now, and
after exhaling a deep sigh he turned to our father.
“You can try. I can’t promise anything, but I’m
willing to give things a go before… well, you know.”
“Christopher…” my dad began but the rest of the
sentence seemed to have gotten lost somewhere from his brain to his lips.
“But I want nothing to do with her ,” Chris added firmly with a disgusted scowl. My dad nodded
weakly, seemingly understanding. “And more importantly than trying with me, you better make damn sure you make
it up to this girl here,” he ordered, pointing to me. “You’ve let her down,
Dad. She’s grown up wracked with guilt, convinced she killed her baby sister
when she was nothing but a kid herself. That’s so fucked up, Dad, and you make that right before anything else. You hear me?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I will. I swear to both of you I
will make it up to you. I want to be a father again - a real one. I’ve missed out on so much – too much. I refuse to allow that any longer.”
“Tell me about her?” I asked curiously, wiping the
rolling tears from my face on the back of my hand. “Tell me about Gemma… about
my mum.”
**********
Once we’d been talking for a while a memory that I’d
never given a second thought to popped into my mind. When I applied for my
passport and my driving licence, both times my dad offered to post them and
said he’d slip my birth certificate in as proof of my I.D. before he did so. He
gave the same excuse each time – it was filed away in his office and he
didn’t have time to go and get it just now. But now I know the real reason I’ve
never seen my own birth certificate, and suddenly that one piece of paper means
the world to me. It feels like the only connection left between me and my
mother and I craved to hold it in my hands, for no other reason than to stare
at her name.
I don’t know how I felt listening to my dad describe
the mother I never knew I had. Or at least, I don’t know what emotion to narrow
it down to. My chest ached – like something hard was pressing on it from
every angle. My eyes stung – like when the very first tear appears and it
feels like you’ve got a grain of sand lodged under your eyelid. My stomach
twisted – as if it were a piece of laundry being wrung out to dry. And my
throat closed up, locking any words inside. It felt like someone had their
hands around my neck – choking me – and I started to panic.
“Emily, calm down,” Dexter ordered, shifting his
position so he was right in front of me, holding onto my shoulders. “Breathe
for me, doll. Nice and slow.”
Looking straight into my eyes, Dexter sucked in slow,
purposeful breaths through his mouth before steadily blowing them out through
his nose. Keeping my eyes on his, my own breaths gradually fell into line with
his, and the pressure on my throat eased – calming me instantly.
“I think you should leave now,” he said to my dad.
“She’s heard enough for today.”
“Princess?” Dad asked, refusing to take orders from
Dexter.
“He’s right. I need some time to process all this.”
“I can come back though, right?”
“Yes,” I eventually breathed after a long, hesitant
pause. “I’ll call you.”
My dad’s face crumpled and he wiped away a lone tear
on the back of his knuckles before nodding weakly and rising to his feet. He
hovered for a moment as if contemplating what his next move should be. Then he
took a step towards me and stopped, seemingly thinking better of it.
“Let’s go some place else,” Chris butted in. “I want
to talk too.”
“W-with me ?
You want to come with me ?” Dad
questioned in disbelief.
“Don’t get your hopes up, I just want to talk. But Dex
is right, Emmie’s had enough for today.”
“I don’t… I mean I…” my dad stumbled on his words
before eventually croaking “thank you, son.”
“Let’s not push it with the ‘son’ thing just yet.”
Then, after giving me a brotherly pat on the shoulder
after exhaling a deep sigh he turned to our father.
“You can try. I can’t promise anything, but I’m
willing to give things a go before… well, you know.”
“Christopher…” my dad began but the rest of the
sentence seemed to have gotten lost somewhere from his brain to his lips.
“But I want nothing to do with her ,” Chris added firmly with a disgusted scowl. My dad nodded
weakly, seemingly understanding. “And more importantly than trying with me, you better make damn sure you make
it up to this girl here,” he ordered, pointing to me. “You’ve let her down,
Dad. She’s grown up wracked with guilt, convinced she killed her baby sister
when she was nothing but a kid herself. That’s so fucked up, Dad, and you make that right before anything else. You hear me?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I will. I swear to both of you I
will make it up to you. I want to be a father again - a real one. I’ve missed out on so much – too much. I refuse to allow that any longer.”
“Tell me about her?” I asked curiously, wiping the
rolling tears from my face on the back of my hand. “Tell me about Gemma… about
my mum.”
**********
Once we’d been talking for a while a memory that I’d
never given a second thought to popped into my mind. When I applied for my
passport and my driving licence, both times my dad offered to post them and
said he’d slip my birth certificate in as proof of my I.D. before he did so. He
gave the same excuse each time – it was filed away in his office and he
didn’t have time to go and get it just now. But now I know the real reason I’ve
never seen my own birth certificate, and suddenly that one piece of paper means
the world to me. It feels like the only connection left between me and my
mother and I craved to hold it in my hands, for no other reason than to stare
at her name.
I don’t know how I felt listening to my dad describe
the mother I never knew I had. Or at least, I don’t know what emotion to narrow
it down to. My chest ached – like something hard was pressing on it from
every angle. My eyes stung – like when the very first tear appears and it
feels like you’ve got a grain of sand lodged under your eyelid. My stomach
twisted – as if it were a piece of laundry being wrung out to dry. And my
throat closed up, locking any words inside. It felt like someone had their
hands around my neck – choking me – and I started to panic.
“Emily, calm down,” Dexter ordered, shifting his
position so he was right in front of me, holding onto my shoulders. “Breathe
for me, doll. Nice and slow.”
Looking straight into my eyes, Dexter sucked in slow,
purposeful breaths through his mouth before steadily blowing them out through
his nose. Keeping my eyes on his, my own breaths gradually fell into line with
his, and the pressure on my throat eased – calming me instantly.
“I think you should leave now,” he said to my dad.
“She’s heard enough for today.”
“Princess?” Dad asked, refusing to take orders from
Dexter.
“He’s right. I need some time to process all this.”
“I can come back though, right?”
“Yes,” I eventually breathed after a long, hesitant
pause. “I’ll call you.”
My dad’s face crumpled and he wiped away a lone tear
on the back of his knuckles before nodding weakly and rising to his feet. He
hovered for a moment as if contemplating what his next move should be. Then he
took a step towards me and stopped, seemingly thinking better of it.
“Let’s go some place else,” Chris butted in. “I want
to talk too.”
“W-with me ?
You want to come with me ?” Dad
questioned in disbelief.
“Don’t get your hopes up, I just want to talk. But Dex
is right, Emmie’s had enough for today.”
“I don’t… I mean I…” my dad stumbled on his words
before eventually croaking “thank you, son.”
“Let’s not push it with the ‘son’ thing just yet.”
Then, after giving me a brotherly pat on the shoulder
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