by S. M. Soto
A part of me died that day. A piece of my soul shattered when he kissed another girl right in front of me, forgetting about me entirely.
I don’t know why I convinced myself that night was any different. Why did I feel like it was magical? It obviously wasn’t because he acted as though I was invisible to him—just as he always did. I gave the guy my heart, my virginity, and still, he acted like I was that little kid from the bakery.
It’s taken me a while to look past the heartbreak and my anger to gather some perspective on the issue. He was drunk. To him, the night never even happened. I can’t fault him forever, and I know that, but it doesn’t lessen the blow of his rejection. I can still feel the phantom pangs in my chest. The organs squeezing in a bind. Sometimes, when the loneliness becomes so suffocating, I think back to that first time with him and all the chaos that came after it.
I was well into my first semester of college when I realized I was pregnant. The sickness, I chalked up to homesickness. The weight gain, I chalked up to the late nights and junk food while studying. When my roommate talked me into taking a pregnancy test and it came back positive, I cried. I sobbed so hard, it rivaled the night after losing my virginity. This was almost worse than a broken heart because this baby was a reminder of the guy who never noticed me.
I called my parents and broke the news because, even at almost nineteen years old, I had no idea what the hell I was doing, and quite frankly, the thought of being a mother scared me shitless. I had just barely started college. I wasn’t ready to give life to another human being, let alone raise him or her.
Except I didn’t tell them the whole truth about the night I got pregnant. For reasons that, even now, I don’t quite understand, I never told my parents it was End who got me pregnant. That he was the father of my child. Subconsciously, I think saying it aloud would only hurt more, so I kept it a secret. My own shameful secret.
As expected, the news of my unplanned pregnancy only caused the fighting back home to worsen. I was just glad I wasn’t there to witness it firsthand. My mom took a flight out to Pasadena to see me. When she rented a duplex out there, it didn’t take long to realize she had no intention of going back home. Apparently, the years of constant fighting had caught up with her. She was done and over it.
My mom was quick to jump into full-on grandma mode, but my dad…he had a harder time accepting it. We didn’t talk for three whole months because of how disappointed he was in me. Our relationship over the years dwindled. I was always a daddy’s girl, but I guess for a father, watching your baby having a baby was a hard thing to accept.
Mom stayed out in Pasadena with me for a few years. She helped me with the baby while I went to school. I had to drop out of Caltech for Pasadena City College. With a baby, it changed things. The road to becoming a chemical engineer seemed out of reach, so after much consideration, I decided not to pursue it. Instead, I lowered my aspirations to something more doable. Because reaching for the stars? That wasn’t an option anymore.
It wasn’t until I got my business degree that I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to open my own metaphysical supply store, fully equipped with crystals, custom-carved candles, and the like. Moonchild did well for a while, but where we lived, a small business that wasn’t popular or part of a chain didn’t really see too many customers. After twenty months of staying open, I had to make the tough executive decision to close. We slowly started to fall behind on our house payment. Then, because bad news always comes in threes, my world was turned upside down when my dad called my mom and asked her to come home. Though it wasn’t because he loved her or missed her. It was because he was sick, and he needed help.
Gavin Drake was as stubborn and prideful as they come. I know this well because I’m the same way. I knew him reaching out to Mom for help couldn’t have been easy, which meant he must’ve been really sick. And I wasn’t wrong.
My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and it was like a blow to the chest, realizing someone you thought would be around forever wouldn’t be around for much longer at all. It made me realize how foolish I was to let our relationship dwindle, especially when I didn’t know how much longer I’d have him in Luna’s and my life.
So Mom and I made the decision to go back to Dunsmuir for a while. I hadn’t kept up with the town since I’d washed my hands of Endymion and everyone else when I left for college. The only person I kept in touch with was my longtime friend, Julia.
We made time for weekly calls and Sunday FaceTime chats. Next to her grandfather, Julia is Luna’s favorite person on the planet. Not that I blame her. Julia has always been the loud to my quiet, the vibrant to my dull, the goddamn peanut butter to my jelly. She’s flown out to Pasadena on rare occasions. Though I don’t see her half as much as I’d like to. Whenever we talk, we steer clear of the subject of Endymion. She’s known about my crush since the moment I came home from the bakery and called her, word-vomiting every single detail. Julia knows all about my heartbreak. She just doesn’t know the man who fathered my child is, indeed, Endymion Black.
To avoid dealing with the mistakes of my past, my father almost always flew out to see us. It was too hard to go back there, but now, we had to. Luna doesn’t know much about her papa, but she knows enough. During major holidays and FaceTime calls are usually the only time she gets to see him, and believe me when I say, they’re practically inseparable during those times. She adores my dad, and my dad adores her. Even though our relationship is still somewhat strained, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that he loves his granddaughter.
So that is where we are, packing up our lives from the past almost six years and heading to the one place I promised I’d never step foot in again. I have no idea if Luna’s father is still there or what he’s doing with his life. I can only hope all this won’t explode in my face.
