Because it meant that even if she wasn’t his by blood, it didn’t make him any less of a father to her. And neither did it mean she wasn’t a daughter in his eyes.
Maybe family wasn’t always about whose blood ran in your veins. Maybe it was about whose heart beat alongside yours through thick and thin.
“You sure, kiddo?” he frowned. “If you don’t want to, we can stay back.”
“It’s Thanksgiving, dad,” she said with a sad smile. “It’ll be a change from spending the night just by ourselves, yeah? Plus, they’re the ones reaching out this time. How long have we wished for this?”
“I don’t think the others would be so thrilled.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “It’s Sophia’s mum who wants us there.”
“Yeah, well, grandma was always the one who called the shots in that family, yeah?” There was a touch of nostalgia in Carmen’s voice, her eyes proving that she was reliving old times in her head.
Her dad just offered her an exhausted smile in response, his eyes also adorning the same faraway look as Carmen. He stood up from the bed, cracking his knuckles as he did so. “I’ll let your aunt Beatrix know that we’re coming then.” He nodded, shooting her one last smile before leaving the room.
“Hey, Dad?” Carmen called out just as he was about to close the door.
He popped his head in through the gap of the half-open door. “Yeah?”
“I love you,” she said, the left corner of her mouth lifting up in something akin to a ghost of a smile.
“I do too,” he told her, eyes softening and smoothing the crease on his forehead.
But Carmen noticed that he didn’t say “I love you” back. Just like he never did ever since they’d buried her mother six feet under when she was six years old.
The door to her room closed with a soft click, and Carmen stared at it as the tear running down her cheek slipped off her chin and fell on the fresh drawing sheet on the desk.
And then more silent tears followed.
•••
It was during the third week of November, and also the last week of school before Thanksgiving holidays started, that Carmen met Isla again.
“Hey,” Carmen greeted as she approached the familiar blonde in the girls’ locker room, where Isla was getting ready for cheer practice.
Electric blue eyes met Carmen’s and surprise flickered through them. “Carmen.” Isla blinked, obviously not expecting her. “What’s up?”
Carmen slid her bag off her shoulder and fished around through it before pulling out a book with deep red velvet binding that Isla had given her for this purpose. She extended her arm towards Isla, offering her the book. “Those drawings you asked for.” She nodded towards the journal. “The one for your parents once you leave for college. They’re all done.”
The other girl’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the art journal from Carmen’s hands, flipping through the pages with shock and awe. “Wow, you did them all within just two months and a half?”
Carmen shrugged. “Had a lot of spare time on my hands these days.” And there was also the issue of not being able to create her own works because of Asa’s words building a home inside her head and refusing to leave until she acknowledged them.
It was as if they had a mind of their own, as if they purposely constructed a barrier in her mind to stop any creativity flowing through until she’d digested the words I love you and allowed it into her system.
But it was one thing to hear Asa say those words to her and a wholly other thing to accept it, to allow it into her heart.
“Wow…I—these are beyond amazing, Carmen,” Isla said softly, her fingers tracing one of the sketches as if she was afraid she was going to hurt the paper. “Just—thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Carmen mumbled, warmth washing through her at the fact that her drawings were being appreciated. Ever since she started sketching those photographs for Isla though, there’d been a question clawing relentlessly at her mind, and it was bothering her now too.
“Isla…” she started with a cautious tone. “Why did you ask me to draw them that way?”
Isla’s eyes left the journal and looked back at Carmen, confusion swimming in them. “I told you; I wanted to give them—”
“No.” She shook her head, cutting Isla off. “Not why you asked me to draw the photos. Why did you ask me to draw all those photos without you in them?”
Isla’s eyes went wide and there was a flash of pain in them, but it was gone as soon as it had come.
Carmen didn’t get it though. All the family photographs of the Martins had both Mr. and Mrs. Martin along with Isla in them. They looked happy enough—genuinely happy. But Isla had asked Carmen to sketch those photos exactly as they were with the exception of Isla’s presence in them.
“Because it’s a gift, Carmen,” Isla finally muttered, the exhaustion seeping into her voice as she sat down on one of the benches, her shoulders drooping. “I want to present them with something, and what better way to do it than show them how their life would looked like without me in it? An alternate reality where their screwed-up daughter isn’t born. A lifetime when they didn’t have some whore with no future as a daughter.”
And despite Carmen’s reserved attitude towards Isla on Asa’s behalf, she felt her gut clench in worry for the girl. Isla and Carmen might not have the same stories, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand the pain and the turmoil the other girl must be experiencing.
“Don’t call yourself that,” Carmen said quietly, feeling a pang in her chest.
Isla scoffed. “The rest of the
