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The day we opened our college acceptance letters together.
All of those memories and more happened right here in this old, abandoned barn.
“The opportunity for a job at The Museum of Modern Art came up. One of my professors put in a good word for me.”
That doesn’t surprise me. As an art history major, who always performed at the top of her class, what professor wouldn’t want to vouch for her?
“This is my chance to not only work amongst some of the best curators in the country but to build the connections I need to open my art gallery one day.”
Dual emotions war inside of me. I hate and love the excitement in her voice. I want nothing more than her happiness. But why does it have to be so far away?
“Because I can’t stay here.”
I blink in surprise, not realizing I asked that question out loud.
“Why not?”
“I can’t move back home,” she says, almost above a whisper. She shakes her head. “I won’t become a burden to anyone any longer.”
“Don’t say that.”
Ever since she discovered the ugly truth about how she was conceived, she says shit like this.
“You’re not a burden—”
“Aren’t I, though? My entire life started with one horrible night for my mom. Then she got kicked out of her house. I got sick, and she had to abandon her dream of attending college because she needed to pay so much to take care of me.”
She gestures to her arm, showing the glucose monitor. She’s lived with type one diabetes since the age of five. Though she’s learned to manage it well over the years, it’s obviously still a big part of her life.
“None of what happened to your mother is your fault,” I say sternly. “She’s doing well now. Both of our moms are.”
“Thanks to my dad’s help,” she mumbles, avoiding eye contact with me. “If he hadn’t come along, she’d still be working a job she hated.”
We won the lottery when our mothers, who were single parents, met and married our fathers.
My birth father is a piece of shit who manipulated my mother into a lie of a relationship.
Carter Townsend isn’t my stepfather. He’s my dad. The only man who’s loved me wholly from day one.
Damon Richmond is the same for Monique.
“It’s been seven years. You should talk to your mom about this—”
The shaking of her head stops the rest of my sentence. “She can’t know. It would only hurt her more.
“Besides, it’s fine. I’ve just graduated from college. This is what I’m supposed to do. Go off and flee the nest.”
She starts to pace.
The walls close in on me.
“They got me through college. I won’t be a burden to them anymore.”
“You’re not a fucking burden to anyone,” I say louder than intended.
Doesn’t she know how much she means to everyone who loves her? To me?
“Yeah, and what about you?” she asks suddenly.
