It was kind of like getting the best of both worlds: a relationship without the risk of heartbreak.
Lost in thought, I didn’t even think about where my feet were taking me until I was passing the park that connected to the street my father lived on. Part of me was ashamed to know the directions to his house by heart. I saw the address once on a letter that came in the mail addressed to my mom. I think it was a check he sent for child support. I scribbled the address down, then pretended I never saw it.
I was thirteen the first time I walked here. The house was empty. There were no cars in the driveway. I felt so guilty that I didn’t return for another year. It was like a betrayal to my mom to be here, chasing after him when he left us. The next time, he was sitting on his porch. I had to hide behind a tree so my dad wouldn’t see me.
I started visiting once a month after that. Eventually there was another woman. She’d open the door when his car pulled into the driveway and kiss him hello. She had long, curly black hair. Nothing like my mom’s short blonde bob. I never told her he was dating someone. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. Or if she even cared anymore.
Now I was standing at the end of the street, six houses down, behind a bush that came halfway up my knees. His house was on the corner, with a wraparound porch and a two-car garage that was painted the color of the sky.
I never got close enough that my father could look out a window and spot me. I didn’t want to risk him seeing me. Ever. I wasn’t entirely sure my dad would even recognize me now. I had changed a lot in five years. At least on the outside.
It still hurt to think about how he left. How he never looked back. My mom got full custody of me too. They never even went to court. He just agreed. They signed the papers and then it was done. I didn’t really understand it when I was twelve. I thought I’d spend weekends with my dad and weekdays with my mom like I’d seen in movies. But then months passed by and he never picked me up. Whenever I asked my mom, she said he was busy. I later learned my dad wanted what was considered a “fresh start.” And you couldn’t have that with a twelve-year-old, a walking reminder of your past.
The hardest part was that it was so unexpected. My parents never fought. There weren’t any signs. Then again, I was a kid and probably would have missed them anyway. But there was nothing that stood out in my mind. I remembered my mom leaving for work in the morning—back when she was a nurse—and my dad kissing her goodbye. He was home during the day and worked night shifts at a warehouse in town. He picked me up from school. He bought me ice cream in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter. There were no bad memories. No moment that I can pinpoint and say yeah, that’s where everything went wrong. I never bothered to ask my mom either. We never talked about it. I was too scared to hurt her. So we dodged the subject by baking and reading and I was left always wondering why he left. Maybe that’s why I still came here, for answers.
I waited twenty minutes (it was always twenty minutes) for his car to pull into the driveway. He stepped out wearing a gray suit, glasses low on his nose, and was barely up the driveway before the front door was pulled open and the woman walked out. I still didn’t know her name. I wondered if he knew her before the divorce, or if they met after. Maybe she was the reason he left in the first place.
My dad smiled as he kissed her, then both their hands went to her pregnant belly that had grown a little since I was last here. I watched as he got onto his knees and kissed her stomach. I wondered if a day would come when he’d abandon that child too. I really hoped it didn’t. I hoped he’d choose to stick around so that little baby would never have to go through what I did. I hoped they’d never have to hide behind a bush and watch their father love his new family the way he couldn’t love his old one.
It was only when the door shut and they went inside that I began to walk home. That night, when my mother asked me where I’d gone after school, I lied.
Brett
EVERY THURSDAY ENDED THE SAME at Eastwood High, with a pep rally after last period. All students filed into the bleachers after the bell rang. The rally would open with the cheerleaders doing a routine and the football team sitting in the front row. There was always some sort of announcement Principal Marcus had to make. Last week, it was that our vice principal was retiring. It would have been sad if the cheerleaders hadn’t done a routine directly after.
Today I was running late. Becca agreed we’d go together but she still hadn’t shown up at her locker, where we agreed to meet. Where are you? I texted, bouncing on the balls of my feet impatiently. Library, she sent back, almost done. I could hear the band begin to play as I ran down the hall, toward the stairs that led to the library.
I found her sitting in the back corner against a shelf with her legs crossed and a book on her ankles. Lost in whatever she was reading, she didn’t notice me standing there until my shoes were touching hers.
“Hey,” I said. She jumped and shut the book quickly.
“Hi. Sorry. I was trying to finish this.”
I sat beside her and picked up the book in her lap. “Romeo and Juliet? You’re still reading this?”
“What do you mean still?” She grabbed it from my hands and tucked it under her arm. “We have a test on it next week.” I nodded, pretending like I knew that. “Did you want to leave?”
“The band just started. We still have a few minutes,” I said. “Keep reading.”
“Okay.”
Becca held that book more carefully than I’ve seen people hold babies. I couldn’t understand why—it was already ripped and frayed at the edges. She read with her finger tracing each line as she went. I had a strange urge to ask her to read out loud, but I was sure that violated the library’s number one rule: being quiet.
“I can’t read when you’re staring at me,” she said.
“I’m not staring at you.” She looked up quickly and caught me. “I was staring at the book. It looks like it’s been through a lot.”
“When was the last time you were in here?” she asked.
I thought about it for a second. “Freshman year.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Wow.”
“Is that the kind of girlfriend you want to be?” I joked. “A judgmental one?”
“You’re just . . . such a jock,” she said with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know I’ve read all the Harry Potters.”
She did not look impressed. At all.
“That doesn’t count. Everyone’s read Harry Potter. It’s practically a childhood rite of passage.”
She had a point.
Becca reached for her backpack and our knees bumped against each other’s. I stared at her socks sticking out from her sneakers as she packed up her things. They were white, with cat ears on the top. I was laughing when she said, “You know, no one else is in here.”
“So?”
“So we don’t have to pretend to be dating when no one’s around to see us.”
Another solid point.
Becca gathered her things and we headed out into the hall. I was leading her toward the door to the field when she tugged on my arm, stopping me. “What?” I asked, a little annoyed. I wanted to be at the pep rally with my team.