One night, I was scrolling through Facebook and decided to pull up the man who so generously gave me half my DNA. I know I’d vowed to never search for him again, but Basil’s words were that I needed to do this. I needed to let the flames of anger rise, so I could start anew. Like ripping off a band-aid, exposing the deep wound to the air. It would sting, but in order to heal, it needed to breathe.
He wasn’t at all the man I remembered. Not from the photo I saw of him a couple of years back on their anniversary. Time had taken a chisel to his bones. Chipped away until his shoulders sagged, and his skin clung to his small frame. He wasn’t holding his family together in their portraits anymore. He wasn’t the tall tree, fanning out his branches for all of us to see.
He was tired. Old. Grey around the edges.
I kept scrolling, trying to place the face in my memory to his. The deep, round eyes that seemed to be looking for something just out of his reach. The long length of a clean-shaved jaw that smelled of pepper and antiseptic. The crispness of the suits he wore. The grin that could ignite the most stubborn of hearts.
He was none of those things anymore. He was big, baggy shirts and a permanent frown. Grey fuzz along his jaw and a receding hairline.
I didn’t know this person. Maybe I never had.
How strange was it to have those memories of someone, and yet not know the person? Did he still crack jokes? When his son was upset, did he look at him like he used to with me and say, “Don’t smile. Don’t do it,” knowing it would in turn make me smile? Did he still fish? Did he still cook that alfredo recipe that made my mom and me do a happy dance every time we smelled it?
I’d never know. I’d never know, because I didn’t have the guts to ask. I was a coward. I was bitter. I was still clinging to the hurt that he had yet to find me and reach out. Why? Why did it make me feel like I was that twelve-year-old girl crying on the doorstep, begging for him to come back? Why was it so easy to leave me? Was I annoying? Did he see too much of himself in me?
I reached for a glass, but couldn’t find the will to bring it to my lips.
I thought I was past those feelings. I thought I was strong enough to take a walk down memory lane and return unscathed. How stupid was I? How naïve?
Why did I keep blaming myself when I knew better?
Because Basil was right.
I’d never quell this anger. Not until I forgave myself.
NOVEMBER 12, 2017
IT WAS FUNNY HOW TIME could smooth the edges of a broken relationship. Our brain had this way of taking the bad that happened and dulling it, as if there were never any sharp angles jabbing at our insides.
That thought came to me as I spotted Silas through the window of the yoga studio I was getting ready to leave. He was peering in, hands cupped around his face, scanning for what, I didn’t know.
It had been so long since I’d last seen him in person I’d almost forgotten the dimples on the sides of his face. Almost forgot I was still angry with him.
When his eyes stopped on mine, he pulled back, but didn’t leave.
“Yoga?” he said when I stepped out the front door a few moments later. Thick, heavy clouds hung over us, a brisk fall breeze moving us forward. I liked the chill November brought. Rain seemed to linger in the air.
“It clears my head,” I said as I zipped my jacket shut.
His hands slid into the pockets of his coat. “I heard you were coming here. Thought I’d stop by.”
My eyebrows pulled together as I stepped around a young woman walking her dog. “You’re here for me?”
He nodded.
A hot, prickly feeling filled my stomach. “Why?”
He shrugged, seeming uneasy.
He fell in step beside me, but it didn’t feel like old times. There was a toxicity lingering between us. One step too close in the wrong direction and we’d get burned.
“I saw that last piece you worked on with Pierre. Wow.” His tone was hesitant.
I clutched the strap to my bag closer to my chest. “Thanks.”
“You… uh… want to maybe grab a bite to eat and catch up?”
I stopped and studied him. Was that a trick question? A joke?
He chuckled nervously, eyes shifting. “I just want to talk, Hartley. Nothing serious.”
I wasn’t sure why I agreed. Maybe out of curiosity? Because I was a glutton for punishment?
We picked a food truck a block away from the studio, and then sat at a picnic table, staring across from one another. For the first few minutes, we didn’t speak. Just ate, watching each other cautiously, waiting, I thought, for the other to go first.
If he thought I was stubborn before, wait until he sees me now.
When his tacos were gone, he finally asked, “How are you?”
“Great,” I lied. “My offers are bigger than ever. I have a beautiful apartment. Wonderful friends. I even met a guy who wants to date me.”
Why? Why did we feel the need to lie about our lives in the presence of others? Why did we need to make our lives seem bigger and better than they were to compensate for the insecurities? It was the disease of humanity. Of social media. Because, truthfully, we were all floating in the same boat of misery and confusion, trying to steer ourselves through life.
But I didn’t want him to know that. He’d already taken so much from me… I couldn’t’ give him my dignity.
“That’s wonderful,” Silas said, though I didn’t think he believed me.
“How about you?” I asked, shifting the weight onto him.
“I’m okay. I haven’t had the luster for filming lately. Been kind of down.”
I felt like an asshole. A miserable, lying asshole. I wanted to feel justified in my anger toward him, but the weaker parts of me couldn’t.
“Why?”
He shrugged, the movement sad. “Karma, maybe?”
