Page 11 of Bending Under Pressure

Hope to hear from you soon,

Natalie

She hired someone to find me? That’s insane. And she wants to meet me? I don’t know how I feel about it. Am I supposed to want to meet her or not? A soft knock on my door causes me to lift my head. Mom stands in the doorway, watching me curiously.

“I came to say good night. Was everything fine with Haley?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t talk about it, and I wasn’t sure what to ask.”

Mom nods in understanding. “Are you okay?” Her gaze flickers to the letter I’m gripping in my hands.

I shake my head, not sure how I’m supposed to tell her, but knowing I need to right now. Mom walks into my room and sits down on the edge of my bed. She pats my knee, a show of reassurance. I hand her the letter. Mom reads it silently before looking up at me, no clear emotions showing on her face.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. You’re my mom. You, Dad, and Cam are my family. Not her,” I say adamantly.

“Yes, we are your family and nothing will change that, Keelan. Not a single thing could ever come between us. Think about it for a few days before you make a decision about what you want to do. If you want to meet with her, we’ll support you. If you don’t, we’ll support you. You’re my son, and I love you. All I ask is that you keep me updated.”

While I feel better with her words, I am disappointed, too. “You’re not going to help me decide?”

Mom gives me a small smile, shaking her head. “No, honey. This needs to be your choice and yours alone.”

Great. Just great. I like my life the way it is. I like the stability my parents have given me. I like knowing I have one mom, one dad, and one brother. I know exactly how my life should be and now, this woman I can’t claim to know wants to see me? Wants to get to know me? Why? And why don’t I immediately know what I want?

Mom tells me goodnight and leaves. A minute later, Cameron comes in. “So?”

“Natalie wants to meet me. Mom says it’s my decision.”

“Wow. What are you going to do?”

“I have no freaking clue.”

Mom looks worried when I come home. She’s in the living room and immediately gets up to meet me at the door.

“Everything go well with your father?” she asks.

“Yep,” I lie. “I’m going to bed. Night, Mom.”

I can tell she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. I keep going to my room, grateful for the distraction Keelan and his mom provided, but now that I’m home, I’m overwhelmingly bummed. Just once, why can’t Dad show up like he says he will? I change, climb into bed, and let the tears fall.

The second day of school is as boring as the first and my English class gives out the first assignment of the year. Keelan walks me to most of my classes, but he’s quiet today. At lunch, when we sit down in the same seats, I angle myself toward him. He’s picking at his food, looking lost in his thoughts.

“Everything okay?” I ask softly.

Keelan lifts his head and looks at me. “Yeah, Hales. Everything’s fine. Just thinking.”

I nod and mistakenly glance at the rest of the table. Already I’ve cornered myself by befriending Keelan, Cameron, and Jess. I don’t know how to start conversations with the rest of the table and they’re too busy talking about something I know nothing about. With Keelan quiet and Jess giggling over something Cam is telling her, I’m pretty much on my own.

My mind drifts to my father. Part of me doesn’t want to miss him because it’s pointless. But the other part of me is completely baffled. How can he go from always being around to not returning my calls or not showing up when he says he will? He’s supposed to be my father. You know what? I’m going home this weekend. I want to see him. I’ll surprise Dad with a visit and hang out for a while. He won’t mind one bit.

After practice, I groan when I see Walter is home. I feel like he tries twice as hard when Mom isn’t around. Why? Mom isn’t here to see him make a show of getting to know me. All it does is irritate me further.

He’s in the kitchen, cooking dinner, and I pretend he isn’t there as I head toward the fridge for something to drink.

“How was practice?” he asks.

I let the fridge door shut on its own, the contents in the door clinking together as it closes.

“I’m fixing your favorite,” he tries again. “Smoked sausage and mac and cheese.” As if I don’t know what my favorite meal is.

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