Page 3 of Insincerity

Please, God, don’t let him have noticed where I was staring.

His footsteps receded, heading toward the basement stairs.

I rubbed my eyes, wondering why in the hell had I zeroed in on that part of his body? If I was honest with myself, this wasn’t the first time I’d noticed my uncle’s good looks. But appreciating his appearance didn’t mean anything, right? It wasn’t a crime to recognize high cheekbones or a strong jawline, or how devilishly handsome he looked when he forgot to schedule a haircut.

Yet the way that my body responded—a growing pressure in my lower belly—as I recalled the bulge in his shorts made my skin burn ten degrees hotter. I was turned-on by the thought of him being aroused, the way reading a spicy scene in a romance novel made me squeeze my thighs together. How messed up was that?

I needed a distraction.

Recalling what Logan had said about the spotty wi-fi, I decided to reach for a book instead of trying to stream something. Swooning over a well-endowed, emotionally tortured Fae prince or two whoweren’trelated to me seemed like an appropriate alternative.

But first, I opened the sliding-glass door and let the cold air wash over me, cooling my skin and chasing the illicit heat from my body.

3

HAILEE

I settledonto a chaise in the den with a thick paperback, expecting to be swept away by the fantastical smut. After fifteen minutes, I closed the book with a sigh. My mind was too scattered to follow the story.

After my conversation with Uncle Logan this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad, specifically what he’d said about my grades. As much as I didn’t want to admit that I cared about his opinion, knowing he was proud of me made me feel more proud of myself. I drew my hair back into a makeshift ponytail. My feelings for him were complicated and not something I wanted to deal with on a Tuesday afternoon.

I rose from the chaise and slowly paced the den, scanning my uncle’s collection of classic literature and books about technology and economics. With the mahogany bookshelves and dark leather furniture, the room easily could have felt claustrophobic. But the floor-to-ceiling windows let in so much natural light that I didn’t need to switch on a lamp to read comfortably. Outside, it had stopped snowing, and I wondered what the weather was like in Northern California where my dad was imprisoned.

Was it warm and sunny, or rainy and gray? Did he get to go outside every day and for how long?

I scolded myself for wondering and turned away from the window. Thinking those kinds of thoughts would only lead me down a dark and depressing rabbit hole. I’d diligently cultivated my anger so as not to let the pain of his absence affect me. It was hard to believe we’d once been so close that I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

He’d been my sole caretaker from the very beginning. My mom died a few months after I was born, stolen from us by a weakened heart muscle that ended her life way too soon. I could only imagine the devastation and panic he must’ve felt, having lost his wife and become a single parent to an infant virtually overnight. But he didn’t let grief get in the way of raising me right. Of course, Uncle Logan and my grandparents stepped up to help, but Dad always made a point to be there when I needed him. I looked up to him. He worked hard to give us a good life in Eureka, and while he allowed his brother to spoil me on special occasions, he insisted on supporting us with the money he’d earned from running his own business.

My dad was proud, but also loving. He encouraged me to believe in myself and not to let other people’s opinions about me dictate my self-worth. He was protective of me.

Too protective, in the end.

I sat back on the chaise and gazed down at my soft belly rolls and plump thighs. I’d been mercilessly bullied for being fat all through middle school and early high school. My efforts to rise above the snide comments worked half the time, but the hardened shell I’d built around my self-esteem could only take so much abuse before it cracked. One guy in particular made it his mission to tell me exactly how un-fuckable he found me every time we crossed paths. He and his friends would harass me in the halls, on the school bus, and especially in the cafeteria.

In hindsight, his obsession with my body probably stemmed from his own self-hatred, or his rich parents’ perfectionism, or a secret attraction to big girls. Maybe he was just a dick. Whatever his reasoning, it wasn’t on me to understand or excuse his behavior. He’d certainly never tried to empathize with me.

For years, I kept the bullying a secret from my family, too ashamed to admit how deeply some asshole’s words had affected me. Then one day, that asshole thought it would be hilarious to film an upskirt video of my ass as I was walking up the stairs. By the time fourth period rolled around, it seemed like everyone had seen the video. Some people recognized it for the violation that it was, but just as many used it as an excuse to laugh at the fat girl in the blue thong.

After faking a headache so I could go hide in the nurse’s office, I called my dad and asked him to take me home. I was barely holding it together by the time he picked me up. He could immediately tell that something was wrong. When he asked what happened, I finally broke down crying in his arms and told him about the bullying and the boy who’d made the video.

I can still remember the cold, hard grit in his voice when he asked me, “What’s his name?” I told him, assuming he’d lodge a complaint with the school or call the guy’s parents. If I’d known he would use the information to track the kid down and confront him in person, I never would have said anything.

As it turned out, my bully’s dad was a regular customer at my dad’s auto body shop. After taking me home, he went back to the shop to look up their address. Dad waited outside my bully’s house for him to get off the bus and then ambushed him. According to the police report, he took the kid’s smartphone, then started pushing him. The kid tripped and fell onto the ground where my dad proceeded to beat the ever-loving shit out of him, breaking his jaw and fracturing his orbital bone.

A neighbor witnessed the altercation and called 911. My dad was arrested on the scene; he didn’t try to run. Uncle Logan flew up immediately and hired the best lawyer money could buy. But even that wasn’t enough to stop him from getting locked up.

Later, my dad told the judge that he hadn’t intended to hurt the kid, only scare him a little. But rage over what’d happened earlier that day had clouded his judgment.

I attended the sentencing hearing but refused to speak to my father. While part of me understood why he’d snapped, I couldn’t forgive him for not thinking about how his actions would affect us. He was sentenced to a minimum of six years in prison for aggravated assault and robbery.

My heart had stopped with the banging of the gavel. There I was, fifteen years old, without a mom or a dad to come home to. The fact that Uncle Logan made sure my bully was also held accountable for making and distributing the video did little to cushion the blow.

Everything changed after that, and not all for the worse. Getting out of Eureka turned out to be the best thing for me.

I moved to Palo Alto to live with my uncle and started fresh at a charter school where the teasing was more subtle, and the curriculum was rigorous and self-driven. I made new friends, kissed some cute boys, and discovered my passion for marine sciences. Uncle Logan even helped me petition to change my last name so nobody who Googled me could stumble upon what my dad had done.

But as I was thriving, my resentment lingered on. No matter how much I missed my dad, I couldn’t forgive him for missing out on so much of my life.

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