Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ASH
I go home and take a nap.
I wake up from it hard.
Naps and I are not friends under any circumstances, and these are not just any circumstances. The victory can't compete with the crushing defeat of losing Rusty before I ever really had him. I don’t blame myself—I refuse to—but I let myself cry. My eyes sting, my lungs burn, my throat is raw. The sadness in my heart is a weight so heavy, I struggle to move from my bed.
And when I’ve cried myself out, I pull up social media to numb my brain. I scroll through posts from people I knew in high school, acquaintances from college and old jobs. My brothers share pictures of their kids or lame dad jokes. Then I see a post from Greg that makes the weight in my heart press on my lungs.
It's a picture of Greg and my brothers — his biological sons — when the boys were young. And the caption says, "My kids are the greatest blessing in the world. Praying for many more years with these rascals."
He called them "my kids." Full stop. Not "my boys," the way he usually does … the way he always does, come to think of it.
No, even my existence is absent from the caption. His caption doesn't leave room for "Daddy's girl," as he calls me.
I didn't realize until right now that I've been waiting for this moment since I was nine, when he married my mom. Greg was so loving and warm, even when Frank had me convinced that Greg was the problem keeping my mom and him apart. It took me a couple of years to realize that Greg was actually pretty incredible and another couple of years after that to realize my dad was a narcissistic liar. But even when I was young and dumb, Greg always treated me with the same love he showed his boys.
Or at least, I thought he did.
But the other shoe has finally dropped and his true feelings have come out. "My kids," the picture says. "These rascals," it says. That clearly implies that the people shown in the picture are his only kids.
I'm not one of them.
To plunge the dagger deeper, I pull up Frank's profile. Nothing comes up. Oh my gosh, did Frank block me? The father who already rejected me a million times has somehow done it again?
No, that's not right. I blocked him . I could unblock him, though. He used to make at least some effort with me. He wouldn't come to a birthday or go out of his way, but he would randomly drop by with a stupidly lavish gift that made me feel special … although it was more like a bribe than a gesture of fatherly love. By the time I reached high school, though, his manipulations had become too transparent to deny. When I stopped being his "ally" against my mom, he turned on me completely. He stopped buying me anything or communicating with me except on public posts designed to make him look like a good father instead of a derelict one.
I don't want to unblock Frank, though.
I want Greg to love me.
Why can’t I inspire real, enduring love in even the good men in my life? The best men in my life. Greg is the only father I have, yet he sees me as a second class citizen in my own family.
I hurt, inside and out. My frown is so deep, cheek muscles I didn't know existed ache. My forehead hurts from it being screwed up into a sad knot. I'm a snotty, sniveling mess who wants to swim in my own sea of pain.
And like any 27 year-old woman drowning in self-pity, I FaceTime my mom.
Unfortunately, it's Greg who answers. "AJ!" he says with a big smile. "Why are the lights off? Are you okay?"
"Just a headache," I say. With only the light coming in from my mostly closed window and the reflection of my phone screen, my puffy, red-rimmed eyes are shadowed. "Where's Mom?"
"Deboning a chicken, so I thought I’d answer for her. How did the meeting go today? Did the town see my baby girl's genius?"
I fake a smile, even though he'll barely be able to see it. Him calling me his 'baby girl' after that post causes an extra stab of pain. It's like he's carrying on for me, faking so I don't feel the hurt of being second tier in his heart.
"They voted in favor of the proposal," I say. "The Janes have done it again."
"Ha ha! I knew they'd love it. You five are the best dream team since that one team in the 90's that had that one basketball player who was in Space Jam .'"
I chuckle in spite of myself. Greg has the same awareness of sports that most people have of advanced coding theory.
Little to none .
"You have to be one of the only men alive who knows Michael Jordan from Space Jam instead of from actual basketball."
Greg's booming laugh hits me through the speaker. "I am who I am."
I ask him about work, and he tells me a quick update on a project, but he turns it around on me, peppering me with questions about next steps for Sugar Maple. I answer as well as I can, but my heart isn't in it, and Greg seems to sense it.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.
"Sure I am."
"You know, I got a message from Frank … "
I sit up. "Oh no. I'm sorry! I had no idea he'd reach out to you guys. I didn't mean to bring you into anything."
"You have no need to apologize, AJ."
"What did he say?" I ask, worry burning my chest.
"He said that I've turned you against him."
"That's absurd! You've only ever supported me in whatever relationship I wanted with him."
"I've tried. Believe me.” He puffs his cheeks and shakes his head. “Can you … can you tell me why you blocked him?"
My parents — Mom and Greg, I mean — have never said a bad word against Frank. I don't want to sound like the kind of kid who sits around and bad mouths her own father, but …
"Because he's not my dad. He's never treated me like I matter. He only cares about me if someone will find out and think he's an involved, loving father. But he's not any of these things. He's a jerk. He doesn't treat me like a dad should."
"No, he doesn't," he says with a frown.
My eyes burn with tears. "Greg, I know you have your own kids, but? — "
"My own kids? You're my kid."
"I saw your post with your boys."
"What post? "
"The post from when they were younger. It was a picture from probably twenty years ago."
Greg sets the phone against something — I'm guessing his computer monitor — and then his fingers fly across the keyboard. His eyes widen, and when he takes off his glasses and squeezes his closed eyes, I see tears pour out. "Oh, baby girl. You must have been so hurt. Did you notice the time stamp on it?"