To top it all off, I’m moving back in with my parents. I’m not sure how we’ll all survive.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Is this our new house?”
I pause, my hand hovering over the cardboard box filled with most of our belongings. Since we got here, I’ve been trying to unpack as quickly as possible, just to help smooth the transition. Luna spent most of her time with my dad. The second we walked through the doors, she screamed out, “Papa!” and ran straight into his arms. My little Luna has always loved spending time with my dad. Whenever we were together for the holidays, she stayed seated on his lap from the time he got there to the time he left. The bond they share is a lot like the bond I had with my dad before the distance and my pregnancy came between us. When I watch them together, I get this twinge in my chest. It’s equally beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
Because even though I hate to give it any more thought than necessary, I don’t know how long he’ll be around for Luna, and I can only imagine how devastated she’ll be when that time comes.
I hate that the only reason we’re back here is because my father is sick. I should’ve done more to bring us together as a family. I should’ve made more time to fly out here and see him instead of making him come to us. Why hadn’t I tried harder?
The thought of losing my father makes me sick. It turns my stomach and stops my heart all at once. I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to deal with that kind of loss.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I remember the question Luna asked. Settling the stack of shirts on the bed, I shift toward her and blow out a sigh.
“In a way, yes. We’re going to stay here with Nana and Papa for a while.”
She looks thoughtful for a second, her head cocked to the side. “Can we stay here with Papa forever?”
I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to stop the quiver of my chin and hold it together. Turning back to the box, I blink rapidly, forcing the moisture out of my eyes.
“Yeah, baby. We’ll stay here as long as Papa wants us to. Deal?”
I can practically hear her unsuspecting grin in her voice. “Dea
l.”
“You want to help me unpack now?” I ask, glancing back at her.
She purses her lips, shaking her head. “No. Papa said he was gonna take me to get ice cream and then some cake from your favorite store. He even said he’d take me to the store to pick out an early birthday present soon!”
I grin. “Oh, really? You haven’t even had lunch yet. And your birthday isn’t for another two weeks, little miss.”
May first is right around the corner, and with the new move, I’m still not sure what I will do to celebrate her birthday. I had it all planned out the year prior, but it’s funny how quickly the course of life can change. I never thought I’d be here, celebrating my daughter’s sixth birthday in a place that quite literally makes me queasy when I think about it.
She laughs and skips away. “I know, Mommy.”
I shake my head, going back to unpacking.
Kids.
The house is eerily quiet without my dad and the sound of CNN playing in the living room, or Luna’s vivacious little voice trailing about, constantly asking questions. I swear that girl is a sponge. She soaks in everything anyone says, and she’s as nosy as they come.
I pad down the stairs, gripping the familiar railing, feeling another sharp pain in my chest. Everything in the house looks the same, almost like a shrine of when I was growing up, but at the same time, it doesn’t. Over the years, my dad has added his own twists and flairs—you know, bachelor life and all.
His recliner still sits directly in line with his flat screen with the round coffee table off to the side holding his newspaper and sports magazine. There’s even his half-empty coffee cup resting on the table right next to the coaster. The sight itself makes me smile. It used to drive my mom crazy that he wouldn’t put his mugs on the coaster, especially when it was right there in front of him.
A frown suddenly pulls taut across my face when I think about my mother.
I should probably see how she’s handling all this.
I pad into the kitchen, not surprised when I find her searching through Dad’s fridge, likely trying to find something to make dinner with.
“I don’t think anything new is going to pop out just by staring in there, Mom.”
She shoots me a glare over her shoulder. With a sigh, she shuts the fridge door and slaps her hands along her thighs helplessly.
“There is nothing of sustenance in there. We’ll need to go grocery shopping. There’s no way we can live off jelly, Spam, and sandwich meat. I mean, seriously, how has your father made it this long without starving to death?” She starts throwing open cabinets and cupboards, clearly exasperated.
I lean against the back counter, scrutinizing her closely, knowing exactly why she’s blowing the food situation out of proportion.
“It’s okay to feel weird here, Mom. It’s okay to feel…however it is you’re feeling. You haven’t been back in this house for years. I get it. This is a weird change for all of us.”
My mom pauses in front of the cupboard that holds the mugs. She grips onto the handle so tightly, I’m afraid the polished silver will crumble in her grip. When she hunches forward and a raw sound escapes her throat, my heart cracks open.
Oh, Mom.
“Why didn’t he tell me sooner? Why did he wait so fucking long to ask for my help? That stubborn, stubborn man. Did you see him? God, if he would’ve reached out sooner, I could’ve…we could’ve done something.”
I do my best to blink back my tears, but they fall anyway. Because I know exactly what she means. I didn’t realize how bad my father was looking until I saw him in person today. It’s been about two months since we’ve last seen each other in person, and the change is drastic. He looks tired and skinnier than I ever remember my father being. He doesn’t look like himself, and the reality that the man I’ve looked up to my entire life is slowly deteriorating breaks my heart.
