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“Experts say our brains aren’t fully developed until we’re 25. So…in a few months, you’ll have no more excuses.”
“No more excuses,” I whimpered, no longer fighting back the tears.
“You ready?” Jonathan asked with his hand on the doorknob.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, voice cracking like static from an old TV. The door flew open before I could second-guess myself and my parents had me wrapped in their arms before I could take my next breath. I cried, more like wailed as we sank slowly to the floor. I had to wonder who was competing for the recognition of who could be loudest—me or my mother. “I’m…so…sorry,” I managed to strangle out between sobs, snot, and ragged breaths. “I’m so sorry,” I repeatedly apologized until my mother spoke.
“It’s okay, baby. We’re sorry, too. We did everything we could to keep you from Rory, and maybe if we were a little more accepting—”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I interrupted, finally pulling away to get a good look at them. They were exactly how I remembered them, with a dash of gray streaking their hair. My mother, who I took after, wore her hair in her signature low bun with tendrils near her ears, adorned with her favorite pair of earrings—pearls that my father managed to snag at an estate sale for her birthday one year. I remembered how her mouth parted in awe when she unwrapped her gift. My father shoved his hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t look at her directly as he mumbled that they were secondhand but good quality and that he could get her something else if she didn’t like it. She fastened the earrings in her ear quicker than lightning and wouldn’t stoplooking at her jeweled ears in the hallway mirror. The way she went on about the earrings, you would’ve thought my father trekked a beach for miles, searching for the perfect mollusk, and made the earrings himself. That moment was when I knew I wanted a love like theirs. I wanted a love where both partners put in the effort and appreciated the hell out of the little things. We didn’t have to be rich in dollars and cents, but I wanted to be rich in love.
The crow’s feet around my father’s honey-brown eyes that my mother said the girls used to go crazy for back in the day, had deepened. His eyes were striking against his deep, rich skin, and I remembered as a pre-teen being high-key jealous that his eyes weren’t passed down to me. I went through that phase where I had to learn to love myself like most people did. Shockingly, Rory confessed that my dark eyes and bright smile caught his attention the most. He said they were never-ending…a true mystery, and he could get lost in them forever.
We were still on our knees in the foyer when my father grabbed my hand. I pouted with my tears locked and loaded, ready to go when his finger caressed my engagement ring. “I hear you did good for yourself, Snow.”
Snow—his nickname for me.
“I-I did. Jonathan’s been good to me and Kiyah.”
He shook his head. “No…Rory told us.”
My head tilted in confusion. “Rory told you? When?”
My mother opened the flap of her brown leather purse and produced an envelope moments later. It was a letter from Rory with the return address as the one he’d used when he was in the oil field.
“When…can I read it?”
They nodded. I glanced up and realized that Jonathan was no longer there. I wanted him close, but I realized the privacy was more likely for my parents than me.
My vision blurred when I removed the letter and a picture of him, me, and Kiyah from the envelope. The photo was taken outside the house we rented. We were all smiles because we felt like we finally made it. We had a home with a yard for our daughter to play in, we had space to grow, the neighborhood was quiet and clean, and the dogs stayed on leashes. The house felt like a palace because we were rich in love.
My chest tightened when I noticed the letter was dated three days before Rory died.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Ford,
I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear from, and you’re probably wondering why I’m reaching out to you after all these years…well…me too. Before Kierra, the only thing I trusted was my instincts. Something has been eating me alive lately. It could be my guilt for stealing your daughter away. It could be my guilt that I’m the reason Kiyah doesn’t have grandparents in her life. Whatever the case, my instincts told me to reach out to you to make amends and to give you an update on our lives because Kierra somehow has it in her head that you two hate her. I told her that was impossible because, as a father, there’s nothing in the world Kiyah could do to make me hate her.
Kierra didn’t want to leave with me…not like that…not really. Did she want to be with me? Yes. Did she want to sneak off in the dead of night with a guy with a chip on his shoulder, a leather jacket, a motorcycle, and a meager wad of cash in his pocket without a proper goodbye? No. I pressured her to leave. I knew she wasn’t ready. I knew when I discussed the plan with her that she was filled with doubt. But I didn’t care. I was selfish, and she was what I wanted.
I told her life would be so great together even when I wasn’t 100% convinced it would. I fed her a dream, and ever since then, when she snuck out her bedroom window and looked backat the house four times before jumping on the back of my bike, I’ve tried to make the dream a reality. I married her as soon as I could and told her that come Hell or high water, we’d be forever, and I’d do whatever I had to, to take care of her.
It’s a harsh world out there, and it was a wake-up call to me that taking care of someone you love isn’t a walk in the park. And I don’t just mean financially, but physically and emotionally. I remember waking up in the middle of the night alone in bed in some ratty motel that preferred cash over credit cards and hearing Kierra cry softly from the bathroom. I was crushed because I knew our circumstances weren’t ideal, and she deserved more…so much more than I could give. I can’t count the number of times I thought about taking her back to Colorado and dropping her off on your doorstep. It would’ve been the right thing to do, but again, I was selfish because Kierra was the best part of my life—still is, Kiyah, too. But back then? If I didn’t have Kierra, then what was the fucking point of living? Excuse my language. If I didn’t have her, I’d be stuck with a POS bike that was on the fritz more than I would care for.
My world came crashing down when we found out she was pregnant. On the outside, I was cool, calm, and collected, but on the inside, I was a mess. We were already barely making it, and I had a bigger responsibility on the way. We’d have to get a car, buy baby furniture, diapers, and clothes—hell, we had to find a decent place to live. My biggest fear was that I’d be a shitty father. I was in foster care since I was five, and I couldn’t tell you what my parents looked like. What kind of father would I be?
I’m happy to report that I’m killing it in the father department. At least, I think I am. Kiyah hasn’t complained yet, so I’ll take that as a win. She’s three, so I guess she’s not that difficult to please yet. She follows me like a shadow whenI’m home, and I don’t mind. I’ll take what I can get because I know there’ll come a time when she thinks she’s too cool for her pops. She’s very smart, speaks well for her age, and always has a smile on her face. My heart fills with warmth whenever I return home from the oil field and I see her peeking through the window.
Kierra and I are solid. We have the occasional disagreement every once in a blue moon, as I assume most couples do. I reassure you our disagreements never get loud, disrespectful, or physical. She’s a fantastic wife and the perfect mother. I could spend the next ten pages of this letter telling you how lucky I am to have Kierra in my life, but I have a feeling you know.
I have a good-paying job. It’s hard, dangerous work, but good money. It’s so good that Kierra can stay home with Kiyah now. I lucked out when I landed this job. I miss my girls when I’m gone…so bad, but the money is worth it. The fridge is always full, the AC and heat never cuts out, and we have extra to do the family fun shit, too. We don’t have to sneak into movie theaters anymore, although have you seen the cost of a bucket of popcorn? It’s outrageous, and I’m tempted just on the principle alone to start sneaking in again. Popcorn should never be $12.00.
We’re trying for another kid. I kinda hope it’s a boy this time around, but I’ll take whatever I can get.
I have some leave time available on the books, and I will be packing up my family and heading to Colorado. Again, my instincts are telling me it’s time to make things right. I’m sorry—I’m so very sorry—but I want you to know I’ve never loved anything more than I love Kierra and Kiyah. They’re loved, safe, and happy.
You’ll be hearing from me soon.
Your son-in-law you hate, but I hope you can forgive,
