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FIFTEEN
OCTAVIA
Iused to wonder what it was like—experiencing the bond that you can only share with your biological parents. I remember spending countless hours—days even—watching happy families run around outside together and filling the bright yellow jungle gym across the street from one of my several foster homes with high pitched, heart-tugging laughter. I don't remember which house it was, I lost track somewhere around my tenth placement, but I've never been able to forget the vibrant shade of yellow paint that coated that damn playground.
Every kid licking a perfectly swirled ice cream cone while being pushed on that rickety old swing set brought forward a storm of agony that made me wish I could turn it off. I wanted every tormenting, heart-breaking emotion to disappear. I wanted to feel numb, to be nothing more than an empty shell. I wanted anything, anyone, to stop the pain. But nothing came. Nobody came.
I sat in my makeshift bedroom and stared longingly out the window—day after day—night after night. I relished in my loneliness while pleading that by some wicked chance, my mother would realize I was more important than the feeling of getting high, and my father would suddenly wish that he had stayed to take care of me, knowing that my mother couldn't. But that day never came. Not until today.
Over time, my sadness started to morph into anger. And that anger started to fuel me. I lost myself in the worst way possible. My wish to feel numb became nothing more than my greatest mistake. I wanted to feel something again—anything but the rage sizzling in my veins.
When Mrs. Taylor, my social worker, told me about Lily and Derek, I burst out laughing for the first time in months. I remember telling her not to get her hopes up. That I was going to be eighteen in a couple of years, and then I would be able to take care of myself. But I had started to trust her, against my better judgment at the time, so I agreed to meet them. Thank God I did.
They are the closest thing to biological parents—a real family—that I could have asked for. The minute I walked through the front doors of their large home, I was met with the faint scent of flowers and whatever Lily was baking in her chef's kitchen. Two smells that I had never been accustomed to. The same two smells that still waft through that house.
Their son, Ben took the older brother responsibilities in huge strides—welcoming me as his little sister the second that we met. He protected me from everyone and everything until he went off to university, a year before I did.
Lily and Derek like to keep the subject of my biological parents safely tucked away. They know it's still a challenging topic for me. That is why I was completely blindsided when my mom called me this evening. She called to tell me that Rebecca—my biological mother—showed up at their house last night.
The first thing I felt was anger. White blistering hot rage. Who did Rebecca think she was? Why show up now?
Then, the heart-wrenching sadness that I had managed to push down and hide for the past four years clawed its way back up to the surface, bringing back every cold, depressing memory and feeling that I worked so hard to lock away. All of the therapy sessions, the anger-fueled fights, and regretful mornings, all for nothing.
I don't know what compelled me to call Oakley. I could have called Morgan. She would have forgotten about whatever she was doing with Matthew the minute I asked. But I think I just wanted to hear his voice. He has a calming effect about him. I've seemingly become far too addicted to it.
Although I did not expect him to come home for me, that took me by surprise, and I'm still not sure if I cried solely because my deadbeat mother was demanding and forcing her way back into my life—or if it was because of his overwhelmingly sweet gesture.
Guilt washed over me as soon as he hung up the phone. I had, shamefully, been avoiding Oakley for the past few days. Truth be told, he scares the shit out of me. Not in the real sense of the term, but in a way that feels even more dangerous.
The feelings he sparked from inside the dark hollows of my heart were meant to stay hidden, especially after what happened with David last year. Unfortunately for me, though, Oakley seemed to weasel his way in too fast for me to stop him.
To add to my dismay, Adam showed up about twenty minutes after Oakley and I got off the phone. I didn't need a babysitter. Although, I would be lying if I said it didn't warm my heart to think Oakley called in reinforcements to check on me. And I mean, at least Adam had the right idea when he came strolling into my apartment with a bag full of all my favourite snacks.
"You better be ready to spill to your best friend what's going on, sweet-cheeks!" he exclaims as he flops down on the couch beside me. He sets a steaming popcorn bowl down on the coffee table in front of us and stares at me expectantly.
"Nah, I'm good. But thanks for the popcorn," I say and grab the bowl. Adam huffs and pulls my legs towards him, resting them on his and sits on the far end of the couch. I can tell by the hunch of his shoulders that he's worried.
"I don't want to talk about it right now, Adam. Can we please pretend that you just came over to watch movies?" I plead.
He clenches his jaw. The gentle expression on his face is replaced by one of contempt. He seems annoyed—angry even.
The next words come out in a sneer, "Why do I, your best friend, not get to know, but you so easily spew it all out to Oakley? Some guy you hardly know? You should have called me in the first place. You know I would drop whatever I was doing and come here."
His words hurt, and I don't hesitate to flinch away from him, narrowing my eyes. "What is up with you lately? Since when do you talk to me like this?"
I lift my legs off his lap and pull my knees up to my chest.
Guilt flashes in his brown eyes. He shrugs his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up. "Let's forget it, okay? Pick a damn movie."
"No, Adam. I'm not going to just leave it," I scoff. "Drop the act and tell me what's up."
He remains silent, staring at the potted cactus in the corner of the room as if it's about to grow legs and start walking towards us.
With a sigh, I scoot closer to him and slowly lay my head on his shoulder. "Is it your parents?"
His shoulders tense as he sighs, "I'll tell you if you tell me."
"My birth mom is back," I murmur, not making eye contact with him.
