at this point?
“Sarah,” I start, prepared to say what, I have no fucking idea, but then I look at my sister and what I see is a woman alone, without someone like Aunt Maggie to pull her in and wrap her arms around her—without someone who will tell her they’ll figure everything out. Together.
So that’s what I do. I throw my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her tight. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Sarah lets out another huge torrent of tears. “Really?” She presses the crumpled-up tissues to her face. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get an apartment.”
“There’s no hurry. There’s plenty of room here,