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My father turns slowly, the remains of a lingering smile still on his weathered face, and as he watches me slide my sunglasses to the top of my head, his face is instantly full of recognition and that scares the living hell out of me.
“Kael?” he says.
His voice is weak, little more than a breathy sound that passes through his lips. I look up again and watch as his arm drops away from the woman’s side. He places the bag of groceries down on the ground, looking as shocked as he is confused.
“Is it… is it really you?”
I don’t know where I find the strength to acknowledge him, but he’s looking at me, exhibiting some emotion in his watery eyes, as if at some point he did actually care about me.
Yeah. I call fucking bullshit.
Because I know he didn’t care about me.
He told me I was impossible to love.
That’s not something a kid forgets in a hurry.‘You’re impossible to love.’The things he did to me barrel through my mind, pushing forward, begging to be released. And all of a sudden I forget all about why I’m here, and instead I focus solely on the way I’m feeling right now. I want this man to take responsibility for the things he did to me and my mother. I want him to know that I remember, I’ll never forget, and I hate him for every single thing he ever did to us.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I grunt.
He steps forward, reaches for me, but I step back. He’s closer now, and I can see the deep lines that bracket his mouth and the gloomy creases around his eyes. He takes me in for a moment. I know I look vastly different from the last time he saw me—I was just a kid back then, I’m a man now, a grown-ass man—but he makes no suggestion that he’s surprised by my appearance.
It takes me a few seconds more to find something in his features that resemble mine. But I find nothing. He’s tall like me, similar build, but everything else is different. My father’s eyes are blue, unlike mine. He has wavy hair, and his nose is long and pointy. I look nothing like him. I must take more after my mother’s side of the family, and a part of me finds solace in that fact.
Just then, the little boy runs back across the yard and slides straight in front of my father. He holds his arms up in the air, jumping up and down, and my father picks him up and holds him close against his chest, the glint of his wedding ring catching my eye.
“Who are you?” asks the little boy.
“Joel, manners,” says the woman. She frowns at the little boy, and then reaches across, holding out her hand in introduction. “I’m Kate, and this is Joel, our son. How do you know my husband?”
Her husband. Wow.
And that right there, ladies and gentleman, is a testament to the kind of guy my father is. Because this woman has no clue that I’m her husband’s kid. She’s obviously never heard the name Kael mentioned before.
He hasn’t even told his wife about me.
And he has a son?
A son who doesn’t know he has a brother. And with that thought, a part of my heart splinters beyond repair. I don’t exist here. It’s like I don’t exist at all, and that’s the part that hurts the most.
“This is my friend, Kael,” my father suddenly replies, wrapping the little boy’s legs around his waist, lifting him up higher with his hand under the boy’s bottom. “We knew each other a very long time ago. It’s good to see you again, Kael. Hope you’ve been doing well?”
I freeze. Hisfriend?
Bringing both arms up, I clasp my hands behind my head, frustrated, and hurt. My father, my own flesh and blood, just introduced me to his new family as his fucking friend.Fuck that.For the love of all that’s holy, I can’t believe the audacity of this man. I have to squeeze my temples to refrain from screaming bloody murder at the man.
“It’s nice to meet you,” says Kate, and she genuinely doesn’t seem to know who I am. “Would you like to come in? I’ve made plenty for dinner if you’d care to join us.”
My father sinks back slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his son’s head as he places him back down on his feet again. He tells him to go play. He tells him he’ll be there in a few minutes. He tells him this won’t take long.
This.This mess. I’m the mess.
“Okay, Daddy.”
As the little boy scurries away, he looks up at me. He smiles and waves his chubby hand, and I smile and wave back at him, and I can see it shining clear in his eyes—a sense of peace I never felt as a child. He feels safe and wanted. He feels love and belonging. He feels trust and happiness, and he feels all the things kids are supposed to feel while they’re growing up.
All the things I never felt.
Kate starts fussing with her hair, straightening her clothes a little, and she smiles so brightly at me that I know what she’s about to say before she even says it. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
