45. Abigail – “When youre happy, you enjoy the music but when youre sad, you understand the lyrics.” ― Frank Ocean
45
Abigail
“When you're happy, you enjoy the music but when you're sad, you understand the lyrics.” ― Frank Ocean
Throughout the week, I had to put ice patches over my eyes on the nights I cried myself to sleep. These last few days were brutal, hitting me hard. I kept replaying what Colt and I shared these past couple of months over and over to see what I’d missed. Then, when I saw an article on the sports news about the video, I took it as a sign.
Colt told the world we were friends, and he was helping his brother out. He explained it was all misconstrued and that his son accidentally uploaded it. It was not intended for the public, but we are friends, and he looks at me as his little sister since I know Josh Killian, his brother. He failed to mention Blake. It was like I was being repeatedly punched in the stomach every time as I so much as thought of what Colt said about me.
I was going to take the video down, but on nights I needed to remember that what we had wasn’t all fake, I logged on and only read the positive comments to keep me going.
It was apparent I was only a fling to him, a sign that I missed because of my growing feelings. Luckily, one benefit of working and starting school full-time is that I didn’t get much time to wallow in my feelings. I was too busy looking for apartments and preparing for the school year.
I filled Mel in on what had happened yesterday since I had some free time, and she’s looking at plane tickets as we speak, but I told her I’m fine. She was worried I wasn’t eating, which I wasn’t, but I lied and told her I was still eating like normal. I just had to force it, which was true, but I couldn't even bring myself to eat regular meals, let alone think about stomaching anything.
I never felt this way, not even when Blake died. That seemed more manageable because I knew he was not out here in the world having sex with whomever he wanted—living life to the fullest. With Colt, it felt more like a death than the actual death of Blake. They both were sudden, but Colt’s departure cut deeper for some reason.
I had a couple of apartments lined up, so after a long day, I decided to do something I never did, sit down and watch TV. I wasn’t a big television watcher, and most of the time, I preferred to read or, these days, work on Blake's album Toxic Wishes. But it was my first Friday off in a while, so I would at least try and relax. For about ten minutes, I watched a reality show before the girls on the screen started to annoy me, then I flipped through the channels, and usually, I’d blow right by ESPN, except the familiar face on the screen caused me to freeze. Colt’s big blue eyes were fixed on the female reporter. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he spoke. A beautiful blonde who resembled Naomi asked him about a new player who had been transferred to the Cardinals for the upcoming season. Colt scratched his chin,
“Everyone has welcomed him with open arms. It’s been fun getting to know him and getting back in the groove at camp. The team is stronger than ever, and I’m excited for the season to start.”
She continued to ask him questions with a twinkle in her eye. She seemed to be flirting. My stomach sank.
“Tell us, Colt Killian, do you think this will be the season the Cardinals make it to the Super Bowl again?”
He smiled. And I knew that smile. It was his charming smile. And right before he answered, I turned the channel. I couldn’t take it if I couldn’t handle a reporter flirting with him, how would I have dealt with all the rest of the women throwing themselves at him? Beautiful women like her, day in and day out. I shut the TV off and decided to do another thing I rarely did, drink. I never drank because of the calories, but I figured if I’m not eating, then I can at least drink my calories away. But when I reached for my wallet to see how much cash I had from my tips last night, I noticed my driver's license was missing. I searched through my whole wallet, then my purse. I couldn’t find it anywhere. So I searched the apartment, my bag—even the house.
Colt opened the house for rent a couple of days after he left, but it’s been slow since school was about to start. Cliff has been staying in Blake's room since we cleared it out, and I honestly think he liked staying in his room. The twin bed was not nearly as comfortable as any other, but I think being in there made Cliff feel like Blake was right next to him. He’s been a completely different person since we came across the song Blake wrote,’ talking about his dad and son.
I got his smile, I got his stubborn ways, but what I didn’t get was his selfish heart.
When I grow up to be a man with a son, you can bet on me being there for him to toss the ball across the yard, to dry his tears across his dirty cheeks. You can count on me to be the one who makes him feel safe as I tuck him in goodnight and hear him say grace. And you can bet your bottom dollar that my son will remember this lullaby and take it wherever he goes.
Goodnight, son, goodnight, my son. You'll see my face when you wake. Now get some rest and dream the biggest dreams for the take.
The words replay in my head as I stare down at Cliff passed out on the couch with a bag of chips on his chest. I take him in, studying his features. It’s wild how I see a little of Colt and Blake in him. As I stare down at him, I see the regret in the creases around his lips. The exhaustion around his eyes, the lack of love, the way his arms are folded across his chest, his hug-like posture. I never expected him to help me get this album together, but it’s clear I’m helping even more so by including him.
