by McKayla Box
I look down at the ground. That sounds exactly like her. I can recall so many times she told me not to answer the phone or the door because it was someone she didn't want to talk to. Ringing telephones and knocks on the door were the soundtrack to my childhood.
“Nola,” he says.
I look at him.
“Is there a reason you're asking?” he says. “Not that I'm not happy to talk about her, but this is all sort of out of the blue.”
I look at him.
And I just know.
I can feel it in my bones.
“Yeah, there's a reason,” I finally say. “I'm pretty sure you're my father.”
Chapter 30
Jay Rogers stares at me for a few seconds, like he's trying to figure out what language I'm speaking. He starts to say something, then stops, his mouth frozen in place. The color has drained from his face. Then he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. “What?”
“I think you're my father,” I tell him.
He laughs, but there's no pleasure behind it. “No. That can't be.”
“I swear I don't mean to be rude or anything like that,” I tell him. “But when you say it can't be. Do you mean it seems impossible because she never told you, or do you mean it can't be because you didn't have sex with her?”
He starts to say something, then stops again. He puts his hands on his hips and looks away. “I mean...I just don't see how it could've happened. Why wouldn't she have told me?”
“But you're saying it's possible?” I ask. “Like, you guys—?”
“Yes,” he says, quickly. “Yes, we...it's possible.”
I wipe at my eyes. “She told my grandmother that his name was Jay. And that he played football and that you graduated around the same time. That was all she ever knew. I didn't even know that much.” I laugh. “She told me your name was David.” I shake my head. “She lied about everything for forever.” I wipe at my eyes again. “She moved right after I was born. She ditched everyone, not just you.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is...I don't even know what to say. Are you sure it's not someone else?”
“I'm not sure of anything,” I tell him. “I can't answer that. But I know that my father's name was Jay and that he played football in high school. My grandmother found a T-shirt. That's how she knew he—or you, or whatever—played football.”
Something settles in his expression.
And I can see it immediately.
It's him and he knows it. There's some memory that he's just called up about the shirt or about something, but I can see it in his expression.
He knows he's my father.
“Look, I didn't come here to ask you for anything,” I tell him. “I really didn't. I just needed to know for myself. I have zero expectations. I don't need you to be a father or anything like that. I just needed to know.”
He's chewing on his bottom lip.
“I'm gonna go,” I say, taking a step backward. My eyes sting and there’s a roaring in my ears that is growing louder by the second. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just show up with this and throw it at you, but I wasn't sure what else to do.” I turn and head toward my car.
“Nola,” he calls out. “Wait. Hang on.”
I stop, but don't turn around. My heart is racing and I feel like I can't catch my breath.
“Can we...can we talk about this?” he asks. “Maybe talk to your mother?”
“She's in prison,” I tell him bluntly. “For at least the next ten years.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“In Florida,” I tell him. “She's in prison. She's a drunk, and she killed a kid driving drunk. Oh, and she was sleeping with him.” I laugh derisively. “Great story, right? Trust me. You are so lucky she froze you out. So lucky.”
“I...wow,” he says, unable to find the words.
“Yeah. Wow.”
“Okay, look. I don't know about any of that,” he says. “But...I don't know. I feel like maybe we should...talk. Figure this out.”
“There's nothing to figure out,” I tell him. “Really. I don't need anything. I just wanted to know. And I thought you should, too.” I start toward my car again.
“No, I believe you,” he says. “I just...I don't know what I'm supposed to do here, Nola.”
I reach my car and turn around. “You don't have to do anything. There's nothing to do.”
“Yeah, but—”
I don't hear the rest of what he says because I get into my car. I see him walking down the driveway, but I don't have anything else to say. I shove the key in the ignition and pull away from the curb before he can reach the car.
Chapter 31
It takes me awhile to go inside when I get home. I sit in my car, my head against the steering wheel, my mind a blur. I'm not crying because I don't really have any more tears left.
I just feel empty.
I'm not sure what I thought I might get from learning who my father was or from telling Jay he was my father, but whatever it was, I am not feeling it. I feel more alone than ever.
I finally grab my things from my car and head inside.
My grandmother is in the kitchen stirring a pot of pasta. “Well, hello there.” She smiles at me before turning her attention back to the stove.
“Is Grandpa home?”
“No, he was playing a little tennis this afternoon and then getting dinner at the club,” she says. She turns back to me with a slight frown. “Did you need him?”
I sit down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “It's Jay Rogers.”
She looks at me, confused. “What?”
“My father is Jay Rogers,” I tell her. “He lives here in Del Sol. I know his son. He's a jerk, but whatever. I went to see him.” I pause. “It's him.”
She shuts the burner off and moves the pot to another burner. She drops the wooden spoon into the pot and comes and sits down next to me. Her forehead is creased with worry. “Tell me what happened,” she says gently.
