Chapter 14 Bridget
brIDGET
I’m smiling, thinking about last night, feeling light as air, when there’s a knock at my door. I haven’t even showered yet, so the smells of Crow and the fun we had last night still cling to my skin and hair.
I check the peephole and see an elderly man I don’t recognize. I open the door a crack.
“Good morning,” I say to him. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, ah…”
The sun is bright, and the man is blinking like he can’t quite see me through the glare.
“I…I was wondering…” The man was once tall, but his stooped shoulders and sunken cheeks show his age.
He’s well-dressed in nicely pressed khakis and a short-sleeved dress shirt, but he looks confused and disoriented.
I don’t recognize him as one of my neighbors, so I’m immediately concerned he’s in some kind of distress.
I look up and down the street for an unfamiliar car or other people, but my street looks exactly the same as it always does.
Nothing unusual except the man on my doorstep.
“Sir,” I ask, “are you okay? Do you know where you are?”
“I do, yes…” He’s staring at me, looking lost and like the polar opposite of knowing where he is. “Is your…mother here?”
“Let me grab my phone.” I shut the door behind me and grab my cell phone.
Old man or not, I’m not going to invite a stranger into my home, but I’ll happily go outside with my phone and see if I can be of help.
Before I head back out, I check the peephole again.
The man’s still standing there, looking down at his shoes.
Not moving. So, I grab my keys and open the door, then join him on the patio.
When I open the door, the man says, “I know she’s gone. I guess when I got here, my mind just went back, and I… It was habit or hopeful thinking. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you?” I ask. “Did you know my mother?”
His eyes are the same rainy gray that mine are. “I sure did. And I know you too, Birdie.”
I cross my arms over my chest as a small flare of alarm courses through my body. “Who the hell are you?” I demand. “What do you want?”
Old or not, this man is a stranger to me. And he’s scaring me.
“I’m your father, Birdie. I’m sorry to surprise you this way. I know it’s been a long time.”
When he says those words, it’s like a thousand-pound weight falls on my chest. I suck in a lungful of air and glare at him.
“I don’t believe you. What’s your name?” I demand.
“James Sanderson,” he says quietly. “Your mom called me Jimmy. I should have extended my condolences a long time ago. I know it’s been a very long time, but I thought maybe we could talk.”
In that moment, the world beneath my feet feels like it’s shifting. I’m hot, I’m cold, I’m shaking, and I’m furious.
“Your condolences?” I blurt. “You’re here to extend your condolences?
Mom’s been gone for months. And you—you’ve been out of my life for twenty-five years, Jimmy.
” I say his name like it tastes bad in my mouth.
Because it does. “No,” I say. “You cannot do this. You can’t just show up on my doorstep now. No.”
I look the man over, in shock and disbelief that this is the man who created me.
We look so alike, it’s impossible to deny the relation.
I always thought I looked like my mother, not that it matters all that much.
But I suppose since I didn’t have many memories of my dad, not having a photo to look at to know where I came from, I searched all the harder for a resemblance to Mom.
But looking at this man now, even in his advanced age, I see it.
The same steely eyes. The same nose… I mean, it’s almost as if someone took his nose and put it right on my face.
My lips are fuller, so those I’m sure I got from Mom.
No matter how his presence makes me feel, there’s no denying this man is my father.
“You’re not welcome here,” I say, a crushing wave of anger and sadness rushing over me. “Don’t you ever come back.” I think of Mia, of how she would feel if she were here and this man showed up on my doorstep. “I mean it. Stay away from me, and stay the hell away from my daughter.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at his shoes as I go inside, and I slam the door behind me and turn the dead bolt.
Fury and sadness wash over me, and I can’t decide what to do first. I want to scream and throw something. But part of me wants to run after him. Demand answers. Hurl insults at him for every day he missed, every moment Mom and I struggled because of his deception and lies.
I throw myself onto the couch and start crying.
The tears flow, hot and furious. I’m gasping for air and beating the couch cushion to vent some of my emotions.
It’s all too much. The pleasure of last night.
The pain of this morning. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t release some of these emotions, and I think if Jimmy is still there, I’m going to take all of this out on him.
