The Downside of Being Charlie by Jenny Torres Sanchez

house is dark and quiet. I look at my watch. 12:45 a.m. I insert the key into the door and sneak in quietly.
    I hear a low murmur coming from Dad’s office. I look over; his room is dark, but there it is, the low murmur again. I inch toward the door and listen. “Yeah, I love you, too.” Is he talking to Mom? Has she finally called? Maybe she’s ready to come home. She does that sometimes, calls before coming home. Maybe she’s just checking if it’s okay, to see if we’re mad at her because she’s been gone so long.
    But after a minute, I realize something’s not right. Dad’s voice sounds different. It’s light. It’s happy. It’s so unlike any other time he’s ever talked to Mom. My heart pounds furiously because suddenly I know it’s not Mom on the other end of the line.
    The information connects instantly, and my brain starts telling me to get the hell out of here before he
hears me. But my body stays stuck in place. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Dad is laughing and making promises to see her soon.
    I step back from the door, but bump into the small table in the corner. It makes the slightest noise that suddenly halts the murmuring. I try to think quickly.
    â€œCharlie?” he calls from the other side of the door. Shit. I grab the handle of the front door and open it noisily.
    â€œCharlie?” Dad swings open his office door just as I slam the front door shut and pretend to have just gotten home.
    â€œHey, Dad. Sorry, I didn’t mean to slam it.”
    â€œYou . . . you just getting in?” he asks.
    â€œYeah, sorry, I know I’m a little late, but it just worked out better for Tom to drop everyone else off first.” The fake name comes to me easily.
    â€œOh, right . . .” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t hear a car,” he says.
    â€œReally?” I swallow hard, and just as quickly as it comes to me, the lie floats out of my mouth. “I’m surprised. Tom’s car is an old clunker.” I bounce the focus back on to him and try to keep my voice as light as possible. “You must have been pretty focused on what you were doing. Work keeping you up late?”
    And there it is. He directs his gaze to the floor, shrugs his shoulders, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. His face looks slightly flushed as he shifts his weight uncomfortably.
    â€œYeah, just finishing up.”
    â€œOh, okay. Well, I better get to bed. I’m pretty
tired,” I tell him.
    â€œYeah, yeah, me too,” he says, “just one last e-mail to send.” I head to my room, refusing to look back at him.
    â€œSport?” he calls as I reach the top of the stairs. I stop and turn around halfway. “Are you all right?”
    I clear my throat. “Yeah,” I say, louder than I mean to.
    â€œOkay then, good night,” he calls out just as I make it to my room.
    I close the door and lie down without bothering to change my clothes. Dad is cheating on Mom . It seems incredibly unreal. It’s . . . I can’t even imagine Dad talking to another woman, putting us completely out of his mind like that. I can’t imagine him anywhere but here. Was he happy away from us? Did he wish he could take off and never come back? Or is this what he meant by “just the two of us?”—like if Mom never came back?
    And then it hits me. Mom must have found out. This is why she’s gone. This is why he sent me to fat camp. Not because he cares about me, not because he knows how hard things are for a fatty, but because he was trying to get rid of me and do whatever the hell he wanted with some other woman. All this time, he let me think it was me. He let me think my weight was the big stress between him and Mom, but it wasn’t me. It was them and how freakin’ selfish they are. And this is why Dad kept asking if I was okay. This is why he gave me a hundred fucking dollars for my