I’d known very little about the world back then, which was probably why I’d still clung to my optimism. What I had known was that he’d made me feel uncomfortable. Because, for the first time since I could remember, a smirk formed on his thin, hard lips as he’d continued flipping the letters.

I’d thought, why here, why now, why so happy?

The next day, he’d picked me up from school. I’d been shocked to say the least. We usually had a driver who helped me get around from place to place. School, afternoon activities, and playdates. Never my parents. I’d felt flattered and anxious as I’d climbed into the back of Jordan’s car, trying to be on my best behavior. I’d wondered where we were going, since he’d driven in the opposite direction from our house, but hadn’t wanted to sound ungrateful or suspicious. It was only when I’d started seeing the woods and Saint Angelo Lake, past the city limits, that my mouth fell open.

“Where are we going?”

He’d just grinned in the rearview mirror like a predator, flicking the signal and taking a sharp right. I later realized why.

It was an animal shelter. My feet had dragged, and going past the rusty gate leading to the kennels had felt a lot like handing my soul to someone I didn’t trust.

“Sometimes, Edie, you need to look cruelty in the eye and not do anything about it. In order to succeed in life, you need to let logic and rationality dictate your behavior, not your feelings. Now, you know that you’re allergic to dogs and cats, right?”

I remember nodding, my mind still a nervous fog. I could never have a dog or a cat—that was a given—but I’d never asked for one. All I’d wanted was to donate some money to that non-profit organization on TV. They’d needed it so bad and we had so much of it. The shrill sound of frantic barking had filled my ears, and I’d wanted to turn around and run. The only reason I hadn’t was because I knew he wouldn’t chase me. He’d let me get lost in the woods, without so much as a blink.

“So you know we can’t adopt any of those animals. Now, I need you to see them, look them in the eye, and walk away from them. Can you do that for me, Edie?” Jordan had squatted to my eye-level, smiling. Behind him there’d been a volunteer wearing a green shirt with the name of the shelter and a peculiar, too-wide smile.

No.

“Y-yes.”

We’d spent nearly an hour and a half strolling through the kennels staring at begging, pleading, distressed dogs and cats. I’d had to look each of them in the eye before I moved to the next crate. The volunteer who’d joined us on the tour had thought it was odd, my father never specifying what he was looking for in a pet. She’d been oblivious to the thing that was made crystal clear to me that day: He wasn’t looking to adopt, but he definitely did want a pet. He wanted to make me his tamed, trained puppet.

And what killed me now was that to some extent, he’d succeeded.

That day had broken me, and every day since, he’d made the crack in my heart a little bigger.

I was not allowed to give money or food to homeless people down the street. Don’t encourage them, Edie. Life’s about choices. They obviously made the wrong ones.

I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, not even small talk with responsible adults around me. Van Der Zees do not enjoy small talk. We are far too busy for that. I was expected to conduct myself as the perfect ice princess. And at the beginning, I’d rebelled. But then Theo happened, and my father became more than the breadwinner. He became the master who pulled at the invisible strings of his shadow puppet. Me.

Twelve years after Jordan showed me cruelty by breaking my routine, he’d done it again.

I was at home, cutting open packages with potential wigs for Mom that I’d ordered from an orthodox Jewish store in Brooklyn when he walked into my room. Jordan didn’t bother knocking, and I didn’t bother asking why he was at home. He never was—and he sure as hell never entered my room—but I treaded carefully around him. His peculiar, self-centered behavior seemed to have deteriorated further in recent weeks.

“Can I help you?” I asked, arranging the blonde, human-haired wigs on my bed and brushing them, trying to decide which Mom would like best.

Jordan propped one shoulder against my doorframe, staring at me with disdain. I wondered if he could feel it. That I was different. Because sleeping with Trent Rexroth definitely changed me, much more than the evidence on my body. The cracked nipples, sore and red, and the pink welts on my ass and inner thighs were just an external decoration. But when he’d come inside me, he’d left something behind. Some of his strength.

“Sit down, Edie.”

“Give me one good reason to,” I blurted, picking up a wig and running the bamboo brush through it. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, and if it was the flash drive he was after, he needed to give me more time. Trent wasn’t only on my tail. He had it wrapped around his little finger now.

