The Blessing

by Elizabeth Price

  “We’ll have a party or something when we get our new place. It’s such a big step… I still can’t believe it,” I muse.

  “So, you’ll get the house before you two get married?” Dad questions, his tone free of judgment.

  “Well, her lease is up in a little over a month. I know we won’t be able to put together a wedding before then,” I reply with a laugh because I’m sure Ronnie wants a big wedding. At least, that’s what I think every chick wants. Isn’t it?

  “The wedding will happen when it happens, and I’m sure it’ll be perfect when it does, but all I need is you, Trev. I don’t care about having a big wedding, or anything like that.”

  My chest tightens at her words and I reach out to take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips to kiss the back of it. Man, do I love this girl. I would marry her tomorrow if I could. Just imagining her all dressed in white, walking down the aisle to me to become mine forever… Fuck, just thinking about it is making me feel like a giggly, teenage girl or some shit like that. However, I can’t help it, Ronnie stirs these butterfly-like feelings inside of me. I guess I’ll just have to learn how to deal.

  “Well, I want our wedding to be absolutely perfect,” I tell her while I give her hand a little squeeze.

  “Well, Ronnie if you need any help with the planning, just let me know. I’d love to be a part of my son’s big day,” my mom says, giving me a warm smile that makes me feel like little kid.

  As soon as my mom’s words sink in, my heart sinks, as well. Planning a wedding is going to be fucking hard for Ronnie because I’m sure she wishes her mom was here to be a part of it, too. I know her mom died when she was twelve, but sometimes a major life event like this opens up the old wounds. Thank fuck, my mom will be able to be there for her. Not that she couldn’t do it on her own—hell, she can manage just about anything on her own—but it’s nice to have some help when planning something so major. Especially help from someone who isn’t going to go fucking crazy at the sight of a fucking mall like her sister, Eden, most definitely will.

  “I’d really appreciate that, Felicity. God knows how lost I’ll be when it comes to planning something like this. Luckily, we have plenty of time to think about it. I’m sure Trev doesn’t want to get married tomorrow.”

  “I’d marry you in a heartbeat, baby.”

  She blushes and looks down at her tea, which only makes me smile harder. I love it when my girl gets all shy like this. Lunch flies by as I bring my parents up-to-date on everything that’s going on in my life, as well as the lives of my new family. I’ve never been much of a talker—especially in situations like these considering growing up, Dean did all of the talking for me—but I find that I like sharing with them. It makes me feel like we’re really a family. For once, I don’t feel like a complete outsider. This is the life I never knew I wanted, but now that I’m experiencing it, I realize I’ve never really felt true happiness before.

  We leave with the promise of getting together again soon. Before we make it to my truck, my dad jogs out with a folder filled with—what appears to be—stacks of papers and old envelopes. I give him a confused look, silently inquiring after what he’s handing me, as I pass Grey off to Ronnie. But I can tell that he doesn’t want to go into too much detail here.

  He hands me the folder and says, “Felicity and I kept some things for you over the years, we thought it might help—help put together some of the missing pieces. Read them when you get home. I’m sure they’ll explain a lot.”

  “Sure thing,” I agree as I take a quick peek at the thick stack of papers inside the folder. I’m curious as to what he’s so urgent for me to read. Now, I can’t get home fast enough.

  As intrigued as I was to view the papers my dad gave me, now that I’m home I can’t bring myself to do it. I have the folder and its contents laying on my lap, waiting for me to open. I’ve stared at the fucking thing for what feels like hours. I can’t understand why I feel such trepidation every time I’m faced with something new like this. Could this be another puzzle piece of your fucked-up past, Trev? Buckle up. A sardonic smile tugs at my lips at the thought. I suppose I’m just worried because every time I get new information, I know I won’t be able to go back to a time where I was blissfully unaware.

