by Ava Harrison
“But that’s the thing. I do have the right to know.”
“I don’t see how this affects you. This was before you were born.”
“Yes, but how many months before I was born?” He stops, his face paling. I might not be able to hear it from his chair, but I can imagine him counting. He’s thinking of every moment, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.
“But that . . . Are you saying . . . No, that can’t be.”
“It’s true.”
“No. Your mother is . . . How can that be? You’re Bridget’s age.”
“I’m not. I’m actually a year older.”
“I . . .” His mouth opens and shuts.
“I was held back. I’m a year older than Bridget. My birthday is in December. I just turned nineteen.”
Lines form across his face. My own heart races as I watch him. As he does the math. Counts backward. Figures it all out. I don’t think I can breathe. It’s all too much. My body is a live wire and I’m about to fall apart.
His jaw begins to tremble, his nose scrunching in a way I have never seen before. It looks as though his eyes are glassy, and then, with no warning or understanding of what’s happening, I’m in his arms. I feel my own tears falling, and my heart seizes. He is giving me more love in this embrace than I have ever had from a parent in my life.
“My daughter,” he says into my hair, and his own body shakes against mine in silent sobs. It makes my tears fall even heavier.
“I have another daughter?” he mutters out almost in question, trying to understand. He holds me tighter. “You’re my daughter,” he confirms with conviction.
“You’re his what?” Our cries stop. We are frozen. Both of us peer with tear soaked eyes to Bridget, who stands in the doorway. Her body is rigid at the sight in front of her. “What the hell is going on?” she asks, and we step away from each other. I wipe the tears off my face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“What am I doing here? That’s what you say to me, Dad? I walk in to find you hugging my best friend, calling her your daughter, and you have the nerve to ask what I’m doing here?”
“I can explain,” he says again. He reaches for her but she pushes him away.
“Bridge,” I say to gain her attention.
“No, you don’t say anything. You’re my best friend. I have no clue what the fuck is going on around here.”
“I know and—”
Sam steps closer to Bridget. “Lynn, let me. Bridget, sweetie, I need to start by explaining that I wasn’t always the man you know me to be. There was a time when I wasn’t a good husband.”
“Oh, my God.” She clutches her chest.
“No, sweetie. I never cheated on your mother, but I might as well have. Before you were born, your mother left me. She gave me a choice, and when I chose myself first, she left. At first I was selfish and I was okay with that. Then I grew lonely and depressed. I’m not proud of what happened. I carried on an affair with a married woman.”
“You cheated on Mom.” She looks crestfallen or like she might throw up. “I can’t believe—” He reaches out to her but she swats his hand away. “No. Don’t touch me.”
“You don’t understand.” He runs his hand frantically through his hair. “God, this is coming out all wrong.”
He stops talking and I think she might do something. Maybe cry? But she looks like a statue, waiting to hear more. She’s built a wall around herself so she doesn’t suffer from whatever’s about to be dumped on her.
“Can you please sit?” he asks nervously. “Please,” he implores.
For the first time since this whole thing began, she pulls her eyes away from me. No matter what is going on, I’m her friend. I nod toward the chair, willing her to understand that she needs to listen. That he’s not the villain in this whole mess. That the only villain is my mom.
She sits and he lets out a deep breath. Folding himself into the seat next to her, he takes her hand in his. She looks as if she’ll pull away but Bridget is stronger than that. I feel an immense level of pride rush through me as I look at her . . . as I look at my younger sister.
“Okay. I’ll listen.”
“I wasn’t a good husband. I worked non-stop. I was never home, and when I was . . . I wasn’t, if you understand. The father you know is not the husband I was in the past. I wouldn’t speak to her; I was a void in this house. A ghost. One day she gave me an ultimatum. Shape up or ship out. But I was young. A hotshot orthopedic surgeon. I didn’t need anyone telling me what to do. So, when she kicked me out I didn’t fight, I just left.” Bridget’s body grows rigid at his words.
“It was a stupid and selfish thing to do, but I didn’t see it at the time. I moved out. And, well, a few weeks later, after no contact, I was served with divorce papers. I was angry. Remember, I thought I was some god. How dare she divorce me? So I did something I’m not proud of—I started an affair with Lynn’s mom. I met her at the gym of all places. Cliché, I know, but there she was, miserable and unhappy. And there I was, an asshole who needed my ego stocked. It didn’t last long. We snuck around because she was married. But as time went on and I got to know her, I realized I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted my family. I wanted love. So, I ended things. I told her never to contact me again, and even if I had to beg and plead, I would get my wife back. And I did.”
The room is silent. Only the sound of breathing is in the air. I don’t know what to say, how to broach the next part of this conversation. I implore with my eyes for Sam . . . for my father to do it.
Bridget stands. She starts to pace, trying to work out this story, and then she turns to me. Her eyes are full of so much pain and hurt and sadness. When her gaze meets mine, tears welling, and my own fill as well.
