"And I'm going to keep staying."
She looked at me. In her eyes was something I couldn't name. Fear, maybe. Or hope.
"That's very cheesy," she said.
"I know."
"It's okay," she replied, and for a moment her hand brushed mine on the table. "It can be cheesy sometimes."
Luke came downstairs with an expression of relief. Phil followed behind with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Everything okay?" Claire asked, getting up from the couch.
"Everything's fine," Phil said, too quickly. "Luke and I had a... a very productive conversation. Didn't we, son?"
"Yes," Luke replied, nodding energetically. "Dad explained everything about tractors and women and not looking at weird things on the internet."
"And did he confess?" Claire asked, arms crossed.
Phil and Luke exchanged a glance.
"He confessed," Phil said. "He said that... that it was him. Right, Luke?"
"Yes, it was me. I saw the picture, and I thought it was... weird. But I promise not to do it again."
Claire looked at him for a long time. Something in her eyes wasn't quite convinced, but she nodded.
"It's okay, Luke. We all make mistakes. What matters is learning from them."
"I know, Mom. Thanks."
Luke went to the kitchen, probably in search of something to eat. Phil stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, with an expression of poorly disguised relief.
"Phil," Claire said, approaching him with slow steps. "Are you sure Luke was the one with the picture?"
"Absolutely sure. He confessed everything. He said he was curious, that he couldn't help it. That it was a mistake."
"So why do I get the feeling you're lying to me?"
Phil paled. "Lying? I never lie. Well, sometimes, but for a good cause. Like when I said the house had 'ocean views' and you actually had to climb on the roof to see a blue dot in the distance. But that wasn't a lie. That was... geographic optimism."
Claire narrowed her eyes. "Phil."
"Yes, honey?"
"The picture. Where did it come from?"
"From the internet. From work. Some guy sent it. It doesn't matter."
"Some guy from work?"
"Gil Thorpe. Yes. That idiot, always sending inappropriate things. One day he sent me a picture of a woman dressed as a battleship. Another of the Transformers. Another of... well, the point is it wasn't me. It was Gil. It's all Gil's fault."
Claire looked at him for a long time. And then, with a smile that was half resignation, half affection, she said:
"Phil, you're a terrible liar. But I love you anyway."
"You forgive me?"
"This time. But I want you to know that if I ever find another picture of a woman on a tractor on my computer, you're going to explain to Luke what 'geographic optimism' means."
Phil let out a sigh of relief so audible it reached the kitchen.
"Thanks, honey. You're the best wife in the world."
"I'm not the best. I'm the only one who puts up with you."
They kissed. Alex, beside me, rolled her eyes.
"They're disgusting," she said.
"That's love," I replied.
"That's gaslighting. My dad lied, my mom knows it, and they both pretend nothing happened. It's the Dunphy conflict resolution cycle."
"Does it work?"
"It works well enough that they're still together after seventeen years."
Then Alex stood up. "I'll be right back. I'm going to get a book I want you to read."
"Okay. I'll wait here."
And then, from the second floor, a scream rang out.
It was Alex.
She came running down the stairs with a poster in her hand and tears of fury in her eyes. It was a poster of her favorite poet—the one she'd worked so hard to get—and someone had drawn a mustache on it with a black marker over the smiling face of the poet.
"Look what Haley did!" Alex shouted, pointing at her sister. "She ruined my poster! I waited a year to get it signed!"
Haley went pale. "It wasn't me."
"You're lying! You read my diary, not the other way around! And you ruined my poster for revenge!"
"I didn't read your diary!" Haley shot back.
"Then how did you know what I wrote about you?" Alex countered.
"Because you left it open on the table! But Haley, I wasn't the one," Alex said, arms crossed, jaw tight. "It was Luke. It's always Luke."
"Luke doesn't even know who Maya Angelou is!"
"I don't either, but that doesn't mean it was me."
"You're a liar!"
"And you're a drama queen!"
The two faced off in the middle of the room like boxers in the center of the ring. Phil and Claire stepped in, each grabbing one daughter.
"Enough!" Claire shouted. "That's enough! We're going to solve this like a civilized family."
"Since when is this family civilized?" Phil asked with genuine confusion.
"Not now, Phil."
"Sorry."
Claire took a deep breath, counting to ten. "Haley, Alex, I want both of you to sit on the couch. And I want you to tell me, one by one, what happened."
"She read my diary," Haley said, pointing at Alex.
"I did not!"
"Then how did you know about Dylan and the kiss in the car?"
"Because you told Mom! I was in the kitchen!"
"That's not true!"
"Yes, it is!"
"Enough!" Claire shouted again. "Alex, did you read Haley's diary?"
"No."
"Haley, do you have any proof that Alex read it?"
"No, but it was her. It's always her. She's the only one who can get into my room without me noticing."
"I can too," Luke said, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a cookie in his hand. "And I did."
Every eye turned to him.
"What did you say?" Claire asked, her voice dangerously calm.
"That I read Haley's diary. I was playing on her computer, and it opened by itself. Or I opened it. I don't remember. But I read it."
Haley stood with her mouth open. Alex smiled, with poorly disguised satisfaction.
"See? I told you it wasn't me."
"Shut up!"
"Haley, don't yell at your sister," Claire said. "Luke, you're going to be punished. One week without the computer."
Luke sighed with the resignation of someone who has accepted their fate. "Okay."
"Now go to your room."
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Claire put her hands to her head.
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Maya Angelou's poster appeared with a mustache. Civil war in the Dunphy living room.
Who is more dramatic? Haley with her diary or Alex with her poster? 📔🖼️💢
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