“Actually, it does. Because he’s been the one helping me come to this decision,” my mother said.
“I’m not talking with my father. Not after he did what he did,” I said.
“I think it would be good for you to get to know him. He’s not such a bad guy, you know,” she said.
“Oh. He’s not a bad guy. He just up and abandoned his wife and two kids nineteen years ago. Not a bad guy. Not really,” I said.
“He’s your father, Olivia,” Bernard said.
“I’ve been just fine without a dad for almost twenty years. I don’t need him,” I said.
“You might regret not knowing him one day. Even if it’s just to sit down with him and tell him exactly what you think of him. I’ve gotten that chance over the past few months. I’ve gotten to say things to him I never thought I’d ever be able to say to him,” she said.
“You what now?” I asked.
“It’s caused your mother a great deal of heartache. But she’s also doing a lot better,” Bernard said.
“What?” I asked as I looked over at him.
“She’s sleeping easier. Eating a little more. She has answers, Olivia. Answers we think you need, too,” Bernard said.
I turned my gaze back to my mother and watched her pull a slip of paper from her pocket.
“Take it,” she said.
I shook my head, but she reached over and slid the piece of paper into the breast pocket of my shirt.
“It’s your father’s number. The one he’s been calling me from. If you don’t want to use it, that’s your call. But he’s been answering my questions for months, and it’s given me a lot of clarity,” she said.
“He… told you why he left us?” I asked.
“Yes. But I think you need to hear it from him. Just give it some thought. But when he expressed interest in talking with you again this morning, I felt a tug in the pit of my gut to talk with you. It’s why I called,” she said.
I looked down at my pocket, seeing the piece of paper against my breast. I hated looking at it. Just knowing it was there made me sick. I pulled my hands from my mother and Bernard, then left their house without a single word. I didn’t know what to say. My mother had been talking with my father for months? And I was just now finding out about it?
It made me angry that Bernard knew before I did. I was her damn daughter. Did that not matter any longer?
I didn’t remember the ride home. I didn’t remember barging into my apartment. All I remembered was looking into the trash can as I threw the slip of paper in there. But suddenly, a feeling overcame me. Throwing it away didn’t feel right. I reached back down into the trash and pulled the slip of paper out, then set it on my kitchen counter near my coffeepot.
Then, I sat down at my small kitchen table and stared at it.
Answers. The answers I sought would only take me one phone call. But I didn’t know if I could do it. I didn’t know if I could stomach a conversation with him. I remembered very little about my father. He’d left when I was seven. What I did remember was the day he left. The day I cradled my younger brother in my arms while he sobbed for Daddy to come back. I remembered how my father never once turned around. Never once looked back at his children as he got into his car filled with his things and drove off.
I didn’t know if I could call him. But I wanted those answers more than I could stand. I wanted to yell at him. Scream at him. Tell him exactly the type of piece of shit I thought he was. It meant dialing that damn number, though. It meant being brave enough to pick up my cell phone and strike my fingers over those numbers.
And I didn’t know if I could do it.
10
Brett
I sat at my kitchen table, waiting for her to burst through my front door. My cell phone ringing had woken me up, and when I heard Olivia’s frantic voice on the other line, I knew something had been wrong. She asked to come over. She said she needed to talk and that she needed someone she could trust to talk it out with. The swell of pride in my chest got me out of bed that morning. I fed her my address without a second thought and told her the front door would be unlocked. I typed in the gate code to my estate, making sure it would open upon her arrival. I made a pot of coffee and put it on the table with some toast and apple butter. Her favorite. At least, from what I remembered. I sat there, waiting for her to drive up. Waiting for her to walk in.