Page 7 of Searching for Nova

“Yeah. Got it.” I scrub the pan harder, keeping my back to him.

“And get me some cigarettes while you’re out.”

“I can’t buy cigarettes. I’m not old enough.”

“Fuck,” he says, sounding annoyed. “When the hell you gonna grow up? Seems like you been a damn kid forever.”

I’ve never been a kid, at least not since moving in with Ted. I was six when he took me in. It wasn’t because he wanted me. It’s because he wanted someone to cook for him and clean up after him. I didn’t know how to do that stuff, but I quickly learned because if I didn’t, he threatened to kick me out.

“Being a kid is what keeps the checks coming,” I say. “You should want that. As soon as I graduate, the money runs out.”

“Then you can go and get yourself a real job. Make some real money.”

When I do, I’m not giving it to him. When I’m 18 and done with school, I’m out of here. I don’t know where I’ll go, but anywhere’s better than here.

“The eggs were too runny today,” he says, getting up from the table. “After all this time, you still can’t figure out how to make eggs?”

“You’re welcome,” I mutter, drying the pan.

“What was that?” Ted walks up to me. “You sassing me, girl?”

I force out a smile. “I’ll try to do it right tomorrow.”

He stares at me a moment, trying to tell if I’m being sincere. I change topics before he can yell at me.

“I work the lunch shift today, then I’m going over to Mateo’s tonight.”

“You’re still dating that kid?” Ted walks to the fridge and takes out a beer. “I thought you two were over.”

“We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

Friends who sometimes have sex. At first, we were just friends, but then one night we were in Mateo’s room, lying on his bed, and it happened. We had sex and became friends with benefits.

“How old’s Mateo?” Ted asks. “Could he get me a pack?”

“No, you have to be 21.”

Ted grunts something as he lumbers back to his recliner.

I return to my room, shut my door, and pace the floor, trying to get rid of the anxious, fidgety feeling I’ve had ever since that guy showed up last night.

It can’t be him. There’s no way. Why would he be in Milwaukee? It’s not like I expected him to still be in that small town, but he could’ve ended up anywhere.

Going over to my dresser, I open the bottom drawer and take out the envelope that contains what’s left of that part of my life. A tiny crocheted angel, some photos, and a piece of gum. It was a treat to get gum, so when we did, Sean and I would break the piece in half and share it. When he left, I told myself he’d be back, so I kept the gum, not wanting to take his half. But he never came back.

The crocheted angel was from Liz, my foster mom. She liked to crochet, mostly blankets, but she also made these tiny little angels with yellow thread. She’d give one to each of her foster kids when they left, saying the angels would watch over us. I don’t think any of us believed her. I definitely didn’t. If there were angels watching over me, I wouldn’t be stuck living with my asshole grandpa who uses me as his own personal maid and cook.

I pick up the photo, the one of Sean. God, I miss him. He was the only person who really understood me. I wasn’t like other girls. I was a tomboy. I liked toy trucks, playing in the dirt, picking up bugs—all stuff other little girls had no interest in. I’d grown up around my dad and his friends, so boy stuff was all I knew. My mom died a few months after I was born. She died of a drug overdose. I was left with my dad, who was also a drug addict. He couldn’t even take care of himself, but he somehow managed to keep me alive until I turned five, when he took off, leaving me in foster care.

That’s when I met Sean. I remember the day like it just happened. I was in the back yard, playing in the sand box. Sean came over and sat down next to me. He didn’t say a word, but his face said everything. He was scared and confused—feelings I knew all too well. I felt the same way when I got there. I reached over and hugged him, and when I pulled away, he had tears in his eyes, but he was smiling. I smiled back and gave him the truck I’d been playing with, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. Until he left.

“Is it really you?” I whisper, staring at his picture.

If the guy at the diner really was Sean, he looked totally different. Big and tall with dark hair that was streaked with blond. The Sean in the picture is short and scrawny with really light blond hair. I never would’ve guessed he’d turn out to look like the guy l saw last night.

There’s no way that was him, and yet I’m getting this weird feeling that it might’ve been. If it was, he better not show up again. I don’t want to see him. I’ve closed that chapter of my life and have no need to relive it or dredge up old memories I’m trying to forget.

“Nova!” Ted yells, banging on my door.

---