“Because I’m your father and you do not talk back to me if you want a peaceful, calm life. Now sit.” He stepped into the room, his stern, blue eyes leaking scorn. I sat on the edge of the bed unhurriedly, looking up to meet his gaze. My silence spoke volumes. I hoped he was able to hear all the words it dripped.

“Edie, I’m afraid things are going to change quite soon in this household, and it’s my duty to break it first to you, since you’re the responsible adult of you and your mother.” Ignoring the dig at Mom—he was hardly a respectable candidate for the Todos Santos Parent of the Year award himself—I folded my arms over my chest, waiting for more.

“I’m leaving.” He said it simply, like the words didn’t slap me across the face. Like black dots weren’t swimming in my vision.

“Why?” I asked. I didn’t care about him leaving. If anything, the term good riddance sprang to my mind. I hated him. But Mom didn’t. Mom depended on him, and I was tired of collecting the broken pieces of her that he left behind, trying to piece them back together.

It wasn’t the cleaning up after him part that killed me. It was the sharp edges that dug into my skin when I picked her up. Because whenever he shattered Mom, both of us bled.

“Let’s admit it. Your mother has not been well for a very long time now, and she’s been refusing to seek the help she obviously needs. Not all creatures can be helped. I can’t be saddled with her situation if she doesn’t make more of an effort and, sadly, I cannot see myself sitting around waiting for that to happen.”

She’s unwell because of you. She doesn’t want to go into rehab because she is scared you’ll run off with someone else. Which you probably will. The words swirled in my head and pushed their way to my tongue, but I bit down my upper lip. He was the one who’d said that Van Der Zees should always be calculated and shrewd. I dropped the wig on the bed, beside me, turning my head up to the ceiling on a sigh.

“Won’t this kill your political aspirations?” I rubbed my palms across my face.

“It would.” He shrugged, stepping deeper into the room and closing the door behind him so that my mother wouldn’t hear. Not that she was big on leaving her room these days. “I’m not running for mayor. I went down to the city hall yesterday and withdrew my candidacy. The campaign is off.”

My rapid blink gave away my surprise. I straightened on my bed, using one hand to knead my aching skull. Everything hurt. And I do mean everything. My thighs, my ass, my core were all still sore from having spent the night with Trent Rexroth. My head was spinning at Father’s recent revelation, and my heart was drowning in sorrow and self-pity at what this meant for me.

Jordan Van Der Zee was a careful planner. He knew where he wanted to be five years from now, and worked toward it quietly and with determination. So hearing this more than threw me off-balance.

He shook his head, reaching for one of the wigs, fingering the human hair with a scowl. “I’m going to focus on expanding Fiscal Heights Holdings, kick Rexroth off the board, and live my life peacefully,” he confirmed, withdrawing his hand like the wig was made of cold fire. “And I am not going to stay with your mother. You have your future to concentrate on. Here is my advice, Edie—enroll in a good college, far away from this place, and make something out of yourself. Stop smoking dope. Stop socializing with losers, and stop giving your mother the time of day when she clearly doesn’t do the same for you.”

And do you? Do you give me the time of the day? But again, I had so much to lose. Trent’s words were like a faint echo inside my head. If you want to be strong, be.

“You can’t do this right now. She needs to get better first.” I shook my head.

Jordan looked up to my ceiling and fingered the golden chandelier, smiling to himself at the memory of who I was supposed to be. “She’ll never get better. I’m going to do it, and soon.”

“I need more time,” I argued, feeling completely out of control.

“I don’t owe you a thing.”

“When are you going to tell her?” I stood up, toe-to-toe with him. He looked like the cold, white man who went to Pocahontas’ village. The destroyer. He looked like a Harry Potter character that could suck your soul away.

“This week. Maybe next. It doesn’t matter. When is a good time for something like this?”

“Considering you vowed to love her forever, in sickness and health, never is a good time. She needs you,” I deadpanned, narrowing my eyes.

“It is not up for discussion.” He pointed at the wigs on my bed. “This is not healthy or constructive for someone your age. You should be focused on your studies and on making a future for yourself.”

“My future is taking care of my family,” I answered, jutting my chin out. “My future is spending every morning surfing.”

My father looked around the coral room with dead eyes, like it represented all the dreams and hopes I’d shattered along the years by being myself. By choosing Doc Martens over Louboutins. By choosing the beach over chess. By choosing guys like Bane over the preppy boys of All Saints High.