I didn’t disagree with that one. I was still trying to figure him out. Trying to sniff out his motive. If he came asking for forgiveness, he was asking the wrong person. I didn’t forgive. I collected pieces of others’ mistakes like artwork. Kept them in a gallery I could visit from time to time in my mind. A place where I was safe, because I had figured them out, and then cut them from my life.
“I was wrong, Hartley,” he said a moment later.
I found the perfect wall for this piece of art to go. I’d label it: a little too late.
I didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, knowing I was making him uncomfortable, but not caring. He would feel every inch of what he did, and then I would leave satisfied, clinging to the words I forgive you as my trophy.
“I had no business coming between you and Hudson. I see that now. I know what you and I had was nothing more than friendship. I was forcing the idea to be with me on you. I should have stepped down when he came back, but what I had with him was already so fragile… I didn’t want another reason to resent him.”
“Why did you resent him?” I asked, leaning forward on my elbows. I was a lioness ready to pounce. “Because he took care of you? Because he put his dreams on hold, so you could figure out yours?” I paused, a finger to my mouth in snide thought. “Oh, wait… it was because he was angry with you for wanting to chase your crazy, piece-of-shit father down into the woods when it was time for you to put your grown-up pants on and face the real world.
“You know what, Silas? I’ve had a lot of time to think since you put a wedge between us, and what I’ve come to realize is that you’re as selfish as your father. The world is supposed to stop and start when you decide. You have a spoiled mentality, still waiting for your big brother to bail you out. But what about him? Have you ever stopped and thought about his happiness? Have you ever thought about how quickly he’s sidelined his life, his emotions, so he could take care of yours? Just like everyone in your life has to?”
I stood up and grabbed my bag.
“I don’t know what you came here for, but if it’s forgiveness you’re seeking, you’re asking the wrong woman. I don’t
blame me losing Hudson on you. I lost him on my own, when I ran from the first love I’d ever felt. I will carry that with me until my last breath. But I do blame you for ruining what you and I had. You were my best friend, and you threw it all away because you couldn’t put anyone else’s happiness above your own. Maybe Hudson and I could have worked it out. Maybe you could have seen that I was better off with him. We’ll never know. He’s moved on, and it’s time I did.” I leaned close to him. “From both of you. Have a nice life.”
He didn’t call after me when I turned and left. As I hung the painting I’d created in my mind of that last look in his eyes. Pain so sharp I wanted to cut myself with it, so I could bleed out this anger eating me alive. I stopped at the crosswalk and stared down at my shadow, glaring at me, my secrets and lies swirling in its inky darkness.
“Shut up,” I said to it, and then I crossed the street.
NOVEMBER 19, 2017
THOSE MOMENTS… THE ONES WHEN people conquered the cliff and were peering out into the vast beauty of their accomplishments… they needed to be sure to check behind them, because life was there, creeping up on them, waiting for the chance to push them over.
I was vacuuming my apartment when I felt my phone vibrating in my back pocket. Some of the best and the worst moments in my life had involved a phone call. The day I found out I was accepted into the college of my choice, it was my mom calling me to tell me. She was never one to wait… especially when it came to my future, and had opened the envelope for me. The day I realized I was nothing more than a few shared chromosomes to the man who was supposed to be my hero, I was on the phone with him, fetching a fishing pole from the garage.
Today, I was fetching my emotions, huddling up with them, trying to decide if I should cry or not.
I had a feeling when the area code for Washington showed up on my phone that I shouldn’t answer the call, but my hands decided otherwise. My dad had never left the state.
Only Mom and me.
“Hartley Fernsby?”
Her voice was nothing like I’d imagined. What had I imagined? A witch’s cackle?
“This is she,” I said, clutching the handle of the vacuum. “Who is this?”
“I’m Krista, your father’s wife.”
Time froze around me. My lungs splintered.
“Hartley, I’m calling because I wanted to let you know your father had a stroke.” Her voice broke. I tried to feel bad, but I was concrete. Stone. Solid. Resistant and unbending. “He hasn’t… he won’t be waking up.” She sniffled. “Excuse me.” I heard the distant sound of someone blowing their nose. “Sorry,” she said a second later. “I called because I thought you should know. He’s at Saint Joseph Medical Center. Tomorrow we will be taking him off life support. I know you weren’t close with him, but he is your father and you do have the right to be there when we do.”
She paused, waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t know what. My heart was frozen in place. My lips were pressed into a firm line, hands clutching my chest.
“If not, I understand,” she continued, the emotion in her voice doing nothing against my coolness. “I will be in touch to let you know when the funeral arrangements have been made.”
I nodded, still no words.
“Bye,” she said, a sharp note of sorrow in her voice.
I hung up.
And then I threw up in the sink.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE HAD the nerve to call you,” Mom said as she reached for another tissue. She’d already plowed through one box.
“She was doing the right thing.” I glanced at the half-empty bottle of Jack on my counter. There was an itch in the back of my mind. A whisper from my dark side telling me to have a drink. Let Jack handle your problems.
I would, but not in front of my mom.
“Still… you know… I’ve hated that man for so long… but this… you should go, Hartley. You should be there.”
