Streetlights pass overhead, glowing orange-amber. On my left, the lake is a dark void. Headlights approach. Flash at me. A horn honks.
I realize I'm on the wrong side of the road. Swerve to put the white line on my right.
My phone rings again.
And again.
And again.
More texts.
I'm tempted to throw my phone out the window—and I’m just as tempted to see what he has to say for himself.
No.
Don't go there.
Don't open yourself up to bullshit. Because you just know it's gonna be bullshit.
Men are just naturally cheaters, Mom used to tell me. Especially once I got to dating age. It was a refrain for her—men are just naturally cheaters; have fun with 'em but don’t trust ’em…not a one.
I always dismissed it as the bitterness of a woman cheated on. Mom was a hurt, bitter woman—something I only really came to understand after she was gone, as I entered adulthood myself. I've never known my father's identity, and I now suspect it's because he hurt her. I always assumed it was because he was just some rando she hooked up with at a show, and that's possible, but it seems more likely that he meant something to her. She wouldn't have erased all evidence of his existence if he hadn’t hurt her. If he was just some hump-and-dump from a show, she'd have told me something about him. His name. Where in the country I was conceived—anythingabout him.
But no. For all the information she ever gave up on the subject, I may as well have been an immaculate conception.
I've thought about looking for him but I've always decided not to—it's not like he's going to suddenly want a relationship with a daughter he doesn't know exists, or worse yet, knows about and abandoned anyway.
It's fucked up that it's easier to think about my long-lost father than Felix.
I'm alone on the road again, and now the streetlights are gone, leaving me in darkness with only the moon for light.
I think I'm heading north. Not like it matters. Not like I care.
Maybe I’ll just leave the bus. I have the rest of my things. Clothes and toiletries, at least. I could come back for the rest later, once I've had some emotional distance.
Yeah, that's the only answer. I can't deal with him.
I can't deal with any more heartache, any more loss, any more grief…any more anything.
It's too hard.
I’ve lost too much. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about.
GramGram.
Mom.
Dutchie.
Faye.
Now Felix before I even really had him.
It's just so fucking unfair. I fought with myself all the way here from California—about Felix, about my heart: I’m ready…I’m not ready.
By the time I reached Michigan, I was fully on board. Despite my hurting heart, despite my fear, I realized that Felix is important. I just feel safe with him—or, I did. I instinctively trust him. I was willing, almost immediately, to offer my body to him. My heart is a different topic, but that wasn't far behind.
Now?
