16 Things I Thought were True Part 28

"It's huge for both of us. We have to figure things out," Bob says.

"I have no idea where to begin- or if we even can at this point."

Those words land hard, a direct hit. My heart stings. It's one thing to be rejected when he'd never even met me, another entirely to be rejected all over again. I drop my head down and study my cup of coffee, cold, forgotten. More weight settles on top of my already- heavy chest.

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sixteenthings.indd 188 9/9/13 2:21 PM.

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "Yes." I force myself to sound harsh and uncaring. I lift my chin, narrow my eyes, as if this whole thing isn't ripping my insides apart.

"Maybe I don't want anything to do with you either."

Bob clears his throat and coughs. "That's not what I meant."

"Morgan!" Amy says.

Tears squeeze out of the corner of my eyes, and embarra.s.sed, I wipe them away. "I don't know what to do- or what to say."

I will myself to stay strong. I want to keep the hurt from my face.

From my voice. From my heart. I may think I'm brave, but deep down, I'm afraid he'll still leave me. Now that he knows about me.

"This is hard for me too," he says.

"Congratulations," I blurt out, and then my cheeks burn at my rudeness. "Sorry," I add softly, without looking up.

Amy makes a funny high- pitched noise and clamps her hand over her mouth. I feel Adam's eyes on me but don't look at him.

"It's okay. But this is difficult. You live in Seattle," Bob says.

It's not a question, but I correct him. "No. Tadita. You should know the geography. After all, you lived there too, long enough to get my mother pregnant." I drop my eyes so I don't have to look at him. I hate that I sound so bitter, so defiant. But I can't help it.

I'm so afraid- and emotionally naked. I want to cover myself up.

"Morgan," Amy says. "You're being mean. All you ever wanted was a dad."

My cheeks fire up and I glance over at her. "Amy, I never said that."

I frown. I don't want Bob to know the truth. I want a dad. So. Much.

"You didn't have to," Amy says. Her face crumples up and she hic- cups as she starts to cry, but she manages to do it at a low volume.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Oh, sweetie," Camille says to Amy and reaches across the table to pat her arm.

I push away from the table. There's sweat on my top lip and behind my knees.

"Sit down," Bob says in a voice that's used to being obeyed.

Adam stands too and reaches for my hand. His fingers press against mine and it's rea.s.suring. It grounds me.

"Please?" Bob says in a softer voice. "I'm trying to figure out the right things to say. I have absolutely no idea what that is."

"Me neither," I whisper.

I look at Adam. I sense that no matter what I decide to do, he'll stand by me. "It's your call," he whispers. I wish he would tell me.

But this is my life. My decision. There's no way to hide from this.

I squeeze Adam's hand and sit. He slowly sits beside me. Amy glances up, no longer making noise but still sniffling and wiping at her eyes.

Everyone stares at me. I feel more exposed than I did the first day of school after the video went viral.

"Why did you come?" Bob finally says as if he's choosing his words carefully. He nods his head toward Adam and Amy. "You brought friends and drove all the way to Canada to see me. Why?"

I stare at him and blink, trying to remember the feelings that brought me here. "I just found out who you are," I remind him.

"She just told me," I whisper. "And I thought you were aware of me.

If I'd known earlier who you are...the truth...well, I would have come sooner."

"Okay." He picks up his tea. "But why like this?" He takes a 190.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e tiny sip, puts his cup down. "You could have called." He has a wary expression.

I almost smile and put my hand over my mouth. I can't tell him what I wanted. Him. I wonder if he thinks I'm a parasite, there to suck things from him. Like, like money. I glance at Adam. He's watching Bob, his eyes narrowed, his hand in a ball at his side.

"What are you implying? She wants a father!" Amy squeals.

Camille puts a finger to her lips and makes soft shus.h.i.+ng noises at her.

My stomach turns, and I'm glad I haven't had anything to eat. "I wanted to see you," I say. "In person. But things haven't turned out the way I planned," I admit.

"And what did you plan?" Bob's voice is slightly challenging.

Camille puts a hand on his arm. Amy covers her mouth again and makes a squealing sound. Adam makes a sound in his throat, and anger shoots from his eyes toward Bob. It's tangible across the table.

"None of this is her fault," Camille says. "Her mother lied to her as much as she did to you."

