It’s now or never. I’m tired of carrying all the hurt and all the information. I can’t be a hypocrite. As mad as I was about Mom not telling me, I need to tell him the truth.
“Liz was your daughter.”
He sits up straight, furrowing his thick salt and pepper brows. There’s no need for him to express his thoughts. I can see them as clear as water.
“When we left, um, she was pregnant. Liz was born…I don’t know how long after we left. To me, it felt like forever, but I was twelve. What do I know? All I knew was that suddenly, there was a little baby at home, and she brought more joy than we could count. Mom was never with anyone else but you, or, at least, not that I know.”
This is the first time I’ve said that out loud. And maybe I’m like her too. She said once she needed connection before she could have sex with someone. She didn’t tell me that, of course. She told her friend, and I overheard. I think I feel the same way. I’ve been with women through the years, but nothing everfelt right. Fun, sure. Good, too. But not really deep like I would expect.
I thought I was broken, but the want and desire I feel every time I’m near Natalie makes me think I’m not. Maybe I need that connection before I can let myself truly want something.
A connection I’m feeling with a woman who said more than three times yesterday wasn’t a date. I shake my head and chase the thoughts away. Right now, it’s not about that.
“Did, um, did Liz ever ask about me?”
I shrug. “A little. We had some pictures we showed her, but she knew you were dead. At least, she thought so.”
I give him time to consider the information. It’s a lot to take in. If he’s going to react like I did when he showed up and turned my life upside down, he’s going to lose his shit.
So, I watch him and wait.
Time passes, but nothing happens. He doesn’t talk or ask questions. He doesn’t scream or cry. Nothing. He stares, almost as if he was lifeless, soulless, empty.
Say something.
Anything.
Please.
Scream.
Shout.
Something.
Anything is better than this excruciating silence.
“Say something.”
He blinks, as if my voice brings him back to this moment. “I don’t really know what to say. I had another child I knew nothing about, who I can’t even attempt to get to know.”
“Because she’s gone.”
It hurts worse than I thought, something I never thought would be possible, actually, but it does. Receiving bad news is one thing, but being the bearer of it is the worst. Hurtingsomeone, not on purpose but by something you know will hurt them, will never feel right in my book. Ever.
“Can you…” He clears his throat. “Tell me about her?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Out of all things I expected him to say, this is not what I was thinking. I like talking about them, but usually with people who knew them. It’s been a while since I had to start from the beginning.
But I do.
I tell him how it was the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but also the easiest—having a newborn at home. I was in middle school and ready to be mad at the world, but Liz brought so much light into our lives. She was perfect. I tell him about her first few years and how much of a little tornado she was. Her toddler years were my favorite, because it was like having my own entertainment. When I wasn’t at school or at hockey practice, I was with her. I took care of her often so Mom could work nights. It worked for our little family.
Around three, she started coming to the rink with me, and we all took turns keeping her entertained. Coach was the best—very understanding—and every single teammate acted like mature young adults and not knucklehead teenagers when it came to her. I mean, yes, I got the occasional shitty comment about my life situation, but I never took it to heart. I always understood we all had to do our part, and Liz never bothered me.