He wants to talk—screw talking. I’ll scream in his face and make him see what he’s done, how many lives he’s hurt being a piece-of-shit, lying deadbeat.
In a rush, I get up and yank the door open. I half hope he’s still there. If he is, I’ll demand answers. I’ll let him in if only so I can get what I want for once. But of course, when I look out the door, he’s gone.
My disappointment that he’s gone starts to take over my anger.
It’s not fair that I should be in this position.
That I should feel like a bad person for not letting him just walk into my house and invite himself over for a catch-up.
That I should feel this mix of guilt and shame because I’m so mad and I want to take it out on him.
It’s not fair he left us. Not fair he lied.
I pace my house frantically, wondering what he could have wanted after all this time. The usual maybe. He’s sick or feeling guilty or something bad happened, and he wanted me to know about it. I don’t know. Can’t even guess. If he’s dying and wanted to say goodbye and make peace…
No. No. No. No.
I take a few deep breaths and try to calm myself down.
I’m feeling dizzy and stressed and my head is throbbing, but it’s just a warning.
It’s not a full headache yet, but I realize I’m crying so hard that I’m probably dehydrating myself.
I stumble into the kitchen and grab a glass of water and a fist full of tissues from the powder room.
I take some pain meds for my head and drink a whole glass of cold water, the liquid cooling my overheated mouth and throat.
I pull out an old picture of myself lying facedown on a soft baby blanket, a blanket I still have in a closet upstairs.
I’m playing with a toy and smiling, the tiny tips of two brand-new teeth poking through my baby gums. That sweet little child had no idea what life had in store for her.
I trace my fingertips along my baby face and head, and the tears come.
No one else is going to cry for me. No one else cares.
I’ve always been alone, abandoned by unreliable men, and so has my mother.
No matter what James Sanderson wants, I don’t want him.
I spend a good amount of time in the bathtub, reading and thinking.
It’s impossible not to feel pissed off that I had the most amazing night with Crow, his body, his words, our essence so caring and powerful together, and the very next morning, James Sanderson shows up.
Two men who appeared in my life at the exact worst times.
After who knows how long in the bath, I get a text from Alice offering to drop Mia off. I accept the help, because honestly, I’m in no condition to drive or to leave the bathtub until the last possible second.
As I’m toweling my hair dry, thankful that the headache that seemed about to start is keeping its distance, there’s a knock at the door.
I head downstairs, hair still wet but in comfy sweats and a loose T-shirt. My heart flips, and my body responds immediately when I open the door.
“Hi,” I say, trying to ignore the tingle of my core and the way my breasts ache with the memory of his stubble scraping so deliciously against my sensitive skin. My body may have a mind of its own, but my face can’t hide where my head is.
Crow’s face falls when he sees me. “Hey.” He lifts my chin with his fingers. “What happened? You look like you’ve been crying.”
I step out of his hold. “I’m…I’m fine. Mia’s on her way back, so I don’t think I should talk about it.”
Crow snaps his lips together but makes no attempt to follow me. “Birdie,” he says. “What the hell happened? If this is about us… If you’ve having second thoughts about what happened…”
I shake my head sadly. “No, it’s just…complicated. I really don’t have time to talk about it right now. I’m sorry.”
I don’t even know where to begin. Part of me wants to run into his arms and pound against his chest, release all the sadness and rage inside, but Mia’s on her way home.
I’m fighting a headache. And I don’t even know how I feel.
Guilt. Sadness. It’s a roller coaster, and right now, I just want to get off the ride.
I’m so lost in my own confusion, I don’t ask about Crow’s day. I don’t ask if he’s okay. I’m just focused on keeping it together for myself and for Mia. That’s how it has to be.
“Don’t have time,” Crow echoes. He takes two steps back from me, his face withdrawn, shuttered from any emotion.
“I understand. I’d better get back to the compound anyway.
” He walks up to me and looks like he wants to hug me, hold me, but I can’t even look at him.
If I do, my carefully constructed walls will come crumbling down.
When the floodgates open, pain—real pain—will consume me, and right now, I can’t give in to that.
My dad doesn’t deserve that. I’m not going to let him steal the small shred of peace I have left.