Chapter 2 #2
My fingertips ran softly over the picture.
My mother, smiling through that stern brow of hers.
She had flowing brown hair with red highlights like mine.
She was thick and stout like I was. She had a soft jawline, though.
Delicate, like a woman’s. I had inherited my father’s jawline.
Sharp. Prominent. A jawline I could slice through paper with and high cheekbones that sent my eyes tilting upward at their corners like a cat’s.
My mother had beautiful eyes that changed colors.
Sometimes, they were hazel. Other times, green.
Very rarely, they were blue. But it happened if she wore the right clothing or if the sun caught her eyes just right.
I had her same color-changing eyes.
I went to set the picture back down but it tumbled to the floor. I missed the edge by almost half an inch, and I prayed I hadn’t shattered the glass of the frame. I scrambled to pick it up, trying to put back the picture where it belonged.
And suddenly, something slipped to the floor.
“What’s that?” I murmured.
I quickly put the picture back together and set it on the nightstand.
Then, I picked up the piece of paper from the floor.
Only, it wasn’t a piece of paper. It was a picture.
A picture of a young woman with beautiful features.
Wondrous auburn hair. Piercing blue eyes.
I picked the picture of my mother and me back up and studied the two pictures side by side.
Funny. The young woman looked a bit like my mother.
Curiosity set in and I began digging. I opened up my mother’s bedside drawer and rummaged around.
I ignored all the things I needed to. Things I didn’t need to know my parents used.
I tucked in the awkwardness of it all and ripped open drawers and dropped to my knees to look under things.
I came across random pictures. Baby pictures that weren’t of me.
A newspaper article picture of the same woman in the picture I’d initially found, but the article wasn’t attached to it.
Who is this woman?
I scrambled to put everything back in its place, but I slipped the initial picture into my pocket.
I wanted to keep it. Something told me to keep it.
I made my way out of my parents’ bedroom, trying to make it look like as if I had never been there.
In a way, I felt as if I had invaded their privacy.
And in another way, I felt as if I’d just stumbled upon something I deserved to know.
I didn’t know whether to be worried or upset.
I didn’t have the stomach to unpack. Instead, I tried distracting myself with a shower. A ten-minute shower turned into an hour-long shower, and by the time I was dressed and ready for dessert my parents were back.
“Freya! We’re home!” my mother exclaimed.
“At your mother’s haste,” my father added.
I heard the two of them giggling and kissing downstairs as I drew in a deep breath.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
I made my way down the stairs, my hair still wet from my shower.
“Of course. You can ask me anything. How did the unpacking go?” she asked.
“Actually, I didn’t really get to it,” I said.
“Oh?” my father asked.
“I was just walking around and looking at pictures of us. You know, our family and stuff. Reliving memories,” I said.
“You always did enjoy doing that,” my father said, grinning.
“I told you she wouldn’t unpack,” my mother said, giggling.
“You—wait—what? Never mind. Look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have gone into your bedroom, but I was looking for a specific picture. You know, that one of the two of us where the sun is kind of in the camera’s way?” I asked.
“That’s my favorite picture of you two,” my father said.
“Well, I kind of broke it,” I said.
My mother came over and cupped my cheek. “Sweetheart, it’s fine. We can get any old picture frame at the dollar store or something.”
I slipped the picture out of my back pocket. “This fell out when the back came off.”
My mother looked down at the picture, and I watched her face pale. I looked over at my father whose eyes darted sharply up to mine. I went on my guard and became defensive as my mother slowly ran her fingertips over the young woman in the picture.
“Who is that, Mom?” I asked.
“No one,” she said softly.
“Maybe we should talk about this another time,” my father said.
“Or we could talk about it now,” I said.
“No,” my mother said curtly.
I tried taking the picture away from her, but she snatched it back.
“Give it back to me, Mom,” I said.
“This is my picture. It wasn’t yours to begin with. You aren’t getting it back,” she said.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Rose, maybe we should tell her,” my father said.
