“I THINK my mom might be cheating on my dad,” I said, the words all jumbled together and all in one breath. I took myself by surprise. The secret sort of exploded out of me, completely by accident, when I’d just been about to ask for Sasha’s highlighter. Abby and Sasha looked up simultaneously, meeting each other’s eyes before turning on me in one synchronized movement, like they’d practiced it beforehand.
“When you do an April Fool’s joke,” Sasha said, his face looking entirely serious, “it’s supposed to be about something we care about, not something that only affects you. Or else it has no impact, see? I don’t know your parents. I don’t care so much.”
He nodded once and then smiled, as though he’d taught me a valuable lesson, and turned back to the copy of Elle he had open on his lap. He was reading an article about Taylor Swift instead of finding sample test questions in his $400 psychology textbook. Abby poked at his arm without moving her gaze from my panic-stricken face.
“No, Sash, nuh-uh,” she said, “I think Corey’s being serious. I mean, her timing leaves something to be desired, but her face is all screwed up in that look of emotional constipation. Look at her face.”
Sasha looked up again, turning his head sideways like a puppy. “Oh yes, I see it now. The crinkle head.”
My hand went automatically to my forehead, as though I could manually smooth the wrinkles formed by my distress. I pressed down on the skin that was all bunched up and rubbed at it, trying to iron out the crinkles. I gave up and tried to explain.
“I just mean she talks about this other man all the time, and—”
“Cheating,” Sasha said, sounding bored but looking interested. He closed his magazine and stretched out on Abby’s bed, nearly pushing her off of it in the process.
“—she goes to see him at all hours of the day and night, and—”
“Definitely cheating,” Abby agreed, delivering a sharp kick to the inside of Sasha’s knee and resituating herself, propping her chin on both her fists.
“—she calls him by his first name a lot more often than she thinks she does. Sometimes she corrects herself, but usually she forgets.”
Sasha and Abby looked at each other and said with scary synchronicity, “Totally cheating.”
“But it’s just a hunch,” I finished, deflating like an old balloon. “Is it really that bad? I was hoping you guys would tell me I was overreacting.” I slumped in Abby’s desk chair, feeling terrible about the whole thing.
“You could be,” Abby said encouragingly. “I mean, it’s entirely possible that you’re reading into things and seeing clues that aren’t really there.”
“Or your mother really is stepping out,” Sasha said, “but it’s none of your business.”
“None of my business?” I asked incredulously, straightening my back. “If she’s cheating on my father, he has a right to know about it!”
“You don’t want to be the one to tell him,” Abby pointed out. “And besides, you don’t know for sure. If your mom is cheating, maybe their marriage is already on the rocks, and this is just going to tip it over. I can’t believe your parents are still married. My dad walked out when I was ten.”
“My parents are still married,” Sasha said wryly. “Of course, they’re both sleeping with other people, so I don’t know how much good it does them.”
I could feel the wrinkles in my forehead getting deeper the longer I thought about it. I tried to relax my face, but to no avail. I bunched when I was anxious. It couldn’t be avoided.
“My parents have always had a good marriage,” I told them earnestly. “They’ve been together for twenty years, got engaged straight out of college. They don’t even fight a lot.” I looked down at my notes and saw I’d managed to scrunch them up too without realizing it. Apparently I was an all-around scruncher. I began smoothing them out on one of my knees, trying not to rip anything.
“Everyone thinks their parents have a good marriage, but I’m not sure that’s even a thing that exists. Marriages all end in divorce or death. I don’t see why anybody does it,” Abby sighed, pushing at one of Sasha’s feet so that she could stretch out her legs. “I won’t. Not ever.”
“Don’t you want to have children? Make a family?” Sasha asked, aghast. “You have the right to marry anybody you want wherever you want, and you don’t even use it!” He huffed like he was truly offended by her refusal of marriage. “If I were straight, I would have married all the girls by now.”
“All of them, really?” Abby asked dubiously. “Even the ugly ones?” She winked at me conspiratorially. I tried to smile at her, but it felt like I might crack my face into a million pieces, my skin felt so taut with anxiety.
“Especially the ugly ones,” Sasha retorted. “They’re the ones who are freakiest in bed.”
“How would you know?” Abby demanded and then began to laugh loudly.
“Hold on, hold on,” Sasha said, his hands fluttering nervously around his face. “We aren’t talking about my love life. We were talking of Corey’s parents. How often do they have sex?”
He turned to me completely seriously, as if I knew the answer to that question.
“I haven’t asked,” I told him, “and I don’t plan to. It’s not something I think about.” I paused, feeling like I should be grossed out but surprisingly neutral on the whole subject. “I think my dad would pass out if I did.”
“Who’s the other man?” Abby asked eagerly, ready for a scoop. “The mailman? A coworker? Oh, oh, please tell me it’s one of our professors and she’s diddling him to get your grades up!” She seemed far too excited at the prospect.
“He’s a lawyer,” I said, looking at her meaningfully. “A lawyer who’s been doing some work for the family.”
“A divorce lawyer? That would be ironic,” Sasha jumped in, clearly not aware of the situation. Abby understood, though, and her eyes widened comically, her mouth forming a little “o” of surprise.
“Sash, will you run and get us some sodas from the vending machine?” she asked sweetly after a moment, grabbing a couple of crumpled dollar bills from her night table and passing them to him. “I think we need a caffeine boost.”
Sasha grumbled about it but clambered off Abby’s bed and out of her dorm room, leaving the two of us alone. “Please tell me it’s the prosecution and not the defense,” she said the moment the door was closed behind him. “I mean, either way it’s sketchy as hell, but at least she wouldn’t be sleeping with the enemy.”
“It’s the prosecuting attorney,” I said, and Abby let out a little breath of relief. “His name is Haywood. He’s been prepping me for trial and helping me with my testimony. At first I thought my mom wanted to see him all the time because she was worried I’d mess it up, but now she goes to see him to ‘discuss the case’”—I used finger quotes for emphasis—“all the time, and she looks happy when she comes home. Too happy to have talked about my friends’ murder all day, y’know?”
“I know I say it often, but that really sucks, Corey,” Abby said just as Sasha returned with three Cokes in hand.
“What does?” he asked, and Abby told him it was “girl stuff,” and he dropped the subject immediately. I asked for his highlighter after he’d gotten comfortable with his Elle in his lap again. Taylor Swift smiled brightly up at him from a field of daisies or something. All I could see was a lot of yellow.
“What did you get for question seven?” Abby asked, chewing on the end of her pen, and it was like nothing had happened, nothing had changed.