Letter Eighteen #5
“At some point, Casey, you have to let them decide that.”
“Okay,” you said, voice hushed. “Well, what about this? All those years—just lost, gone forever, time I can never get back, precious time that was stolen from me by the person who gave me up. I was never given a chance to grow up with a father who clearly would’ve loved and accepted me from the start, if what I’ve seen of him so far is any indication.
If you could only see the way my adoptive father looks at me, you would understand why it’s so bloody difficult for me to introduce myself to the real one.
Another thing I want that I can’t have? Everything my adoptive dad stole from me—things that are absolutely vital to a person’s self-worth and well-being, just ripped away—including himself.
You want to talk about daddy issues? I have them in spades. ”
“Casey—”
“And there’s this other thing I want—which I’d very much love to have.
But I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to close my fingers around it.
How can I? When I’ll never measure up, and I don’t deserve it, and even if I could—someday, finally—clutch it in my hand, there’s always the very real and terrifying possibility that it’ll slip away?
” By then, your eyes had misted over with tears.
“Because that happens sometimes, you know? You have something special, and it lights up your whole life, and you think you’ll have it forever.
Then suddenly it’s just…gone. And it’s all your fault. ”
It sounded like you were talking about your mom. I opened my mouth to respond, but Bree strolled up, grabbed her forgotten phone off the table, and the moment vanished. You shoved your chair back and walked off.
Bree stared after you. “What’s with him?”
I shrugged. This had been the longest conversation we’d had in weeks, and there I was, blinking back tears. “Beats me.”
“Must be cabin fever,” she mused. “Everyone’s so moody.”
That whole day, Michael’s gaze never strayed in my direction. Until the moment we all sat down to dinner, that is, and Nic said, “Elliot, you heard from Harvard today, didn’t you?”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I have a friend on the admissions committee.”
“Of course you do,” I grumbled.
“Well, go on,” Nic said. “Tell everyone the news.”
In a voice so monotone I sounded bored, I said, “I got in.”
Everyone around the table—except you, watching me, brows pinched together with concern—beamed at my news, especially Nic and John, who gripped each other by the forearms and laughed, like they were so damn happy. Like they were so fucking proud.
“Congratulations, sweetie,” Libby said, leaning past Bree to clasp my hand. “Well done.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Nic said.
“Me, too,” John said—as if he’d totally forgotten.
As if his statement—“This one’s a hard no”—wasn’t still, nearly forty-eight hours later, ringing through my head, drowning out everything else.
“So proud. This is great news.” He tossed his napkin on the table and pushed back from the table. “I’ll grab a bottle of champagne.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, stopping John in his tracks.
“Elliot,” Nic said. “This is huge. We’re celebrating.”
“Then you’ll have to do it without me,” I said, rising from the table. My dad called after me as I left the room, but I ignored him. Just like Michael was ignoring me. Specifically, the barrage of texts I’d sent him.
He planned on listening to our dads—he planned on ghosting me, again—and I felt betrayed by that.
How could he make me feel loved one minute, then completely turn his back on me the next? How could he tell me I was good enough, then allow our dads to convince him I wasn’t?
He owed me an explanation.
My first day back at school, I left thirty minutes early without telling anyone and headed straight to Michael’s.
I’d beat on his door until he answered. I’d force him to speak to me—to look me in the eye.
If he wasn’t man enough to stand up to our dads and make his own decisions, he’d have to tell me so to my face.
As I walked down the carpeted corridor to Michael’s apartment, however, I slowed at the sight of a figure leaning against the wall outside his door.
My dad.
Arms crossed over a black topcoat and the camel alpaca scarf I’d given you both for Christmas, the look on his face mocked me: Think again.
“Come on,” he said, pushing off the wall, hand held out as he walked toward me. “Let’s go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, taking a step back.
“This isn’t what you really want. You’re just doing it to spite me.”
“You have no idea what I want.”
Nic considered me, his gaze narrowed. “Someday you’ll see that I prevented you from making a huge mistake here.”
“I’m not going with you,” I said between clenched teeth.
He ducked to meet my gaze. “Want to bet?”
“You can’t make me.”
“Of course I can. You come with me willingly, or I drag you out of here and put you in the car. Those are your choices.”
“Fucking drag me, then,” I said, glaring up at him. “I dare you.”
And he did, Casey.