  My eyes remain focused on the folder as I slowly lean forward to open it. I take one final, deep breath before I decide it’s finally time to open the damn thing. Letting go of the blissful ignorance that I hang onto like a fucking life preserver.

  “Fuck it,” I murmur. Famous last words, right?

  I dump the contents of the folder onto the coffee table in front of me, only to find what appears to be crumpled up letters. They date back to the late eighties. There are some cards mixed in, as well. Some of the letters look like they’re creased and worn down by time. As I glance through them, I wonder if the writing will still be legible. I rummage through the envelopes, trying to decipher the dates on each. I find one postmarked July 1991. The ink is smudged a bit and the envelope looks as though it’s been opened and closed countless times. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I pull the contents out to look it over.

  The letter is so fucking wrinkled I take a moment to smooth it out to the best of my ability before I read it. The ink is smudged beyond belief but, nonetheless, I bring the letter close to my face to try to decipher what it says. Christ, how many times had my dad read this letter?

  July 7, 1991

  Arthur,

  I can’t believe we’re having a son. I can’t stop looking at his ultrasound picture! He’s so beautiful and I love him so much already. If only you were here to see everything. My home has transformed into one filled with baby books, toys, and every baby movie I could find. I just want my pregnancy to be perfect. I want everything to be ready for him when he arrives.

  After my miscarriage, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to get pregnant again. So, this little boy is my miracle baby. I still feel paranoid at times, and at night I wish you could be here to comfort me. Vince will be out of the country for the rest of the year and I’m really happy he’s gone. Not only for the sake of our baby, but for my own sake, as well. I think my miscarriage broke something in him. His attitude confuses me, Art. Maybe I just don’t understand the way my husband’s mind works. Sorry, I’m rambling. It’s just that you’re the only person I feel that I can open up to.

  You have already done so much more for me than my husband has ever done. You haven’t missed a doctor’s appointment. You listen to me every time I have a concern. You just seem to know when I need your support and give it willingly. You’ve even helped me prepare for our son—even though he’s not coming for another seven months. Your eagerness has always made me laugh. I’m happy to see that you love him just as much as I do.

  I’m still pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. In six short months, we’ll have our little boy. I’ll be dreaming of him until the day he comes.

  Forever yours,

  Felicity

  I stare at her words in shock. I didn’t know she’d had a miscarriage. I didn’t know I was her “miracle baby.” A humorless chuckle escapes my lips as I run a shaky hand through my hair. I don’t know much about my mom in general. Who the fuck am I really kidding? I read over the letter again. My heart swells as I realize that—although, I was an obvious accident—both my parents truly did want me. They really loved me—even before I was born. That knowledge means the fucking world to me. Being a bastard child, as well as the product of an affair, I’m so lucky my dad didn’t choose the easy way out by brushing my existence under the rug like so many other men do with their dirty laundry.

  I set the letter down and pick up the small ultrasound picture that was enclosed with it. It’s dark and fucking blurry as hell—but I can make out the blob looking shape that must be me. I look like a fucking alien! The image is well worn, especially around the corners where it looks to have been held many times. I wonder if my mom would hold and stare at this picture when I wa
s no longer with her. The thought of her doing so breaks my fucking heart. My mom and dad were both adults—so they understood what they were getting into—nonetheless, that doesn’t mean their situation wasn’t a long and fucking painful road.

  Placing the ultrasound picture back on the coffee table in front of me, I dig through the pile for another letter. I come across a fat envelope that captures my attention. It doesn’t have any markings on it besides the date: January 21, 1992. Opening it up I find a large stack of pictures. The first few are of my mom, lying on a hospital bed looking worn out, but still lovely as ever. There’s something in her eyes, a sadness perhaps, or a feeling I just can’t describe. I trace her face with my finger, before moving onto the next picture. My breath catches in my throat and my hand can barely keep steady as I bring the picture closer to my face for a better look. It’s a photo of us. I’m so fucking little and I’m crying, curled up against my mom’s chest. She’s absolutely glowing. She has her cheek pressed against my bald, little head. My body feels heavy all of a sudden, and my eyes burn with tears as I move to the next picture. This time, I’m dressed in a blue onesie with a matching beanie on my head. I can’t help but lightly laugh at how ridiculous I look. And mom is holding me, smiling proudly for the camera. Seeing these pictures is a complete shock to my senses. I’m getting a glimpse of my life with a mom that I hadn’t known about until recently. It’s not like I would’ve remembered this shit anyway. However, it’s still nice to finally see some moments I shared with her.