My mom's image seems to hover over the table like a ghostly apparition. For a moment, I hate her. I really and truly hate her- for lying to me. And for a moment, I hate him too- for getting her pregnant in the first place. But most of all, I hate me- for being a person who would let this go on as long as it did. I should have fought harder for the truth from my mom. I should have found out the truth long ago.

"This kind of brings up a new argument for abortion," I say, and it's awful and tears leak out again, and I drop my head, ashamed.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Oh, Morgan," Camille whispers.

Amy gasps and Adam puts an arm in front of me, as if to protect me. I glance up. Bob's face is white.

"Morgan!" Amy yelps. I glance sympathetically at her. She's going to need therapy after this, but this is not about her. I don't want to need anyone. I don't want to admit part of me hoped for more from him. That I still do.

Bob crosses his arms.

"I thought it was your choice to abandon me. I was angry. Maybe I'm still kind of angry," I admit. But I'm sad too. So sad. How could I be anything but sad? "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what to do now," I tell him.

His body visibly deflates and I see tears in his eyes. "The truth is, I am your father."

I sigh. "I know."

We stare at each other for a moment, and I drop my eyes first.

"I think what I really wanted was to meet you," I'm finally able to admit. A different waitress holding a pot of hot water and a pot of coffee in each hand approaches the table, but Camille shakes her head and the waitress turns quickly and veers off in another direction.

I sigh. "I kind of thought you owed her too, you know? I thought you knew about me and, knowing that, you still never contributed a thing," I confess. "A part of me thought you should pay her back for those years." I think of her bills- and then watch as my college years drift out of my reach. "But now, the way things are, you don't owe her anything."

"I don't?" he asks quietly.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e I lean forward. "No. None of this is your fault. "

Despite everything, I'll give my mom my college money. I won't let her go broke over her hospital bills. No matter what the circ.u.m- stances, she raised me all alone. It was her choice. I don't agree with it. But I still owe her for all she sacrificed for me.

I glance at Amy and Adam. Concern bounces off their faces and lands in my chest. They're on my team. At least I got them out of this: the road trip. And I'm keeping them when it's over.

"So that gets me off the hook?" Bob asks. I think there's sadness in his eyes. But I wonder if I'm imaging it.

I press my lips tight. "Yes."

"I'm your father," he says, but he looks at Camille when he says it. Not me.

"Biological," I say.

He winces, but there's that truth thing again, sticking its neck out.

He rubs at his chin, his eyes still on Camille. "I don't know what the right thing to do or even say is."

"I know," I say. "Me neither."

"We don't have to figure it all out this second," Camille says, her eyebrows tight and a worried tilt to her lips. "You are his daughter though, Morgan. And that means something. To both of us." She wipes under her eyes.

"You better know that Morgan is awesome," Adam says to Bob.

His voice is louder than usual and it breaks. "You're lucky you got to meet her."

Bob coughs. "I kind of noticed how you felt about my daughter,"

he says.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r I drop my eyes to my lap. The memory of Bob standing outside and peering into the car window while Adam and I groped each other is not a picture I want to recreate in my mind.

"He said daughter," Amy loud-whispers, oblivious to the subtext floating around the table.

Bob and I look at each other and drop our gazes at the same time, as if we're on an awkward date. A father- daughter date.

"How long have you two been married?" Amy asks Camille.

"A long time," Camille says with a smile.

"So why don't you have kids of your own?"

There's a pause. Noticeable. "Things don't always go as planned,"

Camille finally says, and then she slides off her seat and picks up her purse and adjusts it on her shoulder. "Excuse me, I have to go to the ladies room."

Bob watches her leave and then turns to me. "Camille and I weren't able to have children," he says. "It was really hard on her."

"Oh. Fudgsicle sticks. I'm really sorry," Amy says.

Bob doesn't look at her. "I loved her," he says to me.

I glance at Camille. "Camille?"

"No," he says. "Your mom. In case it matters. It was a long time ago. But I loved her. If I'd known about you, I would have mar- ried her."

"I guess she didn't think you would," I say. "All she told me about you was that you didn't want children."

He sighs, and it's deep and heartfelt. "I did say that. G.o.d. I was so young. I didn't feel ready to take on a whole family. She probably sensed it." He picks up his teacup and swirls around the 194.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e remains in the cup and then puts it down. He glances around the restaurant. "She never gave me a chance." The regret in his voice makes my heart hurt again- for him this time, not only me.

"Even if it didn't work out with your mom, I would have been there for you." He smiles at something in the distance, and I look over my shoulder and see Camille returning to the table.