Chapter 2: The Secret My Brother Couldn't Keep
For several seconds, the only sound in the dining room was the hum of the refrigerator.
Then my father rose to his feet.
“Malcolm, you will explain yourself.””
Malcolm looked at him with an expression I had never seen on his face before.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Something closer to disgust.
“You want me to explain?”” he asked.
“Fine. Ask Brianna what happened six months ago.””
Brianna's face drained of color.
“Malcolm, don't do this here.””
“Where would you prefer? In Dad's bedroom? In the car you two drove here in? Or maybe at the next family dinner you plan to surprise us with?””
Dad slammed his palm against the table.
“Watch your mouth!””
The plates jumped. A spoon fell against a serving dish.
I barely noticed.
I was staring at Brianna.
Six months ago.
Mom had been gone for only half a year.
At that time, I had been barely functioning. I went to work, came home, and sat in the dark because turning on the lights felt like admitting Mom wasn't coming back.
Brianna had been the one person I could call at any hour.
She had come over on nights when I couldn't sleep. She had helped me organize Mom's medical bills. She had sat with me on the floor while I sorted through old photographs.
And during those same months, something had happened between her and my brother.
“Tell me he's lying,” I whispered.
Brianna looked at me.
“Tiana—”
“Tell me.””
She swallowed.
“It wasn't supposed to happen.””
Malcolm laughed bitterly.
“That's what you said the first time.””
Dad looked between them.
“The first time?””
Brianna pressed both hands against the edge of the table.
“Richard, please. You don't understand.””
“Then explain it.””
She shook her head.
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped backward.
“No. Nobody gets to tell me to be patient while everybody else decides what I deserve to know.””
My voice surprised even me.
For months, I had been the quiet one. The daughter who tried to keep family gatherings peaceful. The woman who answered Dad's calls even when he was dismissive, who checked on Malcolm when he stopped returning messages, who told everyone we were healing because the alternative was admitting we were falling apart.
I was done making things easier for people who kept making things worse.
I looked at Malcolm.
“What happened six months ago?””
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“It was after Mom's memorial dinner.””
I remembered that evening.
The house had been crowded with relatives and family friends. People brought casseroles, prayed in the living room, and told stories about Mom until their voices broke.
By nine o'clock, I had gone upstairs because I couldn't stand hearing another person say she was in a better place.
Malcolm had stayed downstairs.
Brianna had stayed too.
I hadn't thought anything of it.
“I went into the garage to get some water,” Malcolm said.
“Brianna was sitting on the steps. She was crying.””
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
“Malcolm, you don't have to tell them every detail.””
He ignored her.
“She said she couldn't go home because her apartment was too quiet. I sat beside her. We talked about Mom. Then we talked about everything else we'd been pretending not to talk about.””
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
“It means we had feelings for each other before that night.””
Brianna covered her mouth.
Malcolm continued, his voice growing rougher.
“We kissed. One thing led to another, and we slept together. The next morning, she told me it couldn't happen again.””
“Why?”” I asked.
“Because she said she couldn't lose you.””
I turned toward Brianna.
“You said that?””
She nodded slowly.
“I was scared. I knew how much you depended on me. I knew what you were going through.””
“So you decided to keep sleeping with my brother in secret?””
“No,” she said quickly.
“It happened once.””
Malcolm's eyes narrowed.
“Don't.””
She looked at him.
“Don't what?””
“Don't stand there and pretend it was only once because that's easier for you.””
My heart thudded painfully.
“How many times?”” I asked.
Neither answered.
“How many times did you sleep with my brother?””
Brianna started crying.
Malcolm looked down at the table.
“Three,” he said.
“Three times over about two months.””
I took a step backward.
The room seemed to tilt.
Three times.
Three separate occasions when Brianna had looked me in the eyes and asked how I was sleeping. Three times when she had told me that grief could make people do things they didn't understand. Three times when she had probably gone home knowing that I was the only person in the world who didn't know what she had done.
“And then?”” I asked.
Malcolm looked toward Dad.
“Then she ended it.””
“Why?””
His jaw tightened.
“Because Dad started calling her.””
The words were so quiet that I almost missed them.
I turned to my father.
“What does that mean?””