“We aren’t telling her anything, Asher,” my mother hissed.
“Tell me what!?” I exclaimed.
The room fell silent around us. My heart slammed multiple times against my chest. Tears rose in my mother’s eyes as she leaned back into my father, seeking some sort of comfort from him.
He wrapped his arms around her as tears rushed down her cheeks.
He kissed the top of her head over and over, comforting her instead of me.
I wish someone was there to comfort me.
“Who is that?” I asked.
My mother wiped her tears away before she sighed.
“She’s just… my daughter. From another marriage,” my mother said.
I paused. “Just?”
“Freya, take a breath,” my father said.
“Take a—what?” I asked.
“You can’t go looking for her. I’m serious. I can’t have any contact with her father whatsoever,” my mother said.
“Why? Is he abusive or something?” I asked.
“Not… exactly,” my father said.
“I have a half-sister out there somewhere, and you don’t want me to go looking for her?” I asked.
“We have our reasons, Freya,” my father said sternly.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“It’s not important,” my mother said.
She choked it out, as if every single syllable of that statement killed a piece of her inside.
“Your other daughter isn’t important?” I asked.
“That’s not what I meant. I just meant that they have their own lives and we have ours,” my mother said.
“Freya, promise us you won’t go looking for them. It’s dangerous,” my mother said.
“Well, will you tell me about her? What she’s like? Why you didn’t tell me you were married before?” I asked.
“Because it’s none of your business,” my mother said curtly.
“Sweetheart, calm down,” my father said.
“Tell me something! Why can’t I go looking for them?” I asked.
“Because they have their own life in San—”
I paused. My eyebrows hiked up onto my forehead.
“San Diego?” I asked.
My parents stayed silent as my mother wiped her tears away.
“They have their own life in San Diego?” I asked.
And when they didn’t answer me, I knew what I needed to do.
I knew how I needed to fill my time until I could figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
I had six months to defer my student loans before they’d come due.
And with my resume updated on every online site I could think of, the only thing I could do was twiddle my thumbs and keep submitting it as jobs popped up.
Which was something I could do from my phone.
In San Diego.
“Don’t you dare,” my mother said.
“Why not?” I asked softly.
“You’re staying here, and that’s final,” my father said.
“I’m going to San Diego,” I said.
“No, you are not!” my father bellowed.
“Yes, I am!” I shrieked.
“You have no money. No place to stay. And if you find them, it’ll put both you and her in grave danger. I’m begging you, Freya. Please don’t go. If you need adventure, you can find it here. In Yuma. Or back in Phoenix. I’ll let you go back to Phoenix. Just, please—”
“I do have money,” I said.
My parents paused, their eyes darting to look at one another.
Might as well come clean.
“How?” my father asked.
“The money you kept sending me in college to convince me not to take a job? I saved it. I did very little while I was on campus other than sleeping, eating, and studying. I saved up as much as I could, and you sent a lot more money than necessary,” I said.
My father gawked as my mother’s eyes widened.
“I’m going to San Diego. And if you don’t like it, I’ll take my stuff with me. But there’s nothing for me in Yuma. There are no jobs. There is no future for history teachers here. Maybe in Phoenix, but maybe San Diego might have some opportunities,” I said.
“Honey, you can’t be serious right now,” my mother said.
“I have no options. Not here. And if you aren’t going to tell me about my half-sister, then I’ll go find her and ask her these questions myself,” I said.
And as my parents yelled and bickered after me, I rushed up the stairs to pack my things.
Innocent or not, I had a sibling out there.
A sister who probably didn’t know I existed.
And if she was in some kind of trouble or in some hurtful situation with some man or something, maybe I could convince her to leave.
Come with me somewhere. At the very least, show her she had family that cared.
Either way, it was something for me to focus on. So, I was running with it.
All the way up to my bedroom, where I could easily grab a bag since I hadn’t unpacked yet.