“And you’re . . .” She stops as a sob breaks from her throat. My heart thunders in my chest like a freight train. I bob my head yes. “Oh, my God!” Her tears burst out like a levee broke. “You’re my . . .” She seems to be hyperventilating. “How long have you kn-known?” she stutters.
“Since around Christmas.”
“And you never told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I step closer to her, but she steps back, holding up a hand, not allowing me to comfort her. “No. You’re my best friend. God, you’re my sister. You should have told me.”
“I know. I just . . . I wasn’t sure if you . . .” I turn toward my father. “If he would reject me.”
“I was your best friend.”
“Was?”
“I-I . . . I need to get out of here. I need to think.” And with that she storms out of the room. I fall into the nearest chair.
“It will be okay. She will be okay and understand and love you. She won’t reject you. I won’t reject you. Give her time. We all need some time.”
“Okay,” I say, rising to stand.
“Don’t leave. I need to talk to Margo, but you’re my daughter. And although we’ve always cared about you, this is your home now. We are your family, and we will get through this together. So, stay. You rest. I have a feeling this will be a long night.” He smiles. It’s reassuring and it washes over me with love. I believe him. Bridget might be upset and hurt but everything will be okay. I have faith.
He gives me a hug and then leaves the room. I pull out my phone and dial Carson.
“Are you okay?” he asks before I can even say hello.
“Yes. I think I am.” I emit the air filling my lungs. Maybe not at this moment, but the weight lifted off my shoulders by telling Bridget, by telling my dad, is immeasurable.
“What happened?”
“I have a family,” I say.
“You always had a family.” And he was right. Regardless of what happened here tonight, I did have Carson. But now having this family . . . I feel complete. I never knew this part was missing, but I see it now, it floods me and brings on another round of sobs.
“I love you,” he says between my cries. “I love you.”
“And I
you. Where are you?”
“Home. Are you coming here? Can you tell me what happened?”
“I can’t come right now. Things are complicated over here at Bridget’s. She heard . . . my fa-father,” I stutter. “He’s going to call Margo to come home.”
“How’s Bridget taking it?”
“Not well. She’s hurt. She doesn’t understand why I didn’t tell her.”
“She will understand. Give her time.” His voice is reassuring and I know he’s right.
“I will. But depending on how things go, I might not see you until tomorrow.”
“Take all the time you need, and know if you need me, I’ll be there.”
“I know.”
“Keep me posted, okay?”
“I will.” I disconnect the call and lie back into the chair and close my eyes. It will be a long night. I’m Artemis. I’m strong. I have gone to battle and lived through it. Whatever happens, I will be okay.
Some time passes. Minutes, maybe hours. I’m not sure how many, but I haven’t moved the entire time. Everything is surreal and I’m not sure how to process it. As if lead has been poured through my entire body, I’m grounded to the couch. My eyelids are heavy.
Lord, did I cry tonight. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted.
There’s a soft knock on the door. It opens slightly and I see Bridget pop her face in.
“Can I come in?” Her voice is low, her head down.
“It is your house,” I say and she lifts her face to meet my gaze. I’m not sure how this will go, but I want her to know that even though I’m now her sister, I still respect her boundaries.
“It’s your house now, too,” she says. Those words are my undoing. My shoulders slump forward as I let out a strangled sob and tears pour down my face. She runs over to me, sits next to me on the couch, and pulls me toward her. Sob after sob, the dam bursts and I’m not sure I can stop it.
She begins to cry too, and we cry so hard that eventually we laugh.
“Wow, we’re a mess,” she says, wiping at her nose. “Need a tissue?” She reaches for the box behind her.
“Oh, God, yes,” I exclaim. She hands me one and we set out to wipe our noses. When I’m done, I ball it up and look up at her. Now that we’re not crying or laughing, an awkward silence descends. In all the years I’ve known her, it’s never been weird.
“So.” She obviously wants to address the giant elephant in the room. “We’re sisters.”
“We’re sisters,” I affirm. “Are you okay with it?”
“Of course I’m okay with it.” She nibbles on her lip. “Listen, I’m sorry I handled it the way I did.”
“No, I understand. It must have come as quite a shock.”
“It did, but still, you didn’t deserve that. I spoke to my parents. Actually, I kind of went nuts on Dad. But he explained everything to me. I’m still very hurt, but I do know and understand why my parents never told me about Dad having an affair with your mom. The whole thing is just so complicated right now. But I didn’t want you to think I was mad at you for this. I’m sure this has been . . . I know all you’ve been through, and for me to treat you as anything less than my sister, for you to ever think I wouldn’t be happy, that I wouldn’t love you and want you in my family . . . I’m sorry. I love you. You have always been a sister to me. Now, it’s official.”
“Thanks, Bridge. You have no idea how much it means to me. This has been hard . . . Really hard. But I finally feel okay. It has been a giant boulder on my shoulders since I found out. I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I was scared. I didn’t think I could handle any more rejection. But Carson really helped, and, well, same with Dr. Young.”
“Carson knew?” I can’t tell if she’s hurt or just asking, so I just give a slight tip of my chin to say yes. “I’m happy you have him.”
