I hug myself tightly as I snuggle deeper into my bed. The doctor’s words still ring through my head.
My mother was pregnant, and she committed suicide and murder. I just can’t believe it.
I stare at my ceiling, trying to make sense of this. Why didn’t she tell anybody? Was she afraid that I wouldn’t respond positively to it, seeing as the baby and I would be fifteen years apart in age?
I close my eyes and focus on breathing, trying not to hyperventilate. Stay calm, Emily… she was pregnant, but she’s dead now, so it’s nothing to worry about.
I push the blankets off myself and step onto the cold floor. I pad downstairs, where I find my father sitting at his computer, clutching a mug.
He glances up, alarmed. He scratches his stubble and puts the mug on the coffee table.
“What are you doing up?” I ask, standing on the other side of the coffee table; a safety precaution, so we don’t start throwing books at each other.
“I… um, needed to finish some work for the… office.” He stutters.
“Alright… but why are you doing it at three am?”
“Well, honey,” he replies. “My boss wants these proofs by today… and I completely forgot about them…”
“Um, okay… well, good night.”
“Yes, Emily…” he mutters, glancing around the room nervously, as if he has something to hide.
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When I wake the next morning, I can’t help myself – I need to check my father’s computer, to see what keeps him up at night.
So, when he leaves for work I lug his laptop into my bedroom and turn it on. It whirs and beeps until it opens to the main page. WELCOME, JERRY. PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD.
I sigh and enter the first thing I think of: Christine. The screen darkens and then illuminates again. I’m in, just like that.
I click through his desktop icons, which only turns out to be things for his work. I open his internet browser, and go through his history. Most of it is boring, work-related things, but one site catches my attention – and it’s been in the history for up to two weeks.
It’s a site called Find Me Love. I inhale shakily, realizing that it’s a dating website.
I swallow the lump in my throat, as an instant message pops up in the corner, from someone named Looking for Mr. Right. I hold my finger over the mouse, and click the box.
Looking for Mr. Right: Hey, tiger. How are things? I remember that u lost your wife a while back.
I sigh, and type back, pretending to be my father.
Fish in the Sea: Hi. Things aren’t going too well… I miss her, but I don’t know…
LFMR: Don’t worry, baby. We can meet up, and talk. You know… if u r up 2 it.
FS: Um… sure. I guess so. I’ve got 2 go.
[b]LFMR: [/b]I’d like that. Message me. I LOVE YOU, HONEY.
I close the chat window, and turn off the computer for good measure. I race down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Dad!” I scream, standing in the stairwell. “We need to talk.”
“What’s the matter, Emily?” he asks, confusion clouding his face.
I bite my tongue. Don’t say anything…
“Well? What’d you want to ask me?” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I… um…” I stutter. “It’s difficult to explain.”
He rolls his eyes. “Emily, tell me.”
I exhale. “Okay, fine! I’ll tell you. I was… you left your computer open.” I lie.
“And…?” He prods.
“And…” I say. “I noticed this instant message thing. There were messages from someone named Fish in the Sea. I talked to her… I don’t know why. So, you’re cheating on Mom?”
The veins in his neck bulge. “You went through my personal files?” he spits.
“Yes, I went through your files.” I say coolly. “How could you do that to mom?”
“Your mother – your mother is dead. Don’t you think I have a right to, you know, get back out on the market?” He clutches his head in his hand.
“But Dad!” I protest. “She’s only been gone for two weeks.”
“Yes, Emily. I know that. But, I was just… lost, I don’t know. I needed someone to talk to.”
“Well, go see a psychologist or something! Talking to some woman in a chat room isn’t going to help,” I exclaim.
“Fine, Emily. I don’t need to listen to your bullshit. But you know what? I just might,” he replies. “If it shuts you up and keeps you out of my computer, then maybe I will.”
“There we go, problem solved, right daddy?” I smirk before twirling on my heels and stomping out of the room.
“Problem solved…” he mutters behind me.
