“I know. But do you still think of him as your son?”
Again, a look is exchanged. Then they nod.
I smile. “I think of him as my father, even if I still don’t know how I feel about it. And he knows I’m his daughter. He knew it way before I did.”
Aubrey wipes more tears. “Would he recognize us?”
“He thinks you died.”
She flinches. “Why?”
I lift a shoulder into a tiny shrug. “You said it yourselves. You haven’t seen him in over twenty years. I don’t mean to upset you, but the truth matters.”
She leans into Waylon and softly cries.
“I think you should visit him. Help him piece together a reality.”
After two days with my grandparents, including a trip to the Grand Canyon, I fly home only to find out that I won’t be getting an extension at the hospital in San Bernardino.
“I’m heartbroken,” I say to Melissa while eating salad and a side of cauliflower wings at a sports bar near my apartment after work.
All by myself, surrounded by Christmas decorations. And Sinatra in the background suggests I have myself a merry little Christmas.
She cuts out for a second.
“What?” I push my earbud tighter into my ear.
“I said you’ve experienced too much heartbreak lately.”
“Agreed.”
“Have you heard from Maren or Will?”
“Maren called me while I was in Flagstaff. She apologized for waiting so long to contact me but didn’t know what to say.” I take a bite of salad and chew several times before mumbling, “There’s nothing to say.”
“Did she say how Fitz is doing?”
“I didn’t ask. And she didn’t say.”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“Because I’m not emotionally ready for the answer. If he’s doing fine, it makes me feel inconsequential. If he’s miserable, it makes me feel like an awful person for ruining us.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”
I nod to myself, sliding my bowl away from me. This conversation has robbed me of my appetite. “She was pregnant,” I murmur.
“Who?”
“Annie. My mom. She was six months pregnant the day she died.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah. Dwight has never mentioned it. Well, maybe he did. He talked about a baby, but then he said Barbara’s name in the next breath. I can only imagine how repressed the memory is in his mind. And I don’t want to imagine how he would handle that memory surfacing. He’s already so sad, Mel. He reminds me of Fitz’s grandma in a way. Fitz never reminded her that his parents died in a fire instead of a car accident. And he’s never told her that he had a sister. I bet he hopes she never remembers. Well, I hope Dwight never remembers the baby.”
She hums. “How are you doing, hon?”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, handing the waiter my credit card.
