Charity. He gave all of the money away to charity. The thought is sour in my head. I could have used that money right fucking now, but he just gave it all away to strangers. Not to the person he helped create. I didn't even measure up to them in his eyes. He gave it away to Claire, to the woman he actually loved.
My father's dead.
"Is there... is—will there be—a... funeral or—" I stumble over my words, my throat going more and more dry.
She huffs a bitter laugh, "They already cremated him. Dumped his ashes in the ocean.Sweet, isn't it?"
I reach up and rub my chest, an ache starting there. My father is dead, his body is gone. He's gone.
For good.
"Listen, Elise... you can come home... s-sweetheart," the last word is practically choked out of her. She's never referred to me by any name like that. The closest I ever got wasgrand prize.My hackles rise as she continues on, her voice uncharacteristically small. "Do you... do you have any money?"
"What?"
"Do you have anything left? I know your father gave you some when you left."
"When I was cut out, you mean?" I ask bitterly and hear hergulp once more. I can picture her slamming her drink back.
"Elise, sweetheart, I need... I need some money. I'm broke right now—"
"What the hell happened to the money you received from the divorce?"
"Your father's lawyer is what happened!" She explodes, and I hear the sound of glass breaking. Her voice is angrier than I've ever heard when she continues, "That piece of shit found some goddamn infidelity loophole in the post-nup," she hisses, voice dropping low. "Motherfucking Andrew Abbot..."
My lungs seize, my brain booting back up and going into overdrive. "You... and Andrew?"
"Oh, come on, Elise." She scoffs, the sound brittle. "Don't be so damn naive. You think your father and I slept in separate bedrooms for years because we were happy? You think I went that long without a man? Please. How do you think you got that job, sweetheart? It wasn't your father's doing—it was mine.Everything you are is because of me."
Everything you are is because of me.
That might be the most truthful statement my mother has ever told me, and it rocks me like a punch to the gut.
Everything I am is because of her.
All of this is because of her.
"Yeah," I choke out, my voice hollow. "I know."
I hang up on her and then block the number. I know she'll probably track me down one day, before she vanishes off this earth. I clutch my stomach as it swirls around violently. Losing the battle, I bend over to the side and vomit, emptying the contents of my stomach.
It's not much. I haven't had the funds nor the desire to eat over the last couple of days. Which is how I got so drunk soeasily. It's all bile that comes out, and once I'm done painfully retching, I cover it up with sand.
Then I sit and stare at the water for a long time.
The tide gets closer and closer to my bare feet, and I think about the two people who created me. The people who shaped me to end up here, in this moment.
My father is dead.
My mother is wasting away.
I am broke.
I have no job.
I have no friends.
I am humiliated.
