Page 91 of Our Secrets and Scars

It collides with me as his car did on the night of the accident. And suddenly, whatever pain I was feeling before multiplies tenfold.

I cry for the little girl who just wants her mama to love her and the woman who fell for a man who broke her fragile heart. I cry, and I cry, and I cry until my tears run dry. My body shakes with the force of my sobs, and my head throbs from dehydration.

When I’ve finally managed to catch my breath there’s a heavy knock at my bedroom door.

“Can I come in?”

Papa doesn’t wait for an answer before he opens the door and steps into the room. He instantly walks to my bed and sits himself on the end of it, looking around at the pink walls decorated with polaroid photos I took in my early teens and the fairy lights hanging from a garland that is wrapped around the window frame.

“This room hasn’t changed since you were thirteen,” he says with a hint of a smile on his lips.

I say nothing. I don’t even look at him. I can’t. If I do, I’ll start crying all over again. He may not have contributed as much to my feelings of worthlessness as Mom, but he hasn’t been innocent either.

He sucks in a hesitant breath, reaching out to lay his hand on top of the bed cover between us. He rests it there like an olive branch, leaving me with the decision of whether I want to take it or not.

I don’t.

“Kinsley, your mama’s been under a lot of stress recently,” he starts.

“Don’t, Papa.” I shake my head, tutting in disappointment. I wasn’t expecting an apology, but I was hoping for one. “Don’t make excuses for her.”

“I’m not.But you don’t understand, she—”

“Stop,” I cut him off. “I understand perfectly well that you wish it was Bexley who was here right now instead of me. I get it, I do.It’s my fault for getting so upset when you’ve both made it blindingly obvious since the very day she died.”

His eyes widen in shock, his hand flying up to grip his chest. “What? How could you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a dark laugh. “Maybe because I’ve never been good enough for either of you. I’ve never lived up to your untainted memories of Bexley, never been able to compete with the favorite daughter. The perfect girl who could do no wrong, who aced all her tests, who would have been the first female president of the United States or whatever ridiculous career you both imagine she’d have had.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is though, Papa. It always has been. You both favored her even when she was alive, and now she’s dead? It’s even worse. My meaningless existence can’t compare with the romanticized memory you both have of her, no matter how flawed your recollections are.”

“I don’t… you’re wrong… it’s not—” he stutters, looking for something to say but coming up short.

“I’m not wrong. Mom never fails to remind me how much better than me Bexley was. How she’d have made better life choices or scored higher on a college exam.” I pause, standing up to pace the length of the room. My hands are clammy as years of built-up anger and resentment are exorcised from my trembling body. “You know I made the Dean’s list this semester? And my advisor put me forward for another academic award, which is unheard of for a student so early on in their college program.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he whispers.

“Because it’s something I’m actually proud of. And I didn’t want to hear Mom talk about how Bex would have done something better or, I don’t know,” I toss my hands in the air, “won a fucking Pulitzer for writing a ground-breaking novel or some shit.”

He flinches at my cursing but doesn’t call me out on it.

“She wouldn’t have done that.”

I scoff. “Yeah, Papa, she would have.”

“You should have told us, Kinsley. We’d have been so proud of you. Weareso proud of you.”

“I don’t believe you.” My words are a whisper, but the devastation laced through them is deafening to us both.

Papa’s eyes are damp and bloodshot as he watches me, his distress evident in every line that creases his forehead.

“All I’ve ever wanted is to be good enough,” I rasp, fresh tears rolling down my puffy cheeks. I don’t even bother wiping them away. “But after today, I finally see that I never will be.”

“Kinsley.” He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away. “Please,mi niña. You are.”

“My own mama got my name wrong, Papa.”

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