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Today marks thirteen years without my family. A not-so-fun anniversary burned into my brain.

How could it not be?

Every year, I am creeping closer to having lived my life without them longer than with them, and every year it does funny things to my emotions, a full-on war happening inside my chest and brain. My brain telling my heart good riddance, my heart asking my brain why I’m unlovable, a never-ending battle of logic against emotion with no winners.

This is the first year where remembering my family doesn't pierce through my heart like a spear. Still, the profound sadness weighs down on me, even more than this weighted blanket I got myself on a particularly lonely night pre-Dick last year.

If you'd asked seventeen-year-old-me where I'd be at thirty-one, I'm pretty sure my answer would've been that I'd be a teacher, or working a boring nine-to-five job.

My dad always wanted me to be something of significance. Something he could brag about so he could feel better about himself. A lawyer. Maybe a doctor. Hell, I'm pretty sure an architect or an astronaut would've done the job, too.

It's kind of ironic. I'm pretty sure life would've led me to one of those jobs had he not kicked me out.

And now I'm the guy who takes a shirt off for views.

Some days I'm tempted to reach out for the sole purpose of letting him know about it, hoping it would bring him shame. Or regret. My job would be his ultimate nightmare.

Then a tiny voice in my head scolds me for it. What am I doing, trying to cling to a family that doesn’t reciprocate and has made it more than clear they want nothing to do with me? Why should I try to elicit any kind of reaction now, years later? There won’t be closure, and I won’t change his mind. Even knowing my job won’t make him regretful, won’t make him question where he failed. At least not any more than me being into guys ever could.

Still, a petty part of me wants to rub it under his nose. Had he not been such a bigot, I could've retired him and Mom years ago. I could have sent them on the cruise around the world my mom always used to dream about. Dad could have stopped working his long hours at a job I only ever heard him complain about.

I press a kiss to Brooke's shoulder and carefully retract my limbs to climb out of bed.

I'm pretty sure she and Evan are on a mission to not leave me alone for even a second during my birthday. She stood at my door yesterday evening and announced she'd be sleeping over.

Which I won’t ever complain about, to be clear.

Then, barely five minutes later, Evan sent me a message and announced himself for breakfast. Which I also won’t ever complain about, as long as he brings bread rolls or some other delicacy from Caleb’s. Another bakery would do in a bind.

So I'll enjoy the last bit of silence I have left for the day and condense my mulling and emotional turmoil into the next hour or so.

Brooke sighs when I tuck the blanket around her tightly, scrunching her nose ever so adorably, but stays asleep. As quietly as possible, I close the door behind me and make my way down the stairs.

Dick lazily lifts his head as he hears me approach, then lowers it right back on his paws and falls asleep again.

The girls are curled up on their beds, because yes, of course I had to get them their own dog beds. If Brooke is staying here, so are they. She might be okay sharing a bed with me, but those furry cuties deserve their own. Fuck knows they’ve been through enough; they deserve the luxuries in life.

Knowing Brooke, there is no way she will ever adopt those four out. It's as obvious to me as it was to her that I would be adopting Daisy. Speaking of, I can hear the little fur ball hop closer as I’m opening the fridge, hiding a yawn behind my hand.

When she starts nibbling the hem of my jogging pants, I lean down to pick her up.

"Can't believe you escaped another one." Thank God, she’s not as much of a chaos bringer as Dick unsupervised, because so far, she has escaped every single enclosure I bought her. I should have called her Houdini instead of Demon Slayer, AKA Daisy. One time I found her in my dang kitchen cupboard – no idea how she got in there.

Whenever I have her on my arm, though, her escape-instinct seems to dissipate.

I grab a bottle of water from my fridge. My living room goes dark again as I shut the door and make my way to my couch.

"Well, at least you're keeping me on my toes," I whisper as I sink to the ground in front of it, facing the window front. I lean my back against the couch and stare at the dark silhouettes outside.

Snow is falling in thick flakes. The sky is slowly brightening, but not much light makes it through the thick grey wall of clouds.

I take a sip of water, then absentmindedly rake my fingers through Daisy's fur. She nudges her little face against the crook of my elbow, her favorite spot.

There’s nothing better than an animal deciding you’re their favorite. It does wonders for my ego. Especially today.

At least this year's birthday begins with a weight lifted off my shoulders.

Last year, the peace here felt fragile, as if it could be ripped away from me at any moment. But now, finally, my apparently not-so-secret secret is out, and everything went well.