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Which should’ve been the end of that. After all, she banned me from contacting the only father figure I can remember having.
But nope.
To top it all off, my sister calls me every night, making sure I haven’t tried to contact him, and then accuses me of sleeping with him.
Why else would he have cut her off yet still pay for my college? Why else is my life still perfect when hers is now shit?
Her words, not mine.
We are still very fortunate.
We both have roofs over our heads. Food in our mouths. There was once a time, before him, when we had neither.
Still, regardless of all of that, I can’t help but think something is wrong. That something bad happened to him.
Why else wouldn’t he reach out to me? Maybe he’s sick? Hurt? The what ifs don’t leave. No matter how hard I try to distract myself, I can’t.
The nagging feeling never goes away.
I finally cave, deleting the text to Erin and replacing it with one for Ronnie.
Me: I know it’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’m sorry. I should have contacted you sooner. Are you okay? Erin asked me not to reach out, but I’m worried.
Okay, narcing on my sister is peak immaturity, but it isn’t like she is winning any trophies in the maturity department, either.
I tried to respect her wishes as long as I could. I really did.
The text bounces seconds after I send it. I worry my bottom lip as I resend it.
Bounced.
Again.
With my heart heavy and my mind confused, I make it to my class.
Heather gives me a wave. She’s not in her usual seat. Instead, she’s closer to the window. I look over to where we normally sit and see those seats occupied.
I guess I’m not the only one running late today.
I head in her direction, taking the spot beside her.
“What’s going on?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Nothing.” I shrug.
At my word, she shakes her head. “Nope. Something is wrong. Because it sure doesn’t look like you’re fine.”
Of course, she noticed.
Heather and I have been friends since freshman orientation. She lived in the dorms and was my lifeline to a social life.
After watching my sister overindulge for years, I was too driven to screw it all up by going to house parties, so she dished all the dirty details to me secondhand.
I touch my hair.
“What do you mean?” My eyebrow lifts as I pat the loose strands down. “Am I a mess?”
“Not a mess, per se. But it did look like you were thinking really hard when you walked in here.”