  The next picture shocks the fuck out of me. It’s my dad holding me in the hospital. I had no idea he came to see me when I was born. I wonder how he managed to swing that! He looks as if he’s just gotten off from work. He’s still dressed in his suit with his tie loosened around his neck. He’s holding me close to his chest and all of his attention is on me. He looks so fucking happy. He must’ve really loved me—despite the shitty fucking circumstances. There are a few more pictures of him holding me and they tug on my heart in a way I don’t really want to admit. It’s just so incredibly touching. I wish I had a photo of me with Grey when he was born. I could’ve had one if I had my act together back then. I’d been too strung out and broke to come see him and I fucking regret it every second. Self-medicating had caused me to miss out on so much.

  Pushing those unpleasant thoughts aside, I slide the photos back into the envelope and move onto another. I select one from February 1992 and open it. There’s another picture in this one. This time, it’s Mom and me at her home. I wonder who took it. She’s wearing a dress and holding me in her arms. We’re sitting in a rocking chair by a window. I’m still super little, and my face is half hidden because I’m nestled against her chest—but I can still see that my eyes are closed and I’m smiling. I grin as I set the photo carefully on the table and pull out the letter that accompanied it.

  Arthur,

  He’s getting so big already! My perfect little boy. He rarely cries, and he smiles all of the time. I don’t know what I did to deserve a baby like him. He’s such an easy-going little guy, with such a good nature about him. I just want to spend every single second with him. He’s perfect. I’m afraid that if I close my eyes for a nanosecond I’ll miss something really important. Like a new smile, a new expression, or a new movement of his little body. I want to be there to witness everything.

  Thank you for dropping by when you can. Trevor loves it when you’re here, but I understand you can’t be here all of the time. This is the last thing I wanted for us. I hate the thought of living a double life, but here we are. I regret so much, Art. I regret moving on because I was insecure and easily persuaded. I regret not divorcing my husband as soon as you returned the very first time. I regret breaking your heart, which you had given to me so completely. I know I should regret our affair, but I don’t. Not one second of it. I will cherish the short time we had together for the rest of my life. We have our son because of it. Trevor means the absolute world to me and I love him more than words could ever describe. Thank you for being his father.

  I hope to see you soon.

  Forever yours,

  Felicity

  I must’ve been quite the fucking burden for my dad—despite how much he loved me. He had a family with someone else, and I was just his bastard son. I can’t imagine the fucking mess I caused. I can tell they don’t regret their affair or the consequences they had to face because of it, but there must’ve been some guilt there. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to play house with one family before going home to another. It’s so disingenuous. They must’ve known their charade would come crashing down eventually.

  I move onto the next letter. It’s dated October 1992, and it’s worn down to the point where the writing is barely legible. It doesn’t help that the handwriting looks frantic, as if the words had been practically scribbled quickly across the page. It’s my mom’s handwriting, I can recognize that much. I can only make out a few sentences; I can’t decipher the letter as a whole.

  He’s coming home soon. What should I do? I can’t keep this secret for much longer.

  While I can’t make out the specifics, I know she must be talking about Vince returning home. Based off her handwriting, her husband must’ve frightened her more than I imagined. That fucker! I’d kill him with my bare hands if I had the chance. The way he died was gruesome, but not fitting for the crimes he committed against her. As soon as my angry haze fades away, I continue with my attempt at reading her words.

