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“Did you tell the Gordons about me?”
For a moment, all I hear is silence and the little breaths I’ve been forcing myself to take so I don’t get lightheaded.
“When you were sixteen, they reached out,” Ma begins in a somber tone. “They wanted to know that you were at least happier.”
“Your Mom and I decided it would be best not to bring up anything that might set you back,” Mama adds. “You were just starting to feel comfortable in your skin.”
Was I mad at them? No, not really. I know I would have freaked out if they had told me any of this. The Reeds were the best thing to happen to me.
“Are you mad, honey?” Mama asks.
I hesitate with my answer, which must be causing Mama a lot of turmoil. She’s always hated confrontation, and Ma loves keeping it real. “No, Mama, I’m not mad.”
I hear her let out a relieved breath.
“We will always be here for you, sweetie,” Ma rings in again.
“I love you guys so much, and I promise to keep in touch.”
“You better,” Ma says. “I hate it when y’all don’t update us on what’s happening. I have to pull teeth to get Lotte to tell me anything.”
I giggle because Ma and Lotte have always been at each other’s throats, but that comes from Lotte running off when she turned eighteen.
“You also need to text more!” Ma calls me out.
“Yeah, yeah.” I laugh. “Love you.” We hang up.
I need to find those letters. That matters more than Oliver right now, even if thinking about him makes me want to cry a little.
I spend too much time tearing my room apart, looking for any sign of another letter. Where did she hide these fucking things? I plop down on the floor, looking over the mess of my room. Children’s books, photo frames, and even old clothes from the closet are laid out on the floor in chaotic disarray. They turned my room into some sort of storage. They replaced me in any way they could to preserve their happiness.
My eyes land on the frame in front of me. The same picture I had turned around with a fake happy family. There are a few cracks coming from the top left corner, like veins, but only one of them reaches the other corner. I reach out to grab the frame, looking over it and noticing the cheap wood frame breaking apart and a white paper visible through the back.
My eyes go wide. I break the frame further, pulling out a wrinkled piece of loose-leaf paper. I take a deep breath and slowly unfold the paper.
Dear Simon
My dead name.
Which means this letter is from before Moms told them about my name change.
You turn thirteen today. It’s been a year since you’ve been gone, and honestly, I don’t even know why I’m writing this. It’s not like you’ll see it. We got asked if we wanted to apply for custody again, and we said no. Your father kissed me for the first time in years. We even started going on dates again. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. I saw your father smile again, and he felt like my husband again. I hope you find a girl that makes your heart pump like he did and does once again. I’m sure you’ll be a handsome boy, just like your father.
There’s no signature at the end.
They were really happy without me. My presence hurt them so much that they stopped loving each other. Maybe I just drain everything around me. All I need to do is think about past hookups, the marriages I could have ruined through my stupid obsession.
I bring my hand up to feel the stream of tears falling from my eyes, chilling my burning cheeks. Now I’m fucking crying once again over parents I should hate, but the realization is hitting me. I ruined their lives just as much as they ruined mine.
I need to not be here—or any place—but being out of this house would be fucking great right now.
I stand, rushing out of the room and out the door. The dim light of the day matches the downcast of my mental state.
“Sally.” In my rush to get out, I don’t even process the fact that Oliver is standing in front of my house, wearing the same Water's Edge tee he wears for work. His eyes search my whole body before landing on my still tear-soaked face. Any thoughts he might have had are now gone as they flash with concern.
I hide my face, wiping away the tears, and hope my eyes don’t look too red.
“Are you that mad at me?” he questions. My eyes snap to him with shock.
