“You have no good reason for keeping this from me. Now I just need to figure out if I can forgive you for it.” I hang up. I can’t hear their pain anymore. Their pain is not my problem. Their pain is not on me, it’s on them. They did this. They kept secrets.
As the call clears from my phone’s screen, a message from Justin appears, telling me that he can’t come over tonight and asking if I’ve had a chance to read his manuscript yet. His text fans the flames of ire in my stomach.
He kept secrets just like they did. And if I hadn’t burst in on him writing his damn book, how long would it have taken for him to come clean and tell me the truth? Would he have let me believe he cheated on Molly forever, too?
I wasn’t really mad in the moment when I found out. I had other things to keep me occupied, like wounds in my belly and a devastating pain in my collar bone. Plus, I was pretty high. But the longer it’s stewed inside me, the more pissed off I seem to be getting. What other secrets is he keeping from me?
Secrets are fucking exhausting.
I know Hen keeps secrets, but I also know no matter how much I ask, she just won’t talk to me. She says they aren’t secrets about me. Something happened to her while I’ve been staying with her that’s made her light dim just a little, and I don’t know what it is.
I thought I was seeing things at first, that the meds had made me loopy. But it’s there in the tightness of her jaw, the sadness in her eyes. When she’s ready to tell me, she’ll tell me. I hope.
What is it about me that means people can't tell me things? Do I come across as untrustworthy? Or loose lipped? Try as I might, I can’t find understanding, and the more it all whirrs around in my head the angrier and betrayed I feel.
Athena’s just staring at me, eyes narrow, face impassive. I know my emotions freak her out sometimes but she always lets me feel them freely.
She walks right up to me and grabs me by the shoulders. “Don’t feel guilty about this, Vannah. You have every right to feel these feelings, even if it has been months, even if your folks don’t like it. It was their action that caused this reaction. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
I’m not sure I believe her, because it kind of feels like I have. I feel dirty, and the tiny voice that’s been whispering in my head that I was given up for adoption because I’m unlovable is getting louder and louder with each breath I take.
Am I unlovable?
If my birth parents loved me, they’d have kept me, right? And if my adoptive parents loved me they’d have told me this huge freakin’ thing about myself, right?
Logic and irrationality swirl around in my head, clashing every few seconds. I’m exhausted, starving, and probably dehydrated from all the crying.
Athena just watches me quietly. She’s stoic and strong, and some days I wish I could manage my feelings the way she seems to. But I’m so fucking glad she’s here right now.
She cants her head. “Tacos?”
My stomach grumbles.
“I just so happen to have a line on the best tacos in the state.”
She’s not wrong. And Abuelita de la Peña will know what to say to make me feel better about everything.
It takes us less than thirty minutes to get out of our pjs, dressed, and over toGuac n’ Roll. Since it’s not a game night, there’s little risk of the team landing post-game for a feed. There are three girls I recognize from UCR sitting in the center of the restaurant sipping on ’ritas and nibbling on chips and dips. A group of guys are close but not too close, and a pink haired girl with her back to us is sitting at the bar next to what looks like Athena’s youngest brother, Ares.
In the next room there’s a large party of middle aged women, each person has a gift in front of them and there are more fishbowl margaritas on the tables in front of them than there are women to drink them. I’m kinda jelly.
One thing’s for sure, this place is never empty.
My favorite server, Claudia, is working. I love being in her space—she radiates joy, and she’s so down to earth that being here always feels like coming home. She always remembers my order, too.
Drowning out the background noise of my life with tequila isn’t usually how I handle my problems. And considering I don’t know if I come from a long line of alcoholics or not, it’s probably not my smartest move either.
But I’m not taking meds anymore, I’m well along the road to recovery, and the warm and comforting burn of the tequila as it slips down my throat makes me feel better. Before our food is even placed on the table, we’re onto our second margarita.
Over tacos and margs I tell Athena everything about Justin. She doesn’t seem in a chatty mood, but she’s always been a great listener. She already knows all about my parents, and that’s not a conversation I want to have—again—right now. So instead I talk about Molly, about the test paper, about Justin’s dad not believing him, and about the fact that Justin not only writes dirty books, but he writes my favorite dirty books.
I’ve only had a few margaritas but I’m feeling them, and Abuelita sent us home with an entire tres leches cake that is probably not going to last the night.
I know I’m supposed to be on a low-fat diet post-op, but I think my body will understand. You can’tnothave the famous tres leches cake fromGuac n’ Roll, especially when you’re gifted an entire sheet cake.
I’m sure it’ll all be fine. And if it’s not, I’ll just eat more cake until it is. I’m convinced it has healing powers baked into its deliciousness.
When I finally hit my pillow I’m drunk, so full I feel kinda queasy, and still pissed as hell at almost all of the people I love the most.