I tell her everything: about how Ricky found him, and then going over to Jay’s house to tell him. I leave out the part with Heath because it's not worth getting into and I don't want to have to go back and explain what happened at the beginning of the school year.
She takes my hand. “Are you okay?”
I shrug. “I honestly don't know.” It’s the absolute truth. I don’t think I’ve really had time to process it. “I feel a little numb. I don't know what I was expecting, or what I think knowing this is going to change. But I guess I got my answer.”
“I'm sorry you had to find out this way,” she says. “Are you certain it's him?”
“I mean, we didn't do a DNA test in the driveway,” I say. “But he didn't deny that it was possible and it all sort of makes sense, doesn't it?” I laugh. “Grandma, I look like him. It’s the weirdest thing.”
“I suppose,” she says, her voice uncertain. “I just...I don't know. We've gone all of these years without knowing, so it's strange now thinking that you do know.”
“I'm calling her,” I tell her. “I'm calling Mom and straight up asking her.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Alright. You want to do it now?”
I nod.
She stands up and grabs her phone from the counter.
“I can do it,” I say. “I did it before.”
“I know you can,” she says. “But I've paid that attorney quite a bit of money over the years and I know that if I text, there won't be a delay.” She taps furiously at the screen.
I sit there in silence, suddenly exhausted by the whole day. My arms are heavy and I just want to close my eyes and sleep. At least that’s what I tell myself. I have no idea if sleep would actually come.
“Thirty minutes,” she says, her eyes still on her phone screen. “She'll call your phone.”
I stand up. “Thanks. I'm gonna go splash some water on my face and try to wake myself up.”
“You're probably spent,” she says. “And I understand why. No
la.” She looks at me. “Tell me again that you’re okay.” Her eyes are bright with tears and this threatens to undo me.
“I'm okay.” I do my best to reassure her. “I'll be okay.”
“Let me know after you talk to her,” she says. She blinks rapidly and forces a smile, but there is so much anxiety and sadness in her expression that it hurts my heart. I don’t want to be the source of any worry or pain for her, not when she’s done so much for me. More than anyone else in my life, if I’m being honest. “We can have some dinner and talk if you need to.”
I nod and head to my room.
I want to take a shower but I don't want to miss the call if it comes. So I wash my face and change into a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt. I'm lying on the bed, exhaustion and anxiety warring inside of me, when the phone vibrates on my chest. I bolt upright and see her name on the screen.
“Nola,” she says. “It's your mother.”
“I know,” I say.
“I'm surprised to hear from you again,” she says tentatively.
I make no pretense at friendly conversation.
No pretense for calling other than the reason at hand.
“Is my father Jay Rogers?” I ask.
The silence on the line answers the question better than she ever could.
A rage rises up inside of me.
“I cannot believe you lied to me for so long,” I say. “About his name. About my name. About everything. I am now basically assuming that everything you've ever told me was a lie.”
“Nola, that's not fair.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “That's not fair. I'll tell you what's not fair. Being lied to for your whole life. That's not fair.”
“Nola, that isn't—”
“And you know what else isn't fair?” I say, cutting her off. “Having to show up at some guy's home who you've never met before and having to basically tell him that he's your dad because your mom was too chicken shit to tell him herself. That's what isn't fair. Mom.”
My hands are shaking and the phone is vibrating against my face.
“You spoke to him?” she finally asks. “To Jay?”
“To my father?” I say. “Yeah. I did.”
“And what did he say?”
“What do you think he said? He was totally confused. But then when I laid it all out for him, he admitted that it probably made sense. I actually felt sorry for him. And I told him he was actually lucky that you ditched him when you did because all you've ever done is leave a trail of bullshit in your wake.”
“Don't swear at me, Nola,” she says.
“Fuck you, Mom,” I say. “Oops. Sorry.”
The line buzzes, but she doesn't say anything.
“Why did you lie to me?” I finally ask. I hate that my voice breaks when I ask the question and I take a deep breath, determined not to let her hear how wrecked I am. All I want her to feel is my anger. “Not just about his name, but about my name and New Orleans and all that. I just don't get...why.”
She sighs through the line. “I'm not going to have a good answer for you, Nola.”
“Try anyway.”
She clears her throat. “I'm not exactly sure why I lied about his name. I think there was some part of me that worried you would go find him and end up living with him and leaving me. It makes no sense as I say it out loud, but I think that's the way it played out in my head. My choice to drink didn't allow for much clarity with anything. Ever. I'm using the alcohol as an excuse because it was my choice. But I know that when I was drinking, I rarely made good decisions.”
That is maybe the truest statement she's ever made.
“With your name, I don't know,” she says. “I honestly don't know. My assumption is I liked the idea of that story better than the truth. A lot more romantic to dream up the idea of having conceived you in New Orleans. It was fun. I was living in a make-believe world. It was escapism for me.” She pauses. “And avoidance of what my reality actually was.”