Closing the distance between us, I wrap my arms around my mom’s middle, hugging her from the back. I feel her shaking in my arms, and I know she blames herself for not being here. I don’t think either of us anticipated how difficult it would be to come back here.
“I hate him. But I still love him, you know?” she chokes out. I slam my eyes shut, tightening my grip on her.
“I know, Mom. I know.”
It takes her a few minutes to gather herself, and when she does, she pats my hands secured around her waist to silently let me know she’s okay now. When she turns to face me, her eyes are red and puffy, but she sails through, wiping the remnants of her tears away.
“I’ll start making that grocery list. I think your father said he wanted pizza tonight, so we’ll call that in.”
She slips out of the kitchen in search of a pad of paper and a pen, and I release a heavy sigh now that I’m alone. We are only one day in, and I already feel emotionally wrecked. I’m not sure I can handle any more sadness for today.
I scratch at the back of my neck, brows furrowed as I try to figure out what the fuck I’m looking at. When my mother asked me to stop at the store and pick up “lightly sweetened” frosting for my sister’s birthday cake, I didn’t think this shit was going to be this hard.
I’ve been standing in this aisle for the past ten minutes rereading labels, looking for anything that sounds like what my mother is asking for. I have not found one label that says anything about sugar-free or lightly sweetened. I’m so close to saying fuck it and buying her a whole new goddamn cake from the bakery. It’s what we used to do all the time for my birthdays anyway. But, of course, my sister is a bit more…extra. She’s all about the healthy living, clean eating, let’s eat kale for breakfast, lunch, and dinner type of lifestyle.
In a nutshell, she’s a complete psychopath, who doesn’t have taste buds.
Since moving to Dunsmuir from Lake Tahoe, my parents have always sent me to this grocery store to pick up a cake before heading home. It doesn’t matter whose birthday or what occasion it is; it’s become a tradition. It wasn’t until recently that my sister started this healthy lifestyle, then to top it off, she went and reeled my parents in, too. Mom suddenly decided she wanted my dad to eat better, so she cut back on a lot of store-bought shit in favor of making it all herself. Their home has changed a lot since I was living there as a teen.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when a little hand reaches out in my peripheral. When I glance to my left, I spot a little girl, balancing on the shelves, reaching for the pink frosting. Her brown hair curtains her face, shielding her from view, so I can’t gauge how old she is. But guessing by how tiny she is, she can’t be older than four or five.
“Hey, kiddo. Do you need some help?”
She pauses and slowly lifts her face up toward mine, causing the curtain of hair covering her face to unveil her. My brows disappear into my hairline as I stare at the little girl. She looks almost identical to my sister’s daughter, my niece, Valeria. With light brown hair that curls at the bottom, bright green, almond-shaped eyes with thick lashes, she looks like another little Black child running around.
I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but she looks so much like my niece did when she was younger, I find myself doing a double take, frowning down at her.
Her little nose, which is lightly dusted in freckles, crinkles. “My mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Her tone is sassy, and it’s all I can do not to laugh at her. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, holding back my smirk.
“Your mommy sounds like a smart woman. Where is she?”
The little girl shrugs. “She’s at home.”
My brows pull down, and I glance around us. “So…how did you get here?”
“My papa took me.”
“Okay, kid.” I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. It would be just my luck that I run into a lost child at the grocery store while I’m supposed to be here picking up one thing. “You’re gonna have to start making more sense. Where is your papa then?”
She shrugs. “I think he’s buying a cake from the cake la
dy. He promised I could pick frosting to dip my strawberries in. Back home, me and Mommy always dipped our strawberries in frosting.”
My mouth drops open, then closes as I try to process the heap of information she just dropped on me. Whose kid is this?
When she continues staring up at me expectantly, I glance toward the frostings, then back down at her sassy little form. “So the pink one?”
A grin spreads across her whole face, and once again, I frown, thinking about my sister and my niece. With a shake of my head, I reach for the pink frosting and hand it to her.
“Luna?”
We both turn at the deep voice. A crease forms between my brows when I spot Gavin Drake from the two-story on Sunflower Lane. Over the past few years, Gavin has become a close friend. I’ve helped him with a few minor repairs in the house, and we make a point to grab a beer together whenever we get a chance. Hell, I’ve worked on his car a few times, back when I used to work at the garage. I only managed to work there a few years before I had to quit. I couldn’t stand working there a second longer, and it was exactly the nudge I needed to do something else with my life.
I’ve always been good with my hands, so my parents suggested I do something in carpentry. I worked with a small company a few towns over for about two years before I went back to school and got my business degree. I’ve never wanted to answer to someone else, especially not when it comes to a job that I know I can do myself, so I decided to start my own company. About three years ago, I started my own construction company with a few of my buddies from high school. Landon, Griffin, and Bishop have been longtime friends for years. Each of us brings something different to the company table. Griffin is our contracts guy, Landon is our numbers guy, Bishop and I are all architecture and brawn, and together, we’re an effortless team that always gets the job done.
