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A couple of years later, I had the money. Ruth chaperoned me to meet a detective, only to encounter more disappointment. With nothing to go on other than my DNA, he ended his search empty-handed after his connections in the police department told him no one matched mine in the system.
How can this man be so sure he’s my dad? And why now?
“I do know. Since I’m him,” he says in a flat tone.
I try to read into it, track his accent, anything, but nothing sticks out.
“Your mother told me about you last week. Salina West, the girl—now woman—I fucked in… Well, you don’t want to hear that.”
He’s wrong. I do want to hear it. I want to hear everything. Drink up every word about my heritage. Who my parents are. My grandparents, uncles, aunts. Even about them screwing. I’m the least bit picky at this point.
A myriad of questions floods my head all at once. They topple one on top of the other, each suffocating the one beneath it. They leave me frozen in place, my mouth slacking. My ears perk up to latch onto any details this person who calls himself my dad might volunteer.
“Let’s just say we were together. Then, one day during high school, Salina bailed.” Zeke—I still don’t call him my father—doesn’t sound resigned or sad. He simply lays out the facts to me. “In our small town in Arizona, it happens. Some people want a bigger life, ya know? They disappear.”
I do. Sort of. The reason I chose the path I took was because I wanted to provide for myself while forgetting the past. But we’re all different people, looking for fresh starts for our own motives.
My mom could’ve wanted the same for herself.
Realizing he can’t see me nod through the phone, I say, “Yes.”
“Anyway, she vanished, and I went on with my life. Got married. Had kids. Adult stuff.”
The longer the conversation goes, the more conscious I am of my state of undress as I’m talking to my could-be dad. I put the phone aside and shrug on my top, leaning over the wall and sliding to the floor so I won’t faint.
“How did you…What happened?” I massage the space between my eyebrows. “How did you find her and me?”
“Your mother showed up at the local bar two weeks ago.” I hear a car drive by in the background, followed by Zeke gulping his drink. “And the alcohol got her talking.”
I ignore his comment about their meet-up at the bar, at how it sounds like he’s mocking her. Instead, I imagine him sitting on a porch. His teenage kids are in their rooms. His wife cooking something in the oven.
Family life.
The lifeIcould’ve had.
“She said she had a baby. Mine. Twenty-six years ago. Said she kept you, dropped you off at some orphanage, and disappeared. Didn’t say where.”
The dates match. The state matches where my orphanage was.
This man is piecing the puzzle together for me, creating a picture that feels incredibly realistic.
“What about her?” Sadness taints my excitement. “How did she know who I was? Is she going to call me too?”
“I’m sorry, kid, I don’t think Sali will,” he deadpans without a hint of sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, she cared for a while. Broke into the orphanage’s offices after a month or two and saw what they named you. That’s how my detective friend found you. My successful, bright daughter.”
Good thing I’m sitting, or I would’ve collapsed to the floor. The newfound knowledge barrels down on me like a ton of bricks, blow after blow.
My mom searched for me this one time. Once. She didn’t want me, like the rest of the adoptive parents and foster ones didn’t. I always believed their passing up on me was a sign from God, leaving me there so I’d be where my parents could come for me.
But apparently, divine intervention had nothing to do with my situation.
No one had wanted me. Plain and goddamn simple.
I bite my inner cheek hard to keep a sob at bay.
“Hey, you there?” Zeke calls out to me.
“Yeah.” I rub my chest, massaging the aching spot. “I’m here.”
