Page 66 of Forgotten Dreams

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you get dragged down.” The words come out of my mouth before I can even process them.

“Then you should go.” She doesn’t even miss a beat.

“Sierra,” I say, my heart feeling like it’s literally being shattered in my chest, begging her to choose me, holding my breath.

“You should go,” she repeats. I take one more look at her before I walk to the front door, grab my keys from the table, and walk out. Better yet, storm out, slamming the door behind me.

I take five steps and stop, ready to turn around and storm back in there, but my feet have other plans. I go to my truck and get in, driving away from her house. The whole time wanting to turn back around and go to her. Instead, I make my way over to my office, parking in the driveway. The front door is locked since it’s the weekend. I put the key in the door, opening it before the alarm starts beeping. I put in the code, then walk toward my office, tossing my keys on my desk and sitting down.

Looking at the stack of papers I’ve been neglecting, I lean back in the chair and look up at the ceiling when my phone rings.

I reach around to my back pocket, taking it out, hoping it’s her telling me to come back so we can talk about this, but it’s not. It’s my father, and he’s FaceTiming me.

I exhale and press the green camera button and wait until it connects. “Hey, buddy,” he greets with a smile on his face, and I see he’s sitting at home in the kitchen. “Why are you at work on a Saturday? I thought you were taking the weekend off, finally,” he jokes with me. I look at the side, trying to come up with an excuse to get him off my back, but I know he’ll probably see right through me. I exhale deeply before looking back at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, and I look up, trying to get a hold of myself. “Are you okay?” The worry in his voice makes my mother come into the screen.

“I’m fine,” I reply, and then I shake my head. “I don’t know, Dad.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” he urges softly, and I wish I was sitting in front of him instead of on the phone.

“I met someone,” I finally tell him and shock fills his face and my mother’s eyes go big.

“Since the last time you were here?” my mother asks me the question.

“No, I met her before I came home, but things have sort of progressed since.”

“Sort of progressed?” my father repeats my words.

“Okay, fine, they progressed but?—”

“But she doesn’t like you,” my mother interjects with pity in her voice. “She’s not worth it if she doesn’t know how amazing you are.” She looks at my father, who side-eyes her. “What? He’s perfect.”

“He’s not perfect”—my father puts his arm around her—“but he’s pretty close.”

“I’m not perfect,” I confirm to them, “and I think I might have fucked it up even more than I could explain.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” my father suggests. “Let us be the judge of that.”

“I don’t know if I can be an impartial judge in this.” My mother shakes her head. “In my eyes, she’s going to be wrong, and he’s going to be right.”

“Why don’t you try?” my father encourages her.

She shrugs. “I can try, but you hurt my kids, and you earn yourself an enemy for life. I will cut a bitch. Remember that little shit who tried to copy Mila’s social studies paper? I almost drove my car into their house.”

“She was seven, and we spoke about that already.”

“I’m just saying”—she holds up her hands—“I can only be me.”

“Noted,” my father responds, then looks at me. “What stupid thing did you do?”

“I guess I should start at the beginning,” I tell them. “On her twenty-fifth birthday, she found out she was adopted.” The way my mother gasps out loud, I have to give her a minute. “Yeah, not only was she adopted but she was abandoned. They left her in a cardboard box at the fire station, wrapped in a fucking blanket.”

“Oh my God,” my mother says, “you were wrong.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s not wrong and I am sorry I said she was.”

“Go on,” my father urges, his glare at me.

“So she moved to town to find out who her parents are.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” my father states.

---