She shooed me into my bedroom for afternoon homework, claiming she had loads to do, never answering my question for her erratic behavior, but I didn’t have to wait long to figure it out.

When my father got home, sparks flew.

And not in the gross parents-kissing kind of way.

In the way that made all children nervous. When words were spoken too loudly and tears were shed. The kind of sparks that could ignite a forest fire of doubt.

I never found out what the fight had been about or how long they had stayed mad at each other. All my young teenage mind had cared about was that everything remained the same, that my status quo held firmly in place.

Looking back, I realized it wasn’t the first time I’d come home to find my mother in the midst of that type of behavior. Just the first time I’d realized it for what it was.

Guilt.

Everyone processed it in one way or another. Some would bury it in a bottle, others in food. My mother cleaned.

And I guessed I did, too.

Because, by the time Tyler got home… the apartment was spotless.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” Melissa said, an obvious attempt to comfort me after I’d called her a second time this week, rambling on about what had happened the day before.

Including the extreme cleaning of my apartment.

“But don’t I? Tyler got home, and I said nothing. Nothing, Melissa! That’s the telltale sign of a guilty person! This is the part of the movie when I’d be throwing popcorn at the screen, yelling at the stupid heroine to stop being… well, stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re just in shock. And, honestly, I think you made the right choice in not telling Tyler. It would only end badly for you anyway,” she said, sounding more chipper today than the last time we’d spoken.

I was hoping she’d taken my advice and stopped feeling sorry for herself.

God knew I could stand to use that same bit of advice myself.

“Why?”

“Well, for starters, you mentioned Tyler wasn’t exactly thrilled about meeting your boss in the first place. That things felt a little frigid?”

“Like the Antarctic on a summer day,” I replied dryly, remembering the exchange between the two men. Or lack thereof.

“Exactly. He was wary of you going back to work for the man after he’d hit on you in the club. And this would only solidify that. No doubt, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had you pressing charges against the man for sexual harassment in the workplace. And that’s fine, if that is indeed how you want to proceed, but from the rambling way you started this conversation and the fact that you’re headed to work as we speak, I’m guessing that’s a no.”