Carl.” She let out a sob. “How can he love me if he didn’t want me?”
My heartbeat was in my stomach, my temples thumping as I wrestled with the words in my throat.
But I had to say them.
I always do.
“He didn’t even know you existed, Katie.”
Carl pulled up outside mine, and the car wasn’t even stationary as I opened the door.
He took my wrist, held me back. “Katie, wait. I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have… we could go home, talk about this… think things through…”
“Stop,” I said. “I have to ask. I have to know.”
I took a moment to stare at him, and he was worried. Scared. His mouth was tight and his eyes were sad and lost and nothing like the Carl Brooks I worked with all day. But I didn’t have time for that, not right now.
“I have to do this,” I said. “Please, let me go, Carl.” I tugged my wrist from him.
“This is becoming a habit, me spouting my mouth off and sending you running home.”
“This isn’t the same,” I said. And it wasn’t, it wasn’t the same at all. “I’m running for answers, not running away. I’m all in, with you and Rick, whether you spout your mouth off or not. Ok?”
He nodded but didn’t smile. “I’ll wait for you,” he said.
“You don’t have to…”
“I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere, Katie. Take as long as you need.” He put the car in neutral and turned the engine off. “Take all night, I’ll still be right here.”
I managed a weak smile, but my head was already spinning, churning through memories and reflections, my heart in my stomach, all twisted up.
All through the drive back here I’d been grasping for evidence that Carl’s revelation couldn’t possibly be true, struggling to recall the moment I’d first found out my dad didn’t want to know me. That he’d abandoned my mum as a pregnant teenager and said he didn’t want to know either of us. That he knew I was a kid, growing up just a few miles away, that he hadn’t cared enough to want to be there. I knew that, right? I’d known that for as long as I could remember.
And that was the problem. I couldn’t remember ever not knowing that. I couldn’t recall a single conversation from my past that confirmed anything, not for definite, not a single one.
I’d always just known. Just like I’d known how to breathe. Just like I’d known how to walk, and eat, and go to sleep at night. I’d had fantasies that it wasn’t true, that my father was lost or incapacitated, on some adventure somewhere far away rather than being a straight out asshole, but I’d known they were fantasies.
And then one day he’d just shown up. And I’d been angry, upset that he’d taken so long, upset that he hadn’t wanted to know me.
But I’d never said that, not to him. I didn’t know him well enough, didn’t know him at all. I hadn’t sought answers, because I already knew every part of the story I cared to know, and he was too much of a bragging asshole to stoop low enough to apologise, even if I’d have wanted him to.
That’s what I’d thought. Known. That’s what happened. It happened.
“There must be a mistake,” I said. “Mum will probably wet herself when she realises how stupid the question is.” I let out a laugh that sounded fake enough to make me cringe. “I just can’t remember the details. That’s all this is.” I sighed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
His eyes pierced mine. “Forget I’m here, Katie, just concentrate on you.”
I nodded, and then I left him.
Mum was watching TV, some crappy weeknight quiz show after dinner. Her half-finished bowl of pasta was still at her side.
“Hi, sweetheart. Have you eaten? There’s some pasta on the hob.” She turned back to the screen. “Edison! Thomas Edison! He made the lightbulb!” The team on screen got it wrong and she let out a sigh, shook her head. “Dimwits. Where do they even find these people?”
I could only stare at her, at the mum who’d raised me, who’d loved me, who’d always been there. I took a seat on the armchair next to her, perched on the edge like a dithery little bird.
I felt so stupid, so angry at my thumping heart for even considering the need to ask the question. But I did need to.