My mother busies herself with her food. “They’re honoring your wishes.”
“My wishes?” I yell and slam my fork down. “My wishes? Are you serious?”
None of this was my wish. I didn’t wish for him to never pay a dime after she was born, and then once the paternity was established—as if there was any doubt he was the father—tell me that I had two choices, thanks to his fucking agent. Either he would fight me for full custody and make my life a living hell or I let him out of all responsibilities and never have to worry about any interference from him again.
I was ready to fight him. He was signing his big football contract in a few weeks. That’s when the floor dropped out. I had to choose, either I let him walk away from all parental rights or they leaked the tape that I regret more than anything, ruining my life and having the shame follow me and Chastity for our entire lives.
“Mom, please.” Chastity stands. “Please, I really don’t care. He doesn’t care about me and I don’t even think about him.”
Protecting her has been the only thing I’ve ever given a shit about. “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with anything regarding him.”
“Well, you made that her reality when you got pregnant.” My mother’s words feel like a slap across the face.
I start to say something, to defend myself, and demand that she stop this. I can take the fault for a lot, but I’m tired of the blame for getting pregnant being completely on me.
My father clears his throat. “I think we all need to calm down. Meredith”—he turns to my mother—“Teagan has done a good job raising Chastity, we should at least acknowledge that much. She’s handled her situation better than most and I, for one, am proud of her.”
“Yes, but think of how much easier it would’ve been if she hadn’t pushed Keith away.”
I shove out from the table. “I need a few minutes,” I say as I get to my feet. “Please excuse me.”
“Mom.”
“No, it’s fine.” Her brown eyes, the ones that match her piece-of-shit father’s, stare back at me. I see the displeasure in them and give her a reassuring smile. My daughter shouldn’t feel bad. “I’m okay. I just need…to think.”
I don’t wait for a reply, I head out the back door and go to the only place I can ever feel any sort of peace…the beach.
* * *
I wish I had my paint. There are so many emotions at war inside of me and painting is my vessel that allows me to extract them. It’s cathartic to feel pain and paint with red to emulate the hurt. Each color gives a visible voice to what I feel.
I need to find my voice.
My house is close and I rush there, grabbing the canvas and paints, not looking at what I grab, not caring because every color on the rainbow is appropriate.
I’m moving quickly, needing that release because if I don’t, I might burst.
Painting has calmed me since I started. It was something Nina talked me into trying a few years ago, but it quickly became my form of therapy.
I get to the shoreline, tossing my supplies on the blanket, and sit.
With my eyes closed, I grab a color.
Blue.
How appropriate, since I’m feeling quite blue.
As soon as I dip the paint, my world shifts. I’m transported to where I can just…be.
The color glides against the canvas, creating another variation of the ocean I always paint.
Each time, the hues are different, the lights shining off the water in a different way, but the perspective is always the same.
I’m in the ocean, looking at the shore, wondering where in this great big world I fit.
I don’t know how long I’m here. Time is irrelevant, but the sun is setting and the air is chilling.
“We have to stop running into each other this way.” Derek’s voice a little way back causes me to jump.
Shit. I quickly try to clean up what I was doing. There are only two people in the world who know I paint…Chastity and Nina. It’s something that’s mine and I’ve never wanted to share it. I dump the paints and dirty brush in the bag. “I was here first.”
He’s at the beginning of the dunes and it’ll take him maybe thirty seconds to get here. I get the bulk of things put away, but I don’t know what to do with the canvas. I really love the blues and purples in this one and don’t want to ruin it and yet I don’t want him to see it.
I turn my head and see him closer than I thought. Jesus, is he running?
I stand, put the canvas against my knees, and wrap my blanket around me, hoping it doesn’t completely screw it up.
“You were here first, but you were always good about sharing.”
“It’s a big beach, you know?”
“I do.”
“And yet you keep finding the exact spot I’m at.” I purse my lips, wondering why that is. I specifically chose a little farther down the shore for this reason. I truly wanted solitude and to just…paint.
Right now, my emotions are too raw and close to the surface to be around anyone.
“Maybe I was looking for you…”
So many freaking times I wanted to hear that or something like that. I wanted him to find me, fix me, love me, but he never did.
It was stupid and immature, but when it came to Derek, I hoped, because he always came through for me.
“And why would you be looking for me?”
“Because I figure the more times I see you, the less awkward it will be.”
I nod once. “Well, okay then.”
Not sure that it’ll ever be that way, but we can hope. Our lives were on a course, and then we took a
