45
"Hello?" My father answered. His voice was assertive, all business.
I could only imagine the face behind it, what life he could have possibly lived.
My eyes darted to Knox, who was too busy staring at the call screen. His face was schooled, too focused for me to get a read.
I licked my lips, my heart beating so hard against my chest that it was starting to hurt.
"Hi," I mumbled, unsure what I was even supposed to say. What do you say to the man who abandoned you as a child? "This is Annie..." I hesitated. "Your daughter."
A sharp breath sounded through the line. A careful pause. And then, "Annie, I'm so grateful you called."
Another pause stretched, turning awkwardly long. I was chewing on my bottom lip. Surely there wasn't anything he could have expected me to say to that?
I'm grateful that you're grateful? I would hope he was grateful after making it so obvious that he wanted to get in contact.
Thankfully, he put me out of my misery. "My name is Jim Thatcher, and I've been waiting for this moment for a long time." He sighed, probably expecting me to say something more. But, I didn't. I just waited and listened.
I wasn't willing to admit that I had been waiting too. That was a truth I wasn't ready to release quite yet. And maybe some part of me didn't feel like he necessarily deserved that truth either — he'd have to earn that one.
He cleared his throat and continued. "I imagine you have a lot of questions. And I have answers — and of course, questions of my own. I'd really like to meet with you. Maybe have lunch?"
Knox was looking at me now, his hand capturing mine and interlacing our fingers.
It was just that small touch that gave me the confidence to respond. "I think I'd like that too."
"Good. That's great then." I could practically feel the relief in his voice.
Knox's thumb brushed over my knuckles back and forth. The shaking in my hands had stopped. I wasn't sure when it had happened, but the observation blossomed hope in my chest.
"I have school during the week," I muttered, my voice more steady than it had been all day. "But you can text this number with a time and place that works for you."
As excited as I am to finally have this moment to reconnect with my long-lost father, I wasn't sure I'd be able to pretend this was all normal with him texting me. And considering Knox had volunteered his phone for this call, I could only hope that he'd be fine being the unknown middleman for me.
Knox didn't bat an eye at the suggestion, nor did he break his focused gaze from my hand.
"Alright. I can do that," he replied.
The calmness and formality in his voice wasn't lost on me.
This was awkward, and he knew it was too.
A situation like this that each of us has been waiting years for, creating fantasies about who the other person could be and what life they could be living.
Only now it was real, and either of us could stand to be greatly disappointed.
I was growing restless again. This needed to be over now. I couldn't take much more of this. My throat was starting to close and my chest was beginning to hurt again.
"I'll be in touch then," Jim finished when he realized that I wasn't going to say anything more.
I choked out a barely there 'okay. goodbye.', my hand jolting to end the call as fast as I could. I hadn't noticed I was crying until Knox's hands cupped my face, his thumbs brushing under my eyes.
A strangled sob forced its way out of my mouth as I slowly began to crumble.
I should be happy, relieved even, that my father had reached out to me — that he wanted to finally meet me. This was exactly what I had dreamed about for so many years, exactly what I stopped allowing myself to dream about for even longer.
But it was just as overwhelming as it was exciting.
To drudge up these old desires that I had locked away so deep inside myself was bringing out memories of my childhood that I never wanted to remember.
Memories of me writing letters with updates about my life, updates meant for this man, only to be shoved away in boxes without an address to send them to.
Memories of the silent nights hidden under the covers with a pillow stifling my cries so as not to wake the other children in my shared room.
Memories of the other kids at school asking me why my parents never showed up to any of the school events. Why my parents weren't the ones picking me up each day. Why I never celebrated Mother's Day or Father's Day.
I hated him for these memories — and my mother too, whoever she is.
What could he say to me now that could possibly make up for any of these repeated, painful moments of my life?
Knox's arms were wrapped around me, pulling me up into his arms as he started towards my room. Burying my face in the crook of his neck, it was as if a dam had broken inside me. All the pain I'd been holding back for so long had been abruptly released.
"I'm sorry, Annie," Knox mumbled in my ear as his hand came up to stroke the back of my head.
Now sitting on my bed, Knox rested his back against my headboard and kept me wrapped in his arms. His fingers gently massaged my head as it lay against his chest, the soothing feeling a welcome distraction.
I sniffled, my head aching as I fought to suppress the cries that continued to bubble in the back of my throat.
"Tell me what you need from me," he pleaded, his face looking almost pained by my sorrow.
I coughed and hiccuped, the end of my crying nowhere in sight. Every time I drew a breath, another one escaped me before I could help it.
"P-please just h-hold me," I whimpered, barely getting the words out.
Knox hummed, his fingers continuing their tender massage. "Of course, baby. I'm always here for you."