Page 45 of Shy Girl
A shout from outside, and the sound of Grady’s phone chiming against his thigh, broke the tension in the air. Grady hesitated.
“That’syouropinion, Vik.” He moved forward to clap a hand on Vik’s shoulders. “I’m always glad to have it. My opinion is different, because I want the fence, the diapers, the five-year-old, and the woman in my arms every night. I respect your decision not to have it, and want you to respect mine. Got it?”
Vik nodded once, his expression flat. “Got it.”
Grady straightened. “Now, my wife is texting me, and I need to go.” He looked at me then. “Best man, you want to say anything at dinner tonight?”
“Do you need me to?”
He lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “No, but you’re going to have a speech for the actual reception dinner, right?”
“It’s going to make you cry, my friend.”
Grady tried to shove me into the fridge as he passed in an attempt to force levity back in the room. “The only thing that’ll make me cry is how bad the three of you smell. I’m out. See you tonight.”
13
Dagny
Warm sand crept between my toes, all at once solid and crumbly.
After running into Alison at the yoga class, my bones felt like liquid. The motivation to hold Anthony accountable that had bore me up all these years suddenly floated away. Meeting Anthony and waving the NDA in his face was one thing.
But his wife?
Although I only had known her for a few minutes, her warmth and brightness sent my mind careening on a different path that I’d never considered before. The path of subtlety around my biological father. Quiet. All my life I’d wanted to live under the radar except for this one thing: confronting Anthony Dunkin.
Now, all I could think about was the other side of things. The side that Alison illuminated with her innocent smile and warm acceptance. And what about gentle Helene? I hadn’t expected to like her so much. Their comfortable life was built on a gossamer web of lives. Was Mom one of many other women? Had Anthony done this before? Maybe there were several NDA’s floating out there.
What if the one-night stand with Mom was just an accident? Did cheating get to be an accident? They’d likely been drunk at the time—Mom once swore that the last time she ever let alcohol cross her lips was when I was conceived—but did that make them less responsible for the outcome?
No.
Except Alison wasn’t “responsible” for my existence either. Yet, she’d have, or even already had, a burden to bear in the scenario. Perhaps that was just life. The cumulative result of choices made out of our control, but that still affected us. Sometimes drastically.
All this time I’d been motivated by a self-righteous indignation against the decision Anthony madeforme. He decided for me that I wouldn’t get him as a father, and his absent legacy and cold reception to the pregnancy led to a natural wariness of men for my mother.
Why didIget set aside?
Why wasn’t I worth the truth?
But now I couldn’t help but wonder if Anthony had so much to lose, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not over a child that would only make everything fall apart. Didn’t the Dunkin name have generations of wealth behind them? With that kind of family came expectations and pressure, which could have all crashed because of a rash decision made while drunk.
No, he didn’t get off the hook because of family privilege. No one forced alcohol down his throat. Perhaps his decision to let me go and sign over all parental rights hadn’t felt personal to him at the time, but it had been personal tome.
My thoughts agitated like the water because I could, unfortunately, see both sides of the situation. As a child, it had never added up. How could a parent ignore a part of them walking in the world? Weren’t children just portions of the soul embodied in different people? As an adult, I saw the shadows and shades of gray in the issue. It still didn’t sit right, but maybe it didn’t ache as much these days.
Amidst all of it was the ringing hollow of the question:why?
A storm swept closer to the sun, while the rest of the world remained a bright, endless blue behind me. Like a reminder that storms occupied or darkened some—but not all—of our space.
A voice interrupted my dark reveries.
“Hey.”
I turned to find Jayson there, and the warm smile on his expression swept the angst out from under me. He sat on the sand next to me. I smiled, relieved to have someone whisk me away from such a depressing back-and-forth.
“Hey.”
