“Are you okay?” He places a gentle hand on my arm. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d love to know more about your dad if you’re comfortable talking about it.”
That one simple statement made me feel a lifetime closer to him. Sometimes, Declan simply being who he was felt like a character attack on everyone else. He just existed and in comparison, everyone paled. People were an average amount of friendly or thoughtful, and then Declan came around and convicted them all of mediocrity by being the type of friend he was to me.
Everyone in Seabrook knew I lived with my mom and great-aunt, but no one ever asked where my dad was. I came to the conclusion that they didn’t care to find out. Or that if they did ask where my father was, the explanation would reveal some character flaw I had no control over. I felt I owed Declan the truth simply for being the first person to ask for it.
“Yeah, uh. I’m comfortable talking about it. I mean, I think it’s about time you finally knew the full story.” My heart leaps to my throat.
Declan’s eyebrows soften with tentative hope, and the look is so sweet that it feels possible to go on. We wordlessly agree to start walking again. I let my thoughts race back to the night that changed everything for my mom and me.
“Keep in mind, I was probably four and a half years old. So, everything is pretty fuzzy,” I start, too nervous to glance over at him. I see him nod in my peripheral vision. “It was nighttime, and I remember hiding under my covers because I heard screaming in the kitchen. Or, I think it was my dad screaming at my mom, mostly. That went on for a while. And then the front door slammed, and it was silent.”
Declan doesn’t speak but I can feel his gaze on me. I keep mine pinned to the exact point where the ocean meets the sky, not really seeing as I continue.
“Sometime later my mom crept into my bedroom and made me pack some things in my tiny, pink, sparkly suitcase. And then we were on the highway in the middle of the night.”
I rush through certain parts of the story. The insignificant things are the most vivid in my memory. Like telling my mom I was scared of the dark from the back seat, so she offered her hand for me to squeeze while she drove. I could still remember the way her eyes flickered to me through the rearview mirror every few seconds. “Do you remember your great-aunt Lottie’s beach house?” she asked. “We’re going on a little vacation there for a little bit, okay?”
“We drove over to Seabrook and here we are. Just me, my mom, and Lottie, as you know,” I finish quickly, trying to sound upbeat.
I leave out the subsequent events. The ones that really made an impact. Like when two months in I started to realize it wasn’t just a spontaneous trip to Lottie’s beach house. Or the conversations I overheard from upstairs when my mom wouldrant to Lottie about how my father promised she’d never have to work a day in her life, and yet, here she was, living off the kindness of her aunt and taking care of me alone.
How I’d ask my mom if my dad wished me a happy birthday or wanted to see me, and she would roll her bottom lip into her mouth to nervously bite while she figured out how to let me down gently.
Or when I was six and my mom was trying to juggle working at the convenience store. She couldn’t afford summer childcare, so I’d sit in the back room of the store on an upside-down crate and watch her work all day. She tried to hide it, but she had this nervous, always-about-to-burst energy about her.
“Do you remember all those summers that I hung out at your house in elementary school?” I tack on, the warm memory alleviating the knot forming in my throat.
“Of course I do. Those were the best summers,” he says, voice low and smooth like a gentle caress on the back of my neck.
“That was such a huge help to my mom.” I nod, head bouncing with too much force. “I don’t know if you ever knew that, but you and your family played such a big role in us being able to stay here.”
The goal is to distract myself from getting emotional about my father leaving, but the memory of Declan’s mom making us warm chocolate chip cookies while we sat on their huge living room couch and watched TV shows is more threatening. I don’t even remember talking to him that much. We’d just sit side by side in silence while we devoured the entire plate of cookies, and at some point, my mom would pick me up after work.
“Gosh, that’s horrible,” he says while shaking his head.
It was Declan’s first time hearing the events that led up to me sitting on his couch those first summers. I could see theinformation unspooling in his mind. And for some inexplicable reason, I feel shame creep in. It was my first time having to say the words out loud to someone else. Words explaining how easy it was for my dad to never see me again. Technically, it was my mom who left him. But he stayed gone every year after, which felt like a leaving in itself. Showing Declan I was unwanted by my own father felt like a risk—what if it made him start looking for reasons not to want me too?
He stops walking and puts a hand on my shoulder, spinning me toward him. “Thank you for telling me that, Blair. And I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I think your dad is a certified idiot.”
I cough a surprised laugh, the tension exiting my body with it.
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that. But—” He looks away, lips pressing together. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And now you’re turning into this amazing person, and he doesn’t get to witness it. I mean, how much dumber could you get?”
My eyes have tears forming, and yet I huff another shaky laugh.
“Oh, wait,” he says. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to call him stupid again. My bad. But you know what I mean.” This is the most high-school-boy response of all time, and yet it’s really working for me. He goes on, almost like he’s talking to himself as the story sinks in. “He doesn’t know how much you like dystopian books. And writing your own stories when you should be paying attention in class. And that you’re really, really bad at math. But I do. So, he’s the unlucky one in this situation. Not me. And not you.”
He emphasizes the last two words with an urgency I’ve never heard in his voice. I can’t form words. Can hardly forcemy eyes to meet his. But when I finally do, we both just stare at each other, like we’re both suspended in this moment, neither of us wanting to burst the rare bubble we’ve entered.
He throws his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. With my head squished up against the warmth of him, I hear the faint thump of his heart beating. Or maybe it’s my own. The hush of the ocean persists in the background, harmonizing with the subtle rise and fall of our heavy breaths.
He pulls back sooner than I’d like and we keep walking. I wait for the shame of opening up to creep in, but to my surprise, it doesn’t.
“By the way, I’m still sorry for how your dad treats you,” I say abruptly.
Declan tilts his head at me with a slight smile. “Thanks, Blair. That’s nice of you.”
I nod at him. “I still find myself wishing I had a dad who pestered me with his expectations sometimes.” I chuckle to distill the potency of that confession. “But I see how hard he is on you and that sucks.”
