“You think you’re the only one having a bad day? On top of finding out who my father is, I found out that he raised another person’s child for her whole life. He gave someone else’s kid everything I’d ever wanted. He was everything I wanted in a father to someone else. And I was told to come here to find out more about my history when, in reality, I was given puzzle pieces to my life as if it’s a fucking game.
“Kevin Michaels is a puppeteer, and I am the damn puppet attached to his strings. He could’ve easily just straight out told me who my mother was, but instead, he made that messed-up, complicated will of his. Then he wrote the letter handed to me in his office just now to tell me that I was standing in the same room with my mother. I just stood in a room with three women, and one of them was my mother. He made a game out of my life, so excuse me if I’m bitter. Forgive me if I’m an asshole today. You had a bad day? Try having a bad fucking life. You might be drowning in grief, but I’m already dead.”
Her mouth parted in shock. “Is that what your letter said? That one of them was your mother?”
I pulled the floppy piece of paper from my back pocket, which was destroyed from the waves, and held it in her face. “The letter stated how your father dearest slept with all three women in the same timeframe that matched my birth certificate. Any of the three could’ve been my mother.
So great to learn that your dead father was a manwhore.
What a great day.
I saw the color drain from Stella’s face. “Oh, my goodness. One of the wicked stepmothers is your mother?” she asked.
“That’s the rumor.”
“None of them reacted at all to the news,” she remarked.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“Do you have to be sarcastic about everything?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of my thing.”
“That’s a tacky thing.”
“I’m a tacky fucker.”
She reached out and placed a hand against my forearm. “Damian… I’m-I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that Kevin is making this out to be some sort of game when it’s your life.”
Her touch sent a sensation through my system. I stared down at her hand against my arm. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. Her brown eyes. Even though she’d annoyed me, Stella’s eyes were remarkable to take in. They expressed everything she was feeling without any words.
“I’m comforting you,” she explained. “Has no one ever done that?”
“Of course, they have,” I shot back, yanking my arm back to my side. “I just don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity. It’s comfort,” she explained. “It makes me sad that you can’t tell the difference.”
“Don’t waste your sadness on me.”
“When in life did you become so cold?” she asked.
That question hit hard against my chest and made my head begin to spin.
Before I could reply, I noticed my driver walking in my direction. “Mr. Blackstone. I’ve arrived.”
I locked eyes with Stella and saw her hurt sitting behind her stare. A level of discomfort hit me as I realized I didn’t know if the hurt was for herself or me. I know she said she didn’t pity me, but I could see it. I knew very little about that woman, but I knew enough to know that she felt bad for me.
She was one of those people who felt terrible for all individuals. Even the villains in the stories—maybe even more for the villains because she knew that villains weren’t born that way. They were raised from a life filled with disappointments and letdowns.
4
Damian
Seven Years Old
* * *
My bedroom door had a sign that said, “Do not enter” with a skull head sketched across it. Mrs. Gable helped me draw it, because she thought I was talented. She didn’t know what kind of art I’d do some day, but she believed I’d be good at whatever it was. That was why she got me art supplies and a disposable camera to try different kinds of art.
Mr. Gable hung my sign on the bedroom door, and he said I deserved to have my own private space where I could escape.
I never had my own room before, so it kind of made me happy.
They’d turned my bedroom into the galaxy because I was obsessed with space. My bed was a rocket ship, and Mrs. Gable got a rotating light gadget that would project the stars across my room at night. I was afraid of the dark, so that kept me feeling safe.
They even got star-shaped night-lights because the Gables cared a lot about making me feel comfortable. I’d been with the Gables for months now, the longest I’d ever been with any family. We even celebrated holidays together, and they were planning a big birthday party for me coming up. It was nice being with them after bouncing around a few times from home to home.
Temporary homes.
This one felt a little different, though. Maybe the Gables would want me to kind of stay forever. Maybe I could be a Gable, too.
I’d even get a brother. Jordan was a year older than me, but we were best of friends. We talked about all kinds of things together like video games and anime. He was my best friend in the whole world, which was cool because I’d never had a best friend before. I never stayed in one place long enough for someone to want to be my best friend.
Next week was my birthday, and I’d be turning eight. I was excited because the Gables promised me a big party with all things space, from the decorations to the cake, to the bounce house in the backyard.
Everything was going good until Mr. Gable cheated on Mrs. Gable.
My perfect family was beginning to fall apart right before my eyes. Mr. Gable moved out, and Mrs. Gable cried every single day after that. She even missed my birthday even though I was sitting inside the same house as her.
Four weeks passed. Mrs. Gable hardly got out of bed anymore. Jordan didn’t know what to do, either, so we stayed out of her way and let her be sad. Sometimes, I’d go out to the backyard and pick her flowers to try to make her feel better. It didn’t work. Maybe I was picking the wrong flowers.
Three more weeks passed. Mrs. Gable wasn’t getting better.