Dad remained standing, one hand gripping the back of his chair.
“Your brother is trying to make this sound worse than it was.””
Malcolm pointed at him.
“You called her every night.””
“I was checking on her.””
“You invited her to dinner when none of us were home. You took her to that restaurant downtown. You started buying her things.””
“Enough.””
“You told me you understood what I was going through after Mom died,” Malcolm said.
“You told me you understood why I couldn't stand being alone.””
His voice broke.
“And the whole time, you were doing the exact same thing I was doing, except you knew she was my sister's best friend.””
Dad's expression hardened.
“You're twenty-five years old. Whatever happened between you and Brianna was your responsibility.””
“I know that.””
“Then take responsibility for it.””
“I am!”” Malcolm shouted.
“That's why I'm telling the truth!””
He took a breath, struggling to regain control.
“I made a mistake. I knew it was wrong. I hated myself for it. But I ended it because I couldn't keep looking at Tiana and pretending I hadn't betrayed her.””
He turned to me.
“I should have told you. I'm sorry.””
I wanted to hug him.
I wanted to slap him.
Mostly, I wanted to rewind the last ten minutes and return to the version of my life in which the worst thing I had to worry about was whether Dad had remembered to turn off the stove.
Instead, I asked, “Did you know about Dad and Brianna?””
Malcolm shook his head.
“Not at first. I found out about two months ago.””
“How?””
“I saw them together.””
He hesitated.
“They were leaving a hotel near Buckhead. I followed them outside because I thought I was seeing things. Dad looked straight at me.””
“And what did he say?””
Malcolm's mouth tightened.
“He told me to mind my business.””
I turned toward Dad.
“You saw your son watching you walk out of a hotel with Brianna, and you told him to mind his business?””
Dad's voice dropped.
“I was not going to discuss my private life in a parking lot.””
“You could have discussed it with your family at any point during the last two years.””
“Almost two years,” Brianna whispered.
Everyone looked at her.
She seemed to realize what she had said only after the words had escaped.
I stared at her.
“What?””
She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
“Richard and I have been together for almost two years.””
Malcolm went completely still.
Dad closed his eyes.
I felt something inside me give way.
Almost two years.
Mom had still been alive when it started.
Not healthy, perhaps. Not the woman who danced in the kitchen or sang along to the radio. But alive.
For months before she died, I had watched my father sit beside her hospital bed. I had watched him hold her hand while she slept. I had listened as he promised that he would take care of us.
And during that same period, he had apparently been building a relationship with Brianna.
My best friend.
The woman who helped me care for my dying mother.
“Was Mom still alive?”” I asked.
Brianna couldn't look at me.
Dad answered.
“Yes.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“How long before she died?””
He swallowed.
“Six months.””
The room went silent again.
Six months.
I remembered Mom asking Dad why he was working late so often. I remembered him saying the company was going through a difficult period. I remembered Brianna telling me not to worry when Dad missed one of Mom's appointments.
I remembered Mom staring out the hospital window one afternoon and asking me whether I thought people could love someone and still betray them.
At the time, I thought she was talking about her illness.
Now I wasn't sure.
“Did Mom know?”” I asked.
Dad's face changed.
It was small, almost imperceptible.
But I saw it.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“Did she know?””
He looked away.
Brianna reached for his hand.
He let her take it.
And that was when I understood that this wasn't simply a relationship they had kept private.
They had made a decision to keep it hidden.
A decision they had repeated every day for nearly two years.
I turned toward Brianna.
“You sat beside me at Mom's funeral.””
“Yes.””
“You helped me choose her flowers.””
Her lips trembled.
“Yes.””
“You held me while I cried.””
“I was trying to help you.””
“Were you?””
She stared at me.
For once, she had no answer.
I stepped away from the table and walked toward the kitchen. My hands were shaking so badly that I had to grip the counter.
Behind me, I heard Malcolm say, “Tell her about the money.””
I turned around.
“What money?””
Dad's chair scraped against the floor.
“Malcolm, don't.””
My brother looked directly at me.
“There's something else you need to know about Mom's last few months.””
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
May you like
Then he looked at our father.
“Because if Brianna is going to tell us the truth today, she might as well tell us why she was asking Mom about her will.””