  He’ll know I’m lying… can’t afford to go… maybe he’s changed... need to protect my baby…

  The ink is so smudged and the paper is so worn down due to water damage and exposure, I can’t make out much more. I frown at the paper before giving it another shot. The only other sentence I manage to make out is the last one. As soon as I read it, a chill runs down my spine.

  Promise me, Arthur. Promise!

  There’s a heaviness in her words and the distress is clear by her handwriting. Her handwriting in her other letters had been so elegant and precise—even when she was rambling. This letter, however, is a different matter entirely. I can practically feel the horror she’s feeling jumping off this flimsy piece of paper as I look at it. This letter is so incredibly haunting. Unable to stomach it for a moment longer—I move onto the next one.

  When I sift through the stack to find which letter came next, I come up fucking short. That frantic letter was the last one she sent while I was still with her. That must’ve been written right before her husband came back from overseas. She had ten happy months with me before her life upended. She must’ve begged my dad to take me—or so the letter would suggest. I wonder if she knew something problematic was going to happen. Although, if she had such a bad feeling about it, why didn’t she just run away with me?

  I can probably surmise an answer to my own fucking question. Fuck, when I lived in Cali for a while I stayed with my fair share of random fucking strangers. Not all of them were decent human beings, let's just put it that way. One night in particular, I stayed over at a friend of a friend's house. I crashed on his couch because I had been too fucking drunk to drive my sorry ass home. Wherever “home” was at the time. He and his girlfriend—who’s at least a foot shorter than he is—got into a huge argument in the kitchen. I was way too fucking drunk to recall what they were fighting about, but I'm sure it was just some petty shit. That's all it takes with guys like that, one insignificant little slip up, and they're fucking wailing on you. He ended up beating his girl pretty badly. I tried to call the police, but he immediately stopped me. With drugs all over the house, we weren't in the position to be inviting cops over—although, in hindsight, I should’ve fucking called anyway. The biggest shock to me was the fact that his girl didn't want to press charges. She was so certain he would “get better” and she would make every excuse for him in the fucking book.

  I don’t want to think of that behavior as being weak because it’s like their abusers’ brainwash them or some shit like that. T
hey start off sweet, giving their girl everything she could ever want; then, once they get comfortable in the relationship, the abuse begins. They cut the person off from their friends and family; the piece of shit will monitor what the “loved one” does twenty-four-fucking-seven, and ultimately convince them that it’s all for her own good. They’ll claim they love them so much and the fear of losing them is why they acts so insane. I’m sure this Vince guy was a shithead, too. And I’m sure he did that shit to my mother. Just like that guy I vaguely knew in Cali did to his girl. They get their claws in you, and by the time you want to leave… it’s too late. I wonder if my mom ever saw leaving him as an option. I don’t know if she was too brainwashed to leave, too scared, or what the deal was. All I know is, I can’t judge her decisions too harshly since I don’t fully know what the situation was. Besides, I constantly forgave Evelyn for her fucking terrorizing ways because I’d always hoped that she’d change. However, it seems people like that never do.

  Moving on, I pick up a new envelope that’s addressed to, whom I assume are, my mom’s parents. My grandparents… how fucking weird is that? As I open the letter, a few wallet-sized photos come tumbling out. They’re baby pictures of me. I look so small in the photos, but I have a huge smile on my face. I look like one of those babies you would see on the cans of baby food. I can hardly fucking recognize myself at all. I’m definitely not cute like that anymore. The photo is dated August 1993, so that means I had been in my dad’s care for a while. I remember Evelyn telling me he took time off work to care for me. I wonder what I looked like when he first took me in.

  Felicity,

  These pictures are the best I can do. Trevor is thriving here. He’s happy being around Dean. They’ve become practically inseparable since he’s arrived. Dean had been wishing for a brother, so he just believes his wish was finally granted and Trevor came just for him. They love each other so much already.