She called for me to come to the living room one afternoon after Jordan finished helping me with my homework. I walked downstairs and felt as if someone punched me in the gut.
My social worker, Ms. Kelp, sat there on the couch next to Mrs. Gable.
They both looked as if they were going to cry, which meant that I was about to cry, too. I always ended up crying when Ms. Kelp showed up unexpectedly because that meant she was going to take me away.
“No,” I whispered, my voice shaky. My hands were shaking, too, and I felt as if I were going to throw up.
Ms. Kelp stood from the couch slowly as if any sudden movement would turn my world upside down. Yet there I was, already twisting and turning and losing my footing.
“Please don’t let her take me,” I cried, rushing over to Mrs. Gable. “Please. I know I’ve messed up and didn’t help you when you were sad, but I swear I’ll help more, please. I’ll do better. And I can—”
“Damian, please, stop,” Mrs. Gable begged, wiping tears from her face. “It’s just with the separation and pending divorce with Jerry, I cannot truly hold the space needed to care for you in the way you deserve.”
“But what about Jordan? You’re keeping him! You can keep me the same way. I’ll stay out of the way. I’ll be good, I promise. Why does Jordan get to stay, and I have to go?”
“Well, Damian, sweetheart…Jordan is my son…”
I swallowed hard but still couldn’t breathe. “So am I.”
She blinked her eyes closed, and I wrapped my arms around her. “Please, please. Don’t make me go.”
I couldn’t leave. I had a sign on my bedroom door. It was my door. This was my family. I couldn’t lose them. Maybe I could go stay with Mr. Gable for some days, and then Ms. Gable wouldn’t be overwhelmed anymore. Maybe if I ate less, she wouldn’t feel like I was too much. Maybe if I stayed quiet—
>
“Please, Mom,” I choked out with tears falling down my face.
She removed my arms from her.
She removed me from her life.
Ms. Kelp began walking toward me, and I shouted. “No! No! I’m not going back to a group home!”
Before she could reply, I darted toward the front door and ran outside into the night. I heard them screaming my name, calling for me to come back, but I kept going because I didn’t want to start over. I didn’t want to go to another family who wouldn’t want me.
It didn’t take long for Ms. Kelp to find me. She took me back to a group home, a different one this time, but still, they all felt the same—lonely.
I wanted a forever home, but maybe some kids didn’t get that kind of thing.
Maybe some kids just got temporary homes.
Even though I thought this one felt like forever.
5
Stella
* * *
“You have to do it,” Jeff said, staring at me as if I were insane. The only insane thing currently was my boyfriend telling me that I had to go through with Kevin’s requests. After the funeral, I returned home, still shaken by the insane reveal. I spoke with Grams for a bit before leaving. Kevin left her more than enough money and property to keep her secure for the rest of her life. She kept telling me whatever choice I made would be the right one, no matter what, but Jeff had a different opinion.
Jeff stood at the counter, scratching off the lottery tickets he bought each day, hoping to win big. It had yet to happen, but for the past eight or so years, he’d been collecting those scratch-offs after once winning one thousand dollars on a thirty-dollar ticket. It was one of his favorite pastimes.
“Are you joking?” I laughed because clearly, he was joking. I went into our small kitchen and poured myself a mug of wine. Same outcome as if it were in a glass, just a little less fancy. A little more like me.
“Hell no, I’m not joking. Babe, this is our ticket out,” he said, moving over to me. Jeff was dressed in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. I was dressed in the same way, though I didn’t get to wear my boyfriend’s sweats, seeing how I was twice his size. Unlike Sue, my hips didn’t lie. Built on genetics and Spicy Doritos. Damn proud of those hips, too, after so many years of toxic diet culture beliefs.
I had an odd addiction to pajamas and comfy wear. I was also a professional at wearing gym attire to my couch. One of my favorite pastimes was to take naps in gym clothing. If I were an animal, I’d always thought I’d want to be a cat. Sleep, eat, and poop in a litter box that humans were responsible for cleaning. The top tier of living one’s best life.
“Our ticket out?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Out of what?”
“Of this!” he exclaimed, gesturing around. “We live in a one-bedroom house with little to no space. You and I are practically on top of one another.”
“Since when do you not like being on top of me?” I teased.
Jeff didn’t tease back. He simply continued. “Plus, we can put some of that money into my music career to really give me the jumpstart I need.”
I grimaced, uncertain if he was being serious. “It’s been a long day. I can’t really deal with you not being ironic right now. So, please, go ahead and tell me you’re kidding.”
He took the mug from my hand and set it on the countertop. “Think about it. Two million dollars would change our lives forever.”
I arched an eyebrow. Jeff wasn’t known for his detailed listening skills. “I said two hundred million, not two million.”
Just then, his eyeballs bugged out of his face. “What?! Holy shit, Stella!”
“I know. It makes me uneasy, too. Plus, with all the stocks and assets… it’s… a lot.”
“And it’s ours.”
“But I don’t want it. I just…” I sighed and crossed my arms. “I just want him back.”