I shook my head.
“Hartley…”
“No, Mom,” I said with enough finality in my voice to make her see I wasn’t budging. “You know, I don’t even remember his voice. If I heard it in a room with my eyes closed, I wouldn’t know it was him. It’s so fucked up. It’s fucked up, because he decided to leave. Not me.”
“Hartley—”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to be there. I let him go a long time ago.”
“I thought I had, too.” She held up her tissue as an example that she clearly hadn’t. “It isn’t healthy to ignore your feelings, Hartley.”
“I’m not ignoring anything. I don’t feel anything. And to be frank, I’m not sure why you do.”
“Because he was my husband. At one point in time, I loved him and he loved me.”
“And then he didn’t, and he left,” I said dryly.
She looked as if I’d slapped her. “Why do you have to be so cold? What happened to you?”
Fuck it. I stood, grabbed a glass, and poured myself a drink.
“I know you’ve been drinking a lot lately,” she said, watching as I took a long sip.
“And?” I felt my temper pressing hot fingers against the backs of my eyes.
She didn’t say anything. Just eyed me down with that expression that said she didn’t approve.
I didn’t care. I was an adult.
“You’re still not over him, are you?”
I wasn’t sure which him she was referring to. There seemed to be a lot of hims who had come and gone, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.
“I don’t understand why you two resist each other. If that brother of his cared about him and about you, then he’d get over himself and give his blessings.”
“It isn’t that simple, Mom. I’d always be around. A reminder that I chose someone else over him. And that someone just so happens to be his brother.”
“It’s wrong.”
“Maybe. But it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Hudson’s moved on with a different woman. I’m trying to do the same.”
“You want to move on with a woman?”
I glared at her. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. About a month ago, after punishing myself by examining the pictures of Hudson with his brunette goddess, I decided it was time to stop going to his page. It hurt too much to see him look at her the way he used to look at me. To see her gush about how many months they’d been together. Time I’d never get.
My mom shook her head, and then blew her nose again.
I stared out the window, my emotions scratching at my bones, begging to be noticed.
I didn’t like beggars.
“So that’s it then?” she asked some time later, her voice raw with melancholy.
I was stubborn and unbending. “That’s it.”
SOME HOURS LATER, I FOUND myself sitting on a stool at my favorite bar across town.
I wasn’t sure how I got there.
Maybe I walked? I hoped I did. The room swayed in front of me, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was drowning those pesky emotions of mine that kept bubbling up like vomit in my throat.
I lifted my hand to signal the bartender for another.
I was past my limit. I’d be kicking myself come morning, but I’d rather be hungover than feel anything for that man who deserted me. He didn’t deserve my tears. Didn’t deserve my thoughts.
“Here,” Joey, the bartender, said. “Drink this first.” He placed a glass of water in front of me.
“I don’t want water.” My voice was mushy and dull. “I wanna drink.” I pushed the glass of water away from me in a childish fit.
He shook his head. “Hartley, you’re going to make yourself sick.”
“And if I do, then it’s my issue,” I said, waggling my finger at him. “It’s not like you’re my father. I don’t have a father, you know that? I did, once, but not anymore.”
He moved to the other side of the bar, still refusing to bring me another drink. I tried to stand, but the floor was spinning beneath me. Or maybe I was
spinning. The moment gravity grabbed me, I was on my butt, trying to pull myself back up as a few random drunks laughed at me.
I grimaced at them, and then decided to have that glass of water after all. My throat welcomed the cool liquid, the water doing its best to sober my thoughts. Joey came back with another glass and a bowl of peanuts, insisting I continue drinking and eating. I did, chewing like a demented squirrel as my thoughts barraged me.
“Why should I care?” I asked the drunk guy next to me. “He left me, so why should I care if he’s dying?”
The guy stared at me. He had to be in his fifties. A possible silver fox if he’d get a good haircut and maybe take a shower.
“I shouldn’t feel bad,” I continued even though the guy had already turned away, watching the baseball game on the television. “He never even tried. Just discarded me like a pair of socks with holes. And worse? He went and made a new me, only a boy version.”
It hit me then.
“Maybe that’s why. Because he wanted a son, not a daughter. Yeah… that has to be it.”
I cradled the glass of water as a deep, sinking feeling settled in my gut. That wasn’t it. Not really. And the only way I’d ever know the truth was if I went to him and asked. But I couldn’t. It was too late. Maybe Krista knew. Maybe… maybe my brother knew. But I’d never know, because I ruined things. I ruined my relationship with Hudson. Pushed Silas away. I was even ruining what I had with my mother.
I ruined things.
The tears started slowly at first, slipping through the cracks, spreading like veins within the dam I’d built, and then they burst through the wall, gushing in a waterfall I couldn’t contain.
It was never my emotions I was drowning.
I was drowning.
Wholly and completely in a sorrow that felt so deep and so endless I didn’t think I’d ever be able to come out of it. I didn’t want to feel those things. It was all over the place. Like thousands of hands, pulling me deeper and deeper into the quicksand of my truths.
The Roots of Us Page 24