Page 76 of Pippin & Nacho

He kissed my cheek. “You’re perfect and adorable.”

I opened up the file of photocopies of all the paperwork social services had on me since I went into the system as an infant.

“Fuck, my mother was fifteen when she had me, and my father was sixteen. Jesus.”

With a deep breath, I kept reading about my origin story. My eyes instantly stopped at the word ‘death.’ “She died a week after having me.”

“I’m so sorry, Nate.”

“I’m… not sure how I feel about that since I have no attachment to her at all, but still, it really does close that door.”

“What about your dad?”

I kept reading. “He…”

He abandoned me.

My stomach twisted despite knowing the truth. “Uhm, it just says he forfeited his parental rights. He struggled to take care of me.”

“Fuck, Nate. That really sucks.”

“It’s fine. I understood the chances of that happening were high. If he couldn’t take care of me, then he couldn’t. He was only sixteen and just a kid himself, and my mother had died. I guess I understand.”

“But it doesn’t hurt any less.”

I looked back at Sam, loving how he understood me so well and validated my feelings. “Yeah, it still kind of stings.”

“Do you… want to find him now that you know who he is?”

“I’m not sure. He could’ve found me all this time, right?”

“Maybe. But you can at least find some details about his life.”

“I guess. I should probably think about it more before I do anything.”

Sam pulled me onto his lap and hugged me. I rested my head on his. “Whatever you choose, I’m here.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Part of me wanted to know my father. To at least look him in the eye and see if he had any remorse or if he no longer cared, if ever.

It took some digging, but I’d managed to find my father’s phone number. Now to get the guts to call him.

Sam and I headed to a playground nearby since the day was really nice and warm, being in the middle of spring. It felt like a good, neutral place to call him. For some reason, I wasn’t comfortable calling him from my home. Plus, it was nice to get out since I’d been cooped up for weeks inside our stale apartment.

The playground was empty since the kids were at school, so Sam and I sat on some swings, smoking as I held my phone, staring at the blank screen as if it had offended me somehow.

“You don’t have to do this.”

I nodded. “I know, but I also need to. What if I don’t and always wonder what he was like? Or what if he dies like my mother and another door closes, with me never learning anything about them?”

“Do you intend to reunite with him?”

“I… haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“If I had a chance to call my parents, or even wanted to, I’d tell them how much I hated them for putting me through that torture. Then, I’d probably ask if they even missed me or cared. Did they feel guilty for being so cruel? Hell, when I ran, did they look for me? Did they just let me go? Did they… cry or regret what they’d done? Did they—”

“Do you want to find them?”

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