Once I get to my parent’s house, I ensure I’m quiet when I open the front door instead of the garage. Despite the closed liquor stores, it was nighttime, and I still needed a new driver's license. My mom and dad kept all our important paperwork, like social security cards and legal documents, in a file cabinet in the office downstairs. I let out a sigh of relief when I walked through the door. The office was the first room you saw when you walked in, so even if my parents were awake watching TV in their bedroom or den, they wouldn’t hear me.
I slowly tiptoe into the office and open the cabinet door. I searched through the manilla envelopes until I found my name—Abigail Asher’s documents. I finger through the different paperwork until I spot my birth certificate or social security card, which I can take to the tag agency to issue a new driver’s license. A conversation with my mom a few years back pops into my mind.
“ Mom I want to become an international singer”
“That’s great dear” my mom says as she fingers through the different dresses on the sales rack at Dillard’s
“But I need my passport and I asked Adalee and she said I would need my birthday certificate in order to get one. Do you know where that is mom?”
“I think so. I forget where I put all that stuff. It’s hard keeping up, besides I wouldn’t put your hopes on all that. The music industry is a cut throat business and I would hate for your silly wishes to become disappointed dreams.”
When I graduate, I will travel the world on my own dime not by relying on a man that I don’t even love.
She’s never had faith in me. She never gave me the support I deserved. The one person who should be your number one fan never was. An all too familiar pain in my chest burns, but I shove it down, ignoring it.
I spot my birth certificate, pinch the paper, and slip it from the envelope. I slowly close the file cabinet before letting myself out, praying no one spots me.
Once in my car, I place the certificate on the console and buckle my seat belt. I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe. That was stressful and yet another experience that reminded me how unhealthy it was for me to avoid my parents even on the simple task of asking for my birth certificate. But it’s been weeks since I came here to move back, and they met Colt, and I haven’t heard from either one of them after Colt abducted me that day. So, I’ve given up on trying to be a daughter who forms some relationship with her parents.
“Time to go home,” I say to myself, and the devil on my shoulder immediately whispers in my ear that I don’t have a home. And I knew he was right because I would leave the lake house soon.
When I shifted the clutch in reverse, I looked down at the birth certificate, and a name caught my eye. I pause. I look at it again, and as I’m backing up, I pull the car to the side of the street, and park. I picked up the certificate and reread it. Exhausted from lack of sleep and food, I needed to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. My heart drops in my chest, and I swear it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack.
This has to be a mistake. It has to be.
I look down at the certificate, and a tear drops on it. Unaware I was even crying, I wiped my face. I hold the certificate in both hands and stare at the black words that glare back at me. Laughing at me;
Birth Certificate
Abigail Asher
Born November 11, 2002, at 11:15 am.
Mother: Ashley Marie Asher
Father: Matthew Adams Asher
I put the car in drive, pressed the gas, and dialed the only person’s number that would have answers. The phone starts ringing, and I silently pray that she picks it up.
“Hello,” I hear my sister's voice, and relief washes over me.
“Hey Adalee.”
“Hey, Is everything okay?” She sounded groggy like she had just woken up.
“No. I need to ask you something, so please don’t lie to me.”
“Okay,” she says, elongating the vowels. “You’re starting to scare me. Have you been drinking and not eating again?”
I shake my head as tears start to fall down my face again. “Stop, not now, Adalee. I need to know, ” I suck in a breath, “am I adopted?”
It’s the most logical answer to why everyone treated me so differently from everyone else in the family. I don’t understand why mom’s name was the one on the birth certificate and another man’s. Did mom want another baby, but dad refused to have one?
“Jesus,” I hear Adalee say faintly.
“Is that a yes?” I feel my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as I await her answer through the Bluetooth speaker.
“No. Abigail. No,” She says softly, and confusion sets in with a mixture of relief.
“You’re not adopted.”
“Then who is my father? Why does it have another man’s name on my birth certificate? And how come I’ve never seen it? Did mom give me a fake one to take to college when I needed it? I mean. I-I don’t understand. What the fuck is going on?”
“Abigail, calm down. She did that to…” She hesitates trailing off and I know she’s thinking of a way to lie to me. “Protect you in a sense. She didn’t think you should find out, especially not like this.”
“So you’ve known this whole time I’ve had another father? We’re not sisters?”
“We are sisters. We’re just, half, instead of whole.”
“What the fuck, how come no one told me?” My hands began to tremble so I gripped the steering wheel tighter to stay in control. But when I steadied my hands, I could feel my body start to shake.
“Did mom have an affair”? Is that why Dad started cheating on her?”
“Look, the baby is sleeping, so why don’t you just come over? I don’t think I should discuss this with you over the phone. Not while you’re driving. I know you probably didn’t eat much today, so the last thing I want is for my sister to pass out from exhaustion and shock.”
Her sweet suggestion made me calm down a little. My sister always showed me love and concern when I needed it most. Especially after our grandma had passed, it’s like Adalee knew the only other person who cared about me on this earth was our grandma.
Before answering, I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’ll head there now.”