Page 167 of Invisible String
“My dad. I’ve gone to his place, and he’s gone. He left a note two weeks ago and is still not back. Something about work.” His brows furrow.
The sourness in my stomach wants to bounce back up. Guilt for lying hangs over me like a heavy burden. Even after everything his father has put him through, he’s still worried.
“He must have a lot of work.” I avert my gaze and stare at my plate.
“He’s an alcoholic, Rain. He hardly works. I pay his bills.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything.” Max drops his fork and gives me his full attention.
“You worry about him. You take care of him. Carlos mentioned you check up on him every day. Why, after everything he’s done?” I want to mention what Hector said. How he searched for him and was told he was adopted. That would involve me saying where Hector is.
He’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “I can never erase the pain he caused me, or the endless days I waited for him to come for me. I longed for the love he didn’t offer after my mother died, and I remember the blame he placed on me. To live a life free of bitterness, I realized I had to forgive, but I’ll never forget.”
He takes a bite of his carne asada taco, still thinking. I give him time and take a bite of my own.
“He’s my dad. I knew who he was before my mom’s death changed him. It’s not an excuse by any means. No child deserves this treatment. My dad lost himself completely; he didn’t grieve.He held it all in.” He sighs. “He’s the only family I’ve got. I hated him in my teens. When I went to his house on my eighteenth birthday, I saw how fucked up he was. Nothing had changed since I’d seen him at nine years old. The only difference was that he was older and lonely.”
Hector cried for hours that day. I feel so horrible for hiding this. Max rubs my finger, then loops his pinky finger in mine. “You know,tesoro, I would do it all over. The abuse, the hunger, the loneliness, the in and out of homes to meet you. I’d do it.” He doesn’t say it, but it’s a pinky promise.
I would never want him to relive it, even if it were for us to meet. We would have met in another way. Isn't that how invisible strings work?
This is where the guilt sets in. He didn’t get adopted. I did.
After dinner,like we planned, Max takes us upstairs to the bedroom. My head throbs as I wait for him to get the box from the spare bedroom. The weight of a thousand boulders lies on my chest. I’m so damn nervous.
His navy-blue sweats hang low when he walks into the room with a bright yellow storage container. He drops it in front of me, then kneels in front of it. The thud in my chest fills with excitement but all the same fear. I’m going to view a life—my life as Sol, I know nothing of.
A stuffed dog lies in there—the one he spoke of. There are also hair ties, a diary, a blanket, pink nail polish, lip gloss, a dress, and two photo albums. Max takes the albums with him and sits next to me.
“Do you want to look through it alone, or do you want us to look at it together?”
“Together, please.”
He nods and opens the first one. A beautiful woman holds a newborn in her arms. She looks so much like me—my mother. A man who must be my father hugs us both, smiling. A tear slides down my cheek. This is the first genuine photo I’ve seen of myself. It feels surreal—a beautiful, happy couple.
“That’s your dad…Sol.” He shakes his head. “You told me who everyone was in the photos.”
There are so many milestones in my life, from my first tooth to my first time eating solids, then my first time walking. Christmas, Easter, Halloween, every holiday possible, with happiness in every one of them. This is me. Not those fake photos I stared at for years. I flip through each page as Max smiles.
“You were a cute baby.”
He points out my grandmother, who couldn’t keep me for whatever reason. I giggle at some funny photos of me with my dad making silly faces, some of him in his military uniform. We move on to the second album. It’s thicker with pictures starting from my first day of kindergarten up to the very last one, when she passed. The last image is her looking sick, with pale skin and hair loss. The last page has a note. I look at Max, who’s been watching me like a hawk.
“She wrote a note in case she didn’t make it. You would read it every night,” he whispers.
Sol would read it every night.
My hands shake as I open the worn-out white paper.
My beautiful Sol,
You brighten up our world. When your dad and I were thinking of names for you, his first thought was Sol. We were so happy to finally get pregnant, and you changed us. You gave us laughter and happiness and lit up our lives every day. Te amo, Sol. You’re the light that keeps giving. Never lose it. If you’re reading this, it’s because I didn’t make it and asked your grandma to give it to you. Sol, I’m so sorry. You lost your father, and then me. I know you’ll wonder why your grandma can’t have you live with her. She’s having a hard time with her sickness.
Sol, remember I love you. Keep dancing
to hold that smile and laughter. You’re going to grow up to be a beautiful woman. I’ll always watch over you and so will your dad. I will miss you dearly.
