Page 7 of Fate Will Bring You Home

“Aubrey, the day you were born was the best day of my life. Although mom and I were only friends, she had no other support here except for Aunt Mary, and what retired 70-year-old woman would want to help a young girl raise a baby, so I stepped up. We were very close for almost five months at the time of your birth. She was with me when she went into labor. I offered to be in the delivery room with her, and she accepted if I promised that I would stay by her head and hold her hand. I had no issues with that because I wanted no part of what was happening down there.” We all gave a light chuckle. “I was doing my best to be strong for her and you.” Brie and I laughed at the same time. “I knew the moment I held you that you were my daughter. I also knew your mother would be my wife. I promised myself at that moment that I would do anything and everything to protect my girls.”

I paused and thought for a moment. Although that story was sweet, my anger settled back in. “Why did you stop looking? Was it not important for me to know where I come from or know who I am? Didn’t you think I deserved to know? Didn’t he deserve a choice? Didn’t he deserve to know about me?”

My mom looked at me. “Of course you deserve it, sweetie. I just had nothing to go on. Internet and social media were no help, so I had nowhere to turn.”

“Were you guys ever going to tell her, or would you have kept this secret forever?” Brie asked.

“We were selfish; I’ll admit that. I wanted you and your mother all to myself. You are my daughter, and I would never let anything change that. I didn’t want anyone taking you away.”

I was quiet as I stood up and stared at them. I never raised my voice to them…ever, but this was different. I wasn’t just hurt… I was broken. I was scared of what this meant. I couldn’t believe the people I trusted the most lied to me about something so important.

“You should have tried harder! I could’ve had an entirely different life. I could have an entire other family who knows nothing about me. What if I have more siblings?”

Brielle gasped and Mom interrupted me, “Was your life so bad? Did you suffer living in this beautiful home, getting anything and everything you asked for?”

My tone threw her off. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was surprised and almost horrified when I started yelling even louder. “NO! Don’t you dare! How could you even say that? You know damn well I’m not talking about material things, Mom. I’m talking about the fact that I’ve never fit in with this family and you knew exactly why all along. The three of you are like carbon copies of each other, and then there’s little ol’ me—different hair, different eyes, even down to our body types. You blatantly lied to me about it every time I asked why or when someone commented on it. I deserved the truth. I deserved the choice of knowing him, and you stole that from me! Even if you had told me when I was a little older, and we had more options to look for him, I could have searched for him.”

I turned away, and I was crying again. Being different was never easy for me. It was always the thing people pointed out and noticed the most about our family. My mom stands at exactly five feet, and Brielle is only two inches taller than her. My dad is a little taller than both of them but he is only five-foot-six. I’m taller than all of them at five-foot-seven. I have olive-toned skin compared to theirs, which is pasty white. I have piercing baby blue eyes that get bluer depending on my clothes and mood. My eyes are probably my favorite thing about myself. Their green eyes are probably the only thing I’ve never been jealous of. My hair is blonde with a few natural lowlights. People always comment how women pay hundreds of dollars to get my natural hair color. I’m sure they mean it as a compliment, but it’s always just another reminder of how I look different.

Unlike my family who are thinner than rails, I have to run almost daily to keep my body fit, but I have also been on a “diet” and watching what I eat for as long as I can remember. If I eat a freaking M&M, it goes straight to my ass. I have hips for days and an ass and chest that turn heads. Society would call me “curvy in all the right places.” I accept that now, but I used to think I was fat. I can only wish I still looked like I did in high school.

None of those things are terrible, but I’ve always been self-conscious because, just once, I’d like to look like my family. I’d like to fit into a picture and not stick out like a sore thumb.

My family has always done a great job of helping me feel less sad about it, and they never comment on my weight, except when I talk about it by calling myself fat or when I’m complaining. Mom’s famous response is, “Oh honey, you are beautiful just as you are.” I always roll my eyes.

I’ve always hated when she says stuff like that, but let's be honest; everyone does it. Everyone assumes that when you call yourself fat, you are calling yourself ugly or you hate yourself in some way. I always respond by saying, “I know I’m pretty. I didn’t say I was ugly; I said I was fat.” I think some of the most beautiful women in the world are plus-size.

People were constantly commenting on how I looked nothing like my parents. Nine out of ten times, they always asked who else in the family had blonde hair. My parents always laughed it off and said how beautiful it was and how it would darken with age. News flash: I’m 23 and still have a full head of beautiful blonde hair.

I was getting increasingly more upset as this conversation went on. I just don’t understand why my parents didn’t try to help me find what I’ve been missing all my life.

“We could have done one of those DNA tests online. Maybe I could have matched with him or something. What if he’s dead? What if I never get the chance to know him?”

Brie walked over and took my hand. “Why don’t you take a second and cool off? We can continue this once we’ve all relaxed a little. Being this upset while trying to talk will not get us anywhere. Let’s go chill in your room and put on some music.”

Mom and Dad nodded in agreement and stood up to head into their room. Before they made it too far, my mom grabbed my hand. “I love you and was only trying to protect you from pain. Please don’t forget that.”

I nodded and walked down the hall and up the stairs to my room. Brielle started to walk in but I stopped her. “I need a minute alone, okay?”

She grabbed my hand. “Of course you do. I’ll be in my room, okay?” She hugged me harder than before and whispered in my ear. “Nothing changes for you and me. We are sisters and best friends no matter what. I will help you find him or do whatever you need me to do to support whatever you choose to do; I’m in.”

She leaned back, and I could see some tears welling in her eyes, but she was trying hard to hide it. I gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, okay.”

I sat on my bed, grabbed my headphones, and grabbed my favorite green guitar. I started playing the song by Tim McGraw called “My Little Girl.” That was the song my dad dedicated to me when I was little. He always tried to sing it to me, but no one in my family other than me is musically inclined. Still, it always made me feel safe, and right now… I needed to feel safe.

CHAPTER FOUR

Lincoln

Ilet Lauren into the house. Before I could even shut the door entirely, she pushed me into it and put her body onto mine. Her kiss was a bit sloppy, but I’m sure that was the wine’s fault. I dropped my keys and lifted her by her ass. I brought her over to the couch so she could straddle me while we made out.

“Wanna head to the bedroom?” Not sure why I bothered asking. I could already tell she wanted to do more than kiss me.

“Do you have a condom?” she whispered as she bit my earlobe and made my cock twitch.

I groaned and whispered into her ear as I stood up with her still in my arms. “I have multiple.”

She smiled and then kissed me again. “How about we start in the shower?” she suggested.

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