Chapter 8
Marcus was already at the café when we arrived.
He stood as we approached. He was taller than I expected, with a little gray in his beard. His hands looked rough, the kind of hands that had worked outdoors.
He looked at me and stopped.
For a second, none of us spoke.
Then he said, “You have your mother’s eyes.”
Dad’s face tightened.
I felt it too.
“Thank you,” I said.
We sat.
Marcus ordered coffee but barely touched it. He asked about school, then seemed to realize he was asking too much and stopped.
“I don’t know what you already know,” he said.
“Not much.”
“I met your mother when we were in college. We were young and stubborn. We cared about each other, but we didn’t know how to build a life together.”
“Why did you break up?”
“She wanted to move to another state for graduate school. I had just gotten a job. We said things we couldn’t take back.”
“Then she found out she was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“I offered. She said she didn’t want to raise a baby with someone who was only staying out of guilt.”
“Did you want me?”
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
“Why did you leave the court case?”
“I was told you had a good life. I thought forcing my way in would hurt you.”
“You could have sent a letter.”
“I could have.”
“Called when I was older.”
“I should have.”
He accepted every accusation without defending himself.
That made it harder to stay angry.
Dad sat beside me, quiet but present.
“I’m not here to replace him,” Marcus said. “I can’t. He raised you.”
“Dad did.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I’m grateful.”
Dad gave a small nod.
The two men shared a silence that held old hurt, though they had never met.
Marcus took an envelope from his coat.
“I brought something. You don’t have to open it now.”
I accepted it.
Inside was a photograph of my mother at twenty, standing on a beach with her hair blowing across her face. She was laughing.
“She gave me that,” Marcus said. “I thought you should have it.”
I closed the envelope.
“Thank you.”
We talked for another hour.
Marcus told me about my mother’s favorite songs, her fear of spiders, and her habit of writing notes on grocery lists. He did not claim to know her better than Dad did. He did not ask me to call him anything.
When the meeting ended, he hugged me only after asking.
I let him.
Outside, Dad asked how I felt.
“Sad. Relieved. Confused.”
“Anything else?”
“Curious.”
“That makes sense.”
“Are you okay?”
He looked at the water.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending. I’m trying to give you room to know something I didn’t.”
We walked to the car.
The photograph stayed in my pocket.
That evening, Mia called again.
“Did you meet him?”
“Yes.”
“What was he like?”
“Kind. Nervous.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“I think so.”
“I’m glad.”
The words surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because you deserve answers.”
For the first time, she sounded like a sister instead of an opponent.
The next week, I started packing for college.
Dad kept trying to carry the boxes himself. I told him I could manage. He carried them anyway.
The blue dress went into a protective garment bag. I packed the repaired purse from the tailor as well. Dad had bought Mia a replacement bag, but she had asked him to donate it to a women’s shelter.
The school cleared my scholarship and gave Mia a chance to withdraw her application materials, correct the copied essay, and submit an honest version of her work. She chose to write about how she had let jealousy turn into cruelty.
I didn’t read it.
Dad said he had.
“She told the truth,” he said.
“Did she make excuses?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Vanessa called to ask if she could see me before I left.
I said yes.
We met in the living room.
She had taken off her wedding ring.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” she said. “I want to say that I should have protected you. I saw enough to know you were being treated unfairly, and I chose to make things easier for myself.”
I folded my arms.
“Why?”
“Because I thought keeping Mia happy would keep my marriage stable. I was wrong.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Your father and I are not deciding that today.”
“Do you want to?”
“I do.”
“Does Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked tired, and for the first time I understood that her control had been a kind of fear. That didn’t excuse it. It only gave it a shape.
“I don’t want you to come back because you feel guilty,” I said.
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t want Mia to be told I broke your marriage.”
“She won’t be.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
I believed she meant it.
That was all I could offer.
The night before I left, Dad and I sat on the back steps. He handed me the silver star pendant.
“You should take it.”
“I have it.”
“Your mother would have wanted you to wear it.”
I fastened it around my neck.
“Do you think she would have told me about Marcus?”
“I think she would have, eventually.”
“Maybe she was afraid.”
“Maybe.”
“Were you afraid too?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
“That you would love him and stop needing me.”
I turned toward him.
“I don’t need you less because I meet him.”
“I know that in my head.”
“Your heart needs to catch up.”
He smiled sadly.
“I suppose it does.”
I rested my head on his shoulder.
The next morning, we drove to Northwood.
At the dorm, Dad carried my boxes and made the bed badly. I fixed it after he left.
Before he walked out, he hugged me.
“Call whenever you want.”
“I will.”
“And don’t feel like you have to be strong every minute.”
“I won’t.”
He left slowly, looking back twice.
I watched from the window until his car disappeared.
For the first time in my life, I was on my own.
I was scared.
I was excited.
May you like
I was still hurt.
But I was no longer waiting for someone else to tell me whether I deserved a place in the family.
