It’s better that I know.
I think.
I hope.
With shaky hands, I pull out a picture I recognize from my fifth birthday. There’s a piñata of the little green monster from Monsters Inc hanging in the background. I’m holding the bat to my side and a man I hardly recognize kneels beside me. He’s fastening the blindfold around my head, unaware any picture is being taken.
He has a head of russet brown hair and freckles covering his nose. I absentmindedly touch my nose, where my freckles are hiding under a smattering of makeup. He’s smiling, like he was in the middle of laughing at something ridiculous as the picture was snapped.
I dig through the images until I find one of the two of us side by side. I flip over the picture where my mom notated the moment. Flynn’s kindergarten graduation. In this picture, we’re both smiling at the camera. It’s here I notice his big brown eyes, the color of mud, just like mine. His smile is genuine and his gaze is clouded with affection or…love.
I don’t know if that’s meant for me, for the secret he subconsciously knew about, or if the gaze was from looking at my mom, who likely took the photo.
How don’t I remember any of this? Seeing his face, there’s a blip of recognition registering deep in my brain but nothing else. If he was this prominent in my life, shouldn’t I remember more? Shouldn’t I have some latent biological attachment to him that helped store these memories? Or at least could help spark these moments?
I feel like I’m straddling a fence between two worlds: what is and what could’ve been. How would things have been different if I had known Jason—my father—now? Would my mom ever actually have told us?
I dig through the box, letting the questions build and expand. I grab a photo from the box that is obviously older. My mom is wearing a pink frilly dress and Jason is in a tux. I read the back of the photo, Senior Prom with Jason.
They look happy together. Through the photo, I can see the love and affection they felt for one another. I think they were always more than best friends, but never admitted it to one another. Maybe they were scared, but something was always there.
What if she chose him? Or if she never met my dad? I might not be born and I definitely wouldn’t have Carson or Lucas.
I need to call them. They should know.
Yelling commences downstairs. My mom’s sobs carry up the hallway. Glass breaks. I need to get the hell out of here. I can’t be here for this.
I sneak out the back door and get in my car. Carson lives closer than Luke, so I drive to her house first.
I pull into the driveway and ring the bell like a crazy person. Wren, my brother-in-law, answers the door and his brows furrow. They probably weren’t expecting any guests, but I can promise they sure as shit weren’t expecting me.
He takes me in and his face turns from confusion to concern. “Flynn, come in.”
Ava, the little twerp, sees me and barrels for me. I lean down and hug her. I may not be affectionate, but this kid has a piece of my heart.
“Mommy, come look!” she calls but Carson doesn’t come.
“Carson, you need to get out here,” Wren calls, his voice laced with worry.
My sister comes walking out from the back of the house and stops the minute she sees me. “Flynn? What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk. Call Lucas.”
“What are you talking about? Flynn, are you high?” For the first time in my life, I don’t find those words funny. I look at my sister, my expression serious.
“No, I’m not lying and I’m not high. Mom just told me everything. Dad had no idea.” We’re in Carson’s office. My sister and I are on the couch while my brother leans back in her office chair.
Sitting across from them feels different, in a way. Sure, they’re still my siblings, but only half. It’s like a part of me was chipped away from learning the truth. I’m not my dad’s kid anymore. That part of my identity is a lie and now part of me doesn’t know who I am anymore.
It’s no wonder I barely get along with my siblings or have anything in common with them. I’m only half related to them.
My brother sits up, his expression earnest. “I believe you.” I look at Lucas, for any clue that he’s being sarcastic, but I come up empty. “Mom said something weird to me once when I was on the outs with Liv. She gave me this entire speech about how people make mistakes. I didn’t buy it, I mean, I thought her relationship was perfect.”
“A mistake—she said that?”
“Shit, I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.”
A harsh laugh bursts through my lips, lacking in hilarity. I’m sure she did mean it, just like that.
“Did she tell you who your real dad is?” Carson asks.
“His name is Jason. He was—”
“Dad’s old business partner?” Carson bursts out.
I guess she remembers more about him than I do.
“Do you remember him?” She nods. “Before you ask, he’s dead,” I tell her, my voice devoid of emotion though I feel like my tone should be flooded with them. With something other than numbness.
“I know. I remember it happening. Mom came home one night distraught. She was crying and yelling to dad saying ‘he’s gone’ over and over again. I mean, she was hysterical. Dad all but had to pick her up off the floor. She locked herself in her room after that for a long time. She was