“You are?”
“Now that he’s resigned and I’m not scared you’ll get kicked out of school, I’m happy. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for you before. More like I was scared. With everything with your mom, Matt, and then the fear of what could happen at school, I was worried about you. But now that the threat is over, I’m happy. You deserve it.”
“You deserve it, too.”
“Maybe. I have quite the track record, don’t I?”
“Ha!”
“Maybe one day I’ll find my Carson. Just not my teacher.” She winks.
“I’m sure you will. And knowing you, it will be even more dramatic.” She swats at me as the door opens.
Her mom is standing there looking at us giggling on the couch. I can see her eyes are glassy as her lips turn up into a huge grin.
“Hi, Mom,” Bridget says.
“I was going to make sure you girls were okay, but I see everything worked out. I knew it would.”
“You did?” I whisper.
“Of course, darling. You have always been part of this family. Why would anything change it? Now I get to spoil you even more.” Moisture drips down my nose.
“God, I can’t keep crying like this.” I laugh, and the rest follow suit. I swipe across my cheeks and tilt my head. “Are you sure you guys are okay with this? I don’t want you to think I—”
“Stop right there. You are now mine, just as Bridget is mine. Do you understand me? I spoke to your dad.” She pauses with a giant grin on her face. Her smile is contagious as she says that word and I grin back. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?” She winks. I nod. “Okay, what was I saying? Oh, yes. I spoke to your dad. We both feel strongly that we have been robbed of your youth. Yes, we spend every weekend with you, and most holidays, but still, we want to make some changes starting now. We want you to know that this is your house. We will change the guest room to your room, and if you want—if you want, Lynn—you have a place here.”
“What?”
“What I’m trying to say not so eloquently.” She wipes her eye. “Is you’re our daughter, this is your home, and we would like you to live with us.” My chin rattles, my nose twitches, and my eyes well.
“Okay.” I’m so emotional I don’t think I can say more than that.
“Okay,” she says and Bridget joins in our hug.
“Okay.”
LYNN IS BUSY WITH HER family, so today is the perfect day to start working on my own stuff. I made her a promise and I intend to keep it. Walking into the brightly lit office is my first step. Once inside, a desk sits in front of me. A young woman typing at a computer smiles up at me.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks.
“I have an appointment with Mitch Johnson.”
“Please, take a seat.” Once in the chair, I fold my hands in my lap to keep them from tapping nervously on the wooden armrest of the chair. This is my first appointment for one-on-one counseling, and a small part of me is excited yet nervous to see what he has to say.
A few minutes later, an older man, probably in his early sixties, walks out. He reminds me a little of my high school track coach.
“Carson Blake?”
“Yeah,” I stand and walk over to him.
“I’m Mitch. Pleasure to meet you.” I reach my hand out and give his a shake. “Follow me to my office. Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. But thank you.”
I follow him down the hallway and into an office in the corner of the suite. He motions for me to take a seat and I do. He takes a seat in a leather wingback across from me.
“So, what brings you here today, Carson?”
“I was at a group meeting for anger management, and one of the members mentioned how much you helped him.”
“Very good. I strongly encourage going to group meetings. Can you tell me a little about your triggers and give me some background information?”
I proceed to tell him about my father. How he beat my mother. How when, I got old enough, he hurt me as well and how it continued like that until questions arose. How I was raised by nannies when it became obvious something was going on. I then told him how
I started fights in high school, and how I had been lashing out recently. And I told him about Matthew and Lynn.
“Are you afraid you will hurt her?” he asks, and I sit forward in my seat. My hands rest on my thighs.
“No, never.” There is no doubt or waver in my voice, and he bobs his head pensively.
“What are you afraid of, then?” What am I afraid of? Good question. My teeth gnaw on the inside of my cheek.
“Losing control. I’m not afraid about her, but I hurt her ex and I’m afraid of that rage,” I finally admit.
“How do you currently channel your emotions?”
“I run.” His head gives a little shake and then he smiles.
“Which is harder in the winter.”
“Yep.”
“So you haven’t been able to get those emotions out.”
“Not really. Normally it’s not an issue, but recently . . .” I stop and inhale.
“I understand. Well, the first thing is not really a fix, but maybe you should consider joining a gym.” He laughs.
“Good idea.” I chuckle back.
“Second thing that will help is talking about it.”
“Okay.”
“Going to the support groups will help, and coming here. And if you think Lynn is supportive . . .” He lifts an eyebrow and waits for me to respond.
“Yes, one hundred percent.”
“Okay, good. Now, the next thing to do is learn techniques that you can use in place of running, since you obviously can’t run all the time.”
“No, I guess you’re right. That would be a smart idea.” I sit back in my chair again. I imagine I should get comfortable for this.
“Okay, let’s start simple. Relaxation tools. I think this could be very helpful for you. Not only will you be able to take this coping mechanism anywhere, but it’s a relatively easy method.” I raise my eyebrow at him in question.