“Well, that’s not really an option, sweetheart, so this is the next best thing. Think about it, Stella. Everything we ever wanted”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that. We’d be able to make all of our dreams come true in a blink of an eye.”
“And your girlfriend would have to marry a stranger. Or did you miss that part?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, I get that would be a bit strange, but the outcome is worth the sacrifice.”
“You’re willing to sacrifice your partner for money?”
He took my hands into his and gave me the sweetest smile. “Only for six months, baby. Then you’re all mine. It’s not like you would be screwing the guy, right?”
“What? No. Of course not. We would probably never even see one another. He’s kind of closed-off anyway.”
“That’s perfect. So, six months in, and then two-hundred-million dollars later, you’re back home with me. Then we can get married, and you can have the wedding of your dreams.”
“I don’t need a wedding of my dreams,” I told him. “The courthouse works just fine.”
“You are more than a courthouse wedding. I know you’re an independent woman, which is why we live here, instead of in a home Kevin offered to buy for you. But it’s okay to have help, Stella. You don’t have to be so hyper-independent. You do know that’s a sign of trauma, right?”
I laughed. “Did you take a psychology class or something?”
“No. I saw a TikTok about it. But it’s true. You feel like you have to control everything and not take handouts from Kevin. You’ve been like that since we met years ago.”
I shrugged. “He raised me when he didn’t have to. I don’t want anything that isn’t mine.”
“But you were his. He was a father to you, and you were his daughter. This is what happens in families. You pass down your inheritance to the next generation. At least that’s what I believe. You know I never really grew up with a family, outside of you.”
“I know… and you’re right. Plus, this being his final wish makes me feel as if maybe I should do it.”
“Yes, exactly. Think about how it would eat at you if you went against his final wishes. Then over time, you and I can start our own family and pass down the blessings to our children.”
He was really laying it on thick, that was for sure.
“Think of this as your favorite movie, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. You’re Charlie, and this is your golden ticket,” Jeff stated.
“Willy Wonka is your favorite movie.” I laughed.
“Yours, mine, potato, potahto. All I’m saying is, this is our golden ticket out of this world. So… take it. If not for me and you, do it for Kevin. It was his last wish.”
I felt a tug in my chest as he said those words. Even though the whole concept of marrying a stranger for money seemed bonkers, it was an opportunity to give Kevin what he wanted.
“I mean, I guess arranged marriage isn’t that odd. Plus, in so many of my favorite historical romance novels, that’s a leading theme,” I said, trying to make the concept seem less odd.
“Fuck yeah! There’s a whole genre about that kind of stuff. Plus, six months? That’s nothing. That’s like one semester of college without the student debt. I need you to go and pick up your phone, dial that number, and say yes to Dillon.”
“Damian.”
Jeff rolled his eyes and waved it off. “Whatever. It honestly doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you say ‘I do’ to him so you can later say ‘I do’ to me.”
This was insane. The whole concept of marrying Damian was something I did not think I’d even be considering when I woke up to attend Kevin’s funeral. The day took a drastic turn, and all I wanted to do was go to bed and then awaken to find that this was nothing more than an odd dream. To find out that Kevin was still alive and well, and that none of the heaviness of that said day had actually happened.
I rubbed my shoulder as nerves hit me. “What about us? Remember, I’d have to live with Damian for the six months’ time.”
“We’ll figure it out. You said you get two days away, so those will be our days together. The
n you can have those other days staying with Dan.”
“Damian.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” He laughed. “For once in your life, Stella, stop doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Overthinking. You aren’t going to have all the answers right away. That’s not how life works. Sometimes, you just have to leap and trust it will work out in the end. So, do this. Leap. If not for you, then for your family.”
That night, we headed to bed, and I stayed up doing what Jeff asked me not to do—overthinking. He snored beside me as the room remained pitch black around me. I glanced at my phone to see it was already three in the morning.
After chewing on my nails for far too much time, I pulled out the card that Damian had given me earlier that day, put his number into my phone, and shot him a text message.
Stella: Okay, I’m in.
Damian: Who is this?
Stella: Stella.
Damian: Who the hell is Stella?
I sighed. Somehow, he managed to be just as cold via text message as in person.
Stella: Cinderstella.
Damian: Oh. Right. My favorite Disney princess.
I could feel the sarcasm flying from his message.
Stella: Shut up. I’m just saying I’m agreeing to this arrangement.
Damian: Oh.
Damian: Okay.
Staring at his text messages, I was able to envision his lifeless expressions as he replied to me. I didn’t take his short remarks personally because he didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. There was no way it could’ve been personal at all. We were mere strangers. I had a good feeling Damian was cold to the whole world. Therefore, I shouldn’t have taken his chills to heart.
Stella: So… Next steps?
Damian: I’ll arrange a meeting with Joe. We’ll get everything organized from there. I’ll be in touch shortly.
Stella: Okay, thank you.
Western Waves Page 5