Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Since the last time you were here?” my mother asks me the question.
“No, I met her before I came home, but things have sort of progressed since.”
“Sort of progressed?” my father repeats my words.
“Okay, fine, they progressed but—”
“But she doesn’t like you,” my mother interjects with pity in her voice. “She’s not worth it if she doesn’t know how amazing you are.” She looks at my father, who side-eyes her. “What? He’s perfect.”
“He’s not perfect”—my father puts his arm around her—“but he’s pretty close.”
“I’m not perfect,” I confirm to them, “and I think I might have fucked it up even more than I could explain.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” my father suggests. “Let us be the judge of that.”
“I don’t know if I can be an impartial judge in this.” My mother shakes her head. “In my eyes, she’s going to be wrong, and he’s going to be right.”
“Why don’t you try?” my father encourages her.
She shrugs. “I can try, but you hurt my kids, and you earn yourself an enemy for life. I will cut a bitch. Remember that little shit who tried to copy Mila’s social studies paper? I almost drove my car into their house.”
“She was seven, and we spoke about that already.”
“I’m just saying”—she holds up her hands—“I can only be me.”
“Noted,” my father responds, then looks at me. “What stupid thing did you do?”
“I guess I should start at the beginning,” I tell them. “On her twenty-fifth birthday, she found out she was adopted.” The way my mother gasps out loud, I have to give her a minute. “Yeah, not only was she adopted but she was abandoned. They left her in a cardboard box at the fire station, wrapped in a fucking blanket.”
“Oh my God,” my mother says, “you were wrong.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s not wrong and I am sorry I said she was.”
“Go on,” my father urges, his glare at me.
“So she moved to town to find out who her parents are.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” my father states.
“I agree one hundred percent.” I swallow. “But ever since she started looking for them, she’s been threatened.”
“What do you mean she’s been threatened?” My father’s voice comes out sharp, very much a dad voice, like “you better tell me this right now, or else.” So I fill them in on everything, and I mean everything. I don’t keep anything from them. From the talks with Bruce to her fucking whiteboard and tracing her ancestry, I lay it all out for them, including just storming out on her.
“Oh, honey,” my mother whispers when I finally stop talking, “you were one hundred percent”—I wait for it—“wrong.”
“What?” I say, shocked.
“You are wrong, honey,” she repeats, then looks at my father. “He got that from you.”
“But she’s hell-bent on putting herself in danger,” I try to defend myself.
“She’s not trying to put herself in danger.” My mother quickly defends her. “She has no control on how others deal with things. The only thing she can control is how she is dealing with this.”
“But,” my father interrupts, “he’s just protecting her.”
“By storming out of the house and leaving her alone?” My mother rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Come on, Caleb, put yourself in her shoes.” I listen to her. “She has no idea who she is. You don’t know what it feels like waking up in the morning and wondering who you are.”
“She knows exactly who she is. She’s—” I think of a word to do her justice, but there’s only one word I can think of. “She’s everything.”
“You can’t ask her to choose between finding out the truth about herself and you.” My father sighs.
“I don’t want to make her choose.”
“But you do, you just told her that.” I close my eyes. “Telling her it’s over isn’t you being supportive.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt!” I roar out. “The thought of her being hurt is just too fucking much.”
“And there it lies,” my mother declares, “he’s in love with her, and this is how he acts.” I stare at her in shock.
“In his defense, I don’t think he knew he was in love with her.” My father argues my side as if I’m not sitting here.
“I just want her safe,” I whisper. “I want her to have everything she wants. I just want her to do it by not putting herself in danger.”
“So you don’t leave her.” My mother hits the counter in front of her. “You stand beside her and brace for whatever comes her way, holding her up. You don’t leave her to be knocked down with no way to get up.” She pushes away from the counter. “I thought I raised you better.” She shakes her head. “You get off your stubborn ass and go see her—”