Our Dirty Little Secret

First Impressions

River’s POV

I sling my keys on the kitchen counter and grab my jacket. Mom’s already in the car, humming like it's a normal day. I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door, pressing my head against the window.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, glancing over as she pulls away from our apartment.

“Sure,” I mutter.

Diane’s words echo in my head: “Don’t go in there expecting to hate him.” Easy for her to say; she’s not the one being put in an awkward situation.

The ride is quiet except for the faint hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. My mind races ahead to the dinner table—forks clinking against plates, the forced smiles, the questions I don’t want to answer lining up one after the other.

How’s school?

What are you studying?

What do you want to do after college?

I picture myself nodding, keeping my answers short, measured. I picture Mom smiling too much. I picture a stranger watching us both, deciding what kind of people we are.

After driving for an hour, we pull up to Adam’s house—mansion. The driveway is long, lined with perfectly trimmed flowers.

Mom knocks on the door, and we step back. Adam’s house is huge. The door opens before Mom can knock again, and there he is. Tall and confident. His smile is calm, welcoming, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Anna!” he says, stepping aside. “Come in.”

“You must be River,” he says, his voice smooth.

I take a step forward, but my stomach twists. Everything about this house is polished, too controlled.

“River,” Mom nudges me lightly. “This is Adam.”

I nod, giving a faint smile in return. Mom glances at me, then at Adam. “Dinner’s almost ready. Make yourselves comfortable,” Adam says, smiling faintly.

We move to the living room. I sit, but I don’t relax. I watch Adam from across the room, trying to read him from a distance without being obvious.

“Where’s Kenzie?” Mom asks, looking around.

Adam pauses. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

“Kenzie’s his daughter,” Mom adds quietly, turning to me. “I meant to tell you.”

I let out a deep sigh.

“So where is she?” Mom asks again.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at her. The silence in the room is deafening.

“She’s not coming,” he says finally.

Mom frowns. “Not coming?”

“She went over to a friend’s place,” he adds. Of course she had a choice to skip this chaos.

Mom shifts uncomfortably. “Is she okay?”

Adam exhales. “Yes, she’s fine… she’s just ten minutes away.”

Mom nods, but I can tell she’s not satisfied. She smooths her dress, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Will she join us later?”

Adam doesn’t say anything. He just gestures toward the dining room.

“Let’s eat,” he says.

Adam steps aside, and we follow quietly. I take my spot at the table, already feeling the tension settle in. My mind drifting to her silent rejection.

Kenzie.

I don’t know what she looks like, but her absence feels like she’s right here. I sit across from where she might have been, aware of the space like it’s a weight pressing on my chest.

The food gets passed around. I pick up my fork, then set it back down. I push food around my plate, appetite gone. They talk around me, not to me. Safe topics. Neutral ground. No one mentions the empty seat again.

But I keep looking at it.

Kenzie could have been there. Could have been watching me the way I’m watching everyone else. Instead, she chose not to come.

I tell myself it shouldn’t matter. She’s a stranger. Adam’s daughter. Someone I’ll probably exchange a handful of polite sentences with, then never think about again. That’s how this is supposed to work.

My eyes keep flicking to that empty chair, to the space where she might have been, to the quiet weight her choice left behind.

Adam clears his throat. “So… college, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. Short. Measured.

“Anything you’re into?”

“Uhh… nothing much,” I say honestly.

“What’s your major?”

“Business Management.”

“That’s nice.” He chuckles, and I look at my plate. I don’t know if I should take it as a joke or a compliment, so I stay quiet.

I don’t say anything. I focus on my plate, shifting food I don’t plan on eating. It gives me something to do with my hands. Adam talks about work. Mom talks about small things.

Time drags. Plates are cleared. Adam rises. “It’s getting late. You’re welcome to stay longer, but I know you had a drive.”

Mom looks at me. “You okay to head out?”

“Yeah,” I say too quickly.

Outside, the air feels cool, sharp, real. I breathe it in, trying to shake the tension that’s latched onto my chest. The empty chair, her deliberate absence, the quiet judgment of the house—it follows me like a shadow.

Mom unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat. I hesitate before getting in, my hand resting on the door handle longer than necessary.

The drive back feels longer than the one there.

“You did great tonight,” she says after a while.

I don’t answer right away. “Yeah,” I finally say, even though I’m not sure what great is supposed to mean.

She nods, accepting it—or pretending to. The silence settles back in.

I think about the house again. About the way everything was in its place. About Adam, the way he spoke, the way he watched me like I was a problem to solve. About the chair that stayed empty the entire night.

Kenzie didn’t owe me anything. I know that. She didn’t owe us her time, her presence, her patience. Still, her absence stirred something in me.

When we finally pull back into our parking lot, I don’t get out right away. I sit there, hands in my lap, the engine ticking softly as it cools. The night feels unfinished, like something started and never quite landed.

It isn’t just nerves. Or awkwardness.

It’s the sense that I’ve stepped into something already in motion—something I don’t fully understand yet.

And whether I like it or not, I’m already part of it.