I hate seeing Greg sad, so I lie. "It doesn't matter! I get it. They're your biological kids, and I was nine when you and Mom got married, and I was already so weird."
"Please look at the time stamp," he pleads.
"It's okay! I don't blame you if you were tired and not thinking or if you were on Red Bull number three? — "
"AJ, it was a Time Hop! A memory that the algorithm asked me if I wanted to share! The picture and caption were from right after the boys' mom died and before I met your mom!"
The tears I've tried to hold back come out in a hurricane of emotion. I shake and sob as years of feeling less loved and less important come to the surface.
"Oh, my AJ," Greg cries. "I didn't even read the caption when it showed up on my feed! I shared it because the boys are already losing their hair and I'm not, so I wanted to gloat! I'm sick that you thought I would leave you out in a post about all my kids!"
I can only sob.
"Do you remember the first time I came over?" he asks, wiping his cheeks with a handkerchief. "You climbed on to my lap and let me watch Phineas and Ferb with you, and the whole time, you asked a thousand questions about whatever invention they were working on. And when I made up some silly answer, you looked at me with stars in your eyes, and I was in love." He sniffs and clears his throat. "Sweet girl, you may not be the daughter of my flesh, but you are the daughter of my heart and soul. You're everything I ever wanted. Someone to talk Star Trek and comic books with? Someone to watch every season of Psych with? Someone who laughs at my dad jokes and listens to my stories like you actually care? How did I get so lucky to be your dad?"
"Then why didn't you adopt me?"
A cry rips from Greg's throat. "Frank wouldn't let me! We took him to court, showing that he refused to have a meaningful relationship with you, and he had a sob story for every missed birthday and Christmas. He had receipts from every single present he bought you, as if those were evidence that he cared. In the end, your mom and I decided that once you were 18, we'd talk about it again."
I'm crying so hard, and I want so badly to believe him. "But I brought it up and you didn't do anything! Winter break of my freshman year when I came home from Chicago."
It was Christmas morning, and I was tearing open a package and joked, "Is it adoption papers?" Greg looked so shocked that I backpedaled immediately. "Just kidding," I said. "What 18 year-old girl is going to court with her stepdad on adoption day?"
"Well, if you really want — " Mom started, but I stopped her. I was too worried Greg would think I was pathetic, and I didn't want to seem desperate to my own family.
"It was a joke, Mom. Everything's good. Let's open this present!" I said. I felt so stupid, so afraid that Greg was going to give some long, drawn out reason about why adopting me wouldn't work, and my brothers — stepbrothers — all watched us with this awkward grimace. Then when it was time for them to go visit their mom's grave at the cemetery the way they always did on Christmas, Greg asked if I wanted to come. And I felt like the worst person ever for making their pain about me. So I went into my room, cried, called my friends, and ate two bars of Toblerone.
And I never talked about it again.
Greg's mouth falls open, clearly thinking back to the same incident. "You said you were joking! I was so surprised, because your mom and I had talked about it a few nights before. We were planning to ask you if you would want to be legally adopted, so when you made a joke about it, I felt like a fool for assuming you'd care."
"Are you telling me the only reason I still have Frank's last name is because we were both afraid of offending each other?" I sob, my shoulders shaking from years of rejection that didn't need to be.
Greg gives me a weak, watery laugh. "Miscommunication tropes might suck, but no one can say they aren't based in reality." He tries to smile through his tears. "AJ, I love you. I know you're 27, but it would be the greatest honor of my life for you to have my name."
Tears pour down my cheeks. "Daddy! Yes!"
I hate that he's not here to hug me, that we're doing this over a phone screen. But I hug my arm around myself and cry happy, happy tears.
I might be two thousand miles from home, but there aren't many forces in the world more powerful than knowing your dad loves you.
"Now put Rusty on. I bet he's crying in the background."
My smile turns upside down. "I don't think Rusty and I are going to work out."
Dad snorts and wipes his nose. "Good one. Where is he?"
"He's at home. Or work, maybe. I don't know. I thought we were on track to be something more, but I don’t think he can do it."
"That's silly. I hope I didn't scare him off with our little chat." Dad chuckles.
"I forgot you guys chatted the other day. What did you talk about, anyway?"
" You . I called him and asked what his intentions with you are, because I know how scared he's been to take a step forward with you. He told me he'd never do anything to hurt you, and I told him every guy makes that promise, and every guy breaks it. Loving someone is doubling your pain. That's from one of Lou's songs."
"We're not fan-girling over Lucy Jane right now, Dad. What did Rusty say?"
"He said he's loved you for almost as long as he's known you. He said he'll wait as long as it takes for you to love him back. And he said he knows he’ll never be worthy of you, but he'd devote his life to taking care of you if you let him."
"His life ?"
"AJ, this boy has nothing but long term in mind with you, if you're willing. The only reason he'd back out is if he thought he couldn't give you the forever you deserve."
I frown. I'm still in relative darkness, but the sun is low enough in the sky now that it's peering through my blinds and illuminating the side of my face in slits. I look like I've been cut open and the light inside me is shining out.
"I think I need to go have a chat with Rusty. I love you, Dad."
"Love you, too, my girl. I'll get the adoption papers in the mail ASAP."
I do a laugh-cry and nod. "I can't wait."