At least she was admitting it. It didn't take away the sting of having been lied to for years and for believing a story that was completely false, but at least she was admitting it.
“Jay had no idea about you,” she says. “So however you feel about me, he has no blame in any of this.”
“Why didn't you tell him?”
“Because I was scared,” she says. “Of everything. And I didn't love him. Hell, I didn’t even really know him. We were kids. I wasn't going to do the whole let's get married so we can get divorced later thing. I had zero interest in that. It was easier just not to tell him. He was a good guy. I know that he probably would've wanted to do the right thing, whatever that would've been. But I wasn't interested in it. So, I cut him out of my life, hid my pregnancy from your grandparents as long as I could, then refused to talk about him once they knew. I didn't want any help from anyone.” She pauses. “And that was dumb because I needed a lot of help.”
I lean back against the pillows. “You never told him anything about me?”
“Not a thing,” she says. “I never spoke to him again after I found out I was pregnant. I knew he was going to be going off to college, so in my head, that simplified things. I avoided him. He had no reason to think I was pregnant. So he hasn't ignored you for all these years. He just didn't know about you.”
“Well, he does now.”
“And how did he react?”
“Like I said. I think he was in shock. I left before we could really talk about anything. I told him I didn't want anything from him,” I explain. “That wasn't why I was there.”
The line buzzes for a few seconds.
“I am sorry, Nola,” she finally says. “For all of this. None of it's your fault, and I'm sorry you're having to deal with it. If I could take it all back, I would. But I was young and scared, and an alcoholic, and I just kept making mistake after mistake for years.” She pauses. “Until they all finally caught up with me.”
I don't say anything because there's nothing to say. It is all her fault and everything did finally catch up with her.
“I can try and talk to Jay, if you'd like,” she offers. “I would be happy to speak to him and tell him all of the same things I'm telling you.”
That’s the last thing I want.
“No,” I say. “It's fine. I'll figure it out.”
“You don't have to do it all on your own,” she says.
“Why?” I ask, then laugh. “That's how I've always done it. Bye, Mom.”
I hang up before she can object.
Chapter 32
I spend the night tossing and turning in my bed and I get maybe an hour of sleep. By the time my alarm goes off, I'm already out of bed and getting into the shower. I stay in the shower too long and end up having to rush the rest of the morning to get out the door in time. Mercy has already been in my driveway for five minutes when I run out of the house to meet her.
“Was just about to text you,” she says. “Wasn't sure you were coming.”
“Sorry,” I tell her. “Got up late.”
She looks at me. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I tell her.
She keeps her eyes on me for another second, waiting for me to say more, but I just look out the window. She backs us out of the driveway and we stop for coffee. I hand her a twenty to pay the cashier and I drink nearly all of mine before we get to school, hoping the caffeine will help fortify me. Mercy and I barely talk, and I know she knows something is wrong, but she doesn't ask and I want to hug her for not asking. I’m just not sure I have the energy or the words to share everything that has happened.
We get out of the car and I'm about to apologize for being so quiet and tell her what's going on when I see Reese at the end of the parking lot. Bree and Fallon are with her.
They aren’t walking toward the school and they aren’t just casually hanging out.
They are waiting.
“I do not need this shit today,” I say.
“What shit?” Mercy asks.
I
nod toward them.
She looks and then groans. “You wanna bail? Skip first period? I can probably get my mom to call us in late or something.”
“No,” I say. “Not gonna give her that satisfaction.”
We cross the lot and when she sees me, she straightens up, and it's obvious that she was waiting for me.
“Well, well,” Reese says, her eyes narrowing. “So nice to see you two have finally made up. Guess you both finally got desperate for a friend.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Assume that's why the three of you hang around together. No one else wants to get within ten feet of you.”
Bree and Fallon look at one another, confused, but Reese just glares at me and tosses her long blonde hair. “Fuck you.”
“Sure, whatever,” I say. “I am not in the mood for your bullshit today, Reese. Get out of the way.”
“My bullshit?” she says. “That's funny, coming from you.”
“You are the fucking worst,” Mercy says.
“Did you ever even want Archer?” Reese asks, ignoring Mercy. She plants her hands on her hips and stares at me. “Or was the whole thing a game?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“It was Heath you wanted all along, right?” she says. “You used Archer to make Heath jealous.”
“You're fucking insane,” I tell her. “All of your hairspray has finally bled into your brain.”
“You wanted Heath all along,” she says again. “That's why you left Archer's party with him that night. But then he turned you down and you had to figure out how to get his attention again.”
“Heath turned me down?” I say. “You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Reese. You couldn't be more wrong.”
“Okay, liar,” she says, laughing. “I'll believe whatever you say.”
My hand balls into a fist at my side. “Get out of our way.”
“If I'm wrong, why were you at Heath's house yesterday?” Reese asks.
My fingernails dig into my palm. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“So you weren't there?” Reese says. “Because I fucking know you were.”