11. Alyssa
ALYSSA
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, standing awkwardly on the doorstep with Adam idling in his truck behind me.
I tried to wave him off and tell him I'd be fine, but he refused to leave. And to be honest, I guess that's a good thing because it looks like my dad isn't going to answer the door, and I have no idea how I would get a ride back to town without him.
I’m so stupid, I think to myself as I ring the doorbell again.
The porch is dusty and covered in old leaves. The welcome mat is so worn out that the W is missing entirely, spelling “elcome” in the dark, dusty shade.
There are cobwebs in the corners, and the glass on the screen door is dirty and smudged.
This place looks abandoned. It's not what I had in mind when I'd found my dad's last known address.
I hadn't been able to look up the place on Google Maps because even Google Maps doesn't come this far out into the mountains…so this is a complete surprise.
In my mind, I pictured a place kind of like Jack's. Clean, cozy, well taken care of.
I don't know why I assumed that. I have no idea who my father is or what to expect from the man.
But I guess I just never imagined that he'd be living in a hovel like this.
Maybe he doesn't live here at all. Maybe this is some kind of abandoned shack that he used to get his mail at. He probably doesn't even live in Wildwood anymore. Maybe he never did.
I'm foolish. Foolish for coming back out here to the mountains, both to find Jack and hope that he might want to be somewhat involved in our child's life, and to find my dad, kind of for the same exact reason.
The parallels are impossible to ignore at this point.
I begin to tear up.
"Stupid pregnancy hormones!" I mutter under my breath.
Behind me, I can hear Adam's truck still idling, and I wonder how long he'd be willing to sit out here.
People in the mountains are friendly and generous, I've learned. Back home in New York, I was just another face in the crowd, anonymous and easily forgotten, unless I was in the presence of my close friends, of which I had few.
In the mountains, it's impossible to be anonymous.
People recognize, and people can spot a new and unfamiliar face from a mile away, and their first instinct when they realize that you're new to town is to offer their help.
From the lady at the inn to the waitress at the diner to Jack himself.
Even on the night we first met, he rescued me and bailed me out of trouble that night.
We went back to his place and hooked up.
I imagined that maybe we had chemistry, that maybe it meant more than it really did.
But today has been the biggest disappointment.
No matter what we could have been, the fact is I'm having his baby, a baby that he never wanted.
I'm about to step off of the porch and give up on my dad entirely when the door suddenly swings open.
A scowling, hunched-over man glares at me through the glass.
"Whatever you're selling," he barks. "I'm not buying any."
So much for the friendly folks in the mountains, I think.
"Are you Toby?" I ask him.
"Who's asking?" he replies.
I take a step forward, trying to see him through the filthy, smudged glass.
"My name is Alyssa," I say. "My mother is Leah White."
Understanding flickers on his face for just a moment, practically imperceptible, before it's wiped clean, replaced with another twisted scowl.
"I don't know any of those names," he says. "And you need to get off my property before I call the sheriff!”
I blink in surprise. It's not that I expected him to welcome me with open arms, but the bold-faced lie and harsh rejection is surprising.
"You definitely know Leah White," I insist. "You were in a relationship for years! You lived together. You had me together. Don't tell me you don't remember her name?"
"I've never heard of Leah White in my life," he snaps.
I know in my gut that he's lying. This is definitely Toby, the man I've only ever seen the man in photos when he was much younger. He's hardly recognizable now, except for those eyes.
Because they're the same eyes as mine.
His gaze shifts from side to side, and he begins to close the door.
"Wait!" I cry.
I don't even have time to finish the sentence. He slams the door in my face.
I knew this was the worst-case scenario, and I tried to emotionally prepare myself for this as I made the journey out here the first time and the second.
But getting the door literally slammed in my face feels a lot worse than anything I could have ever imagined.
I blink back tears, trying to stop them before they start. I don’t want to turn around and let Adam see them. I want to hide my shame, to claim some kind of control over this situation. But despite my best efforts, the tears fall anyways.