Page 92 of Your Every Wish
“He was either there or hired someone to take them.” Emma points to her high school graduation photo. “It was held at the Jerry Garcia Amphitheater in McLaren Park. He could easily sneak in and out without Mom or me seeing him. My college graduation . . . there were, like, nine thousand people there.”
“Could it be that he was keeping tabs on us?”
“There’s no other explanation for how he got these pictures.”
“Why go to all the trouble if you’re just going to ignore us anyway?” I say, feeling a mixture of elation and anger.
“Some people have trouble connecting and committing. I’m pretty sure Willy was one of those people.”
“It sounds like a handy excuse to me. Like something you’d tell one of your sad-ass readers who’s just been dumped by their spouse or partner to make them feel better about themselves.”
“We don’t need to feel better about ourselves, Kennedy. We didn’t do anything wrong. We were babies when Willy left. The fact that he left and never contacted us again but kept pictures of us throughout our childhoods and adulthoods says to me that he wanted to love us but didn’t know how.”
“Because he was incapable of owning up to having two daughters in the world, we’re supposed to give him a free pass?”
“That’s not what I said. You asked why he took all these pictures if he didn’t want to be in our lives? My answer was that he may have wanted to be in our lives and didn’t know how. That’s all. Hate him if you want. But I don’t. I feel sorry for him. He died alone with no one to love him. You and I, on the other hand, have plenty of people who love us. And we have each other.”
Emma pulls me in for a hug and I don’t know why but I start to sob uncontrollably. I’d like to tell myself that it’s the stress of a looming deadline that I’m never going to make, or the monotony of living in the middle of a senior mobile home park, or the horrible stench of this trailer, or all of the above. But it’s none of these things.
I’m crying for the milestones in those pictures, the milestones I never got to share with a father who yearned to be part of them enough to put them in a keepsake book, but then locked them away forever.
Emma
This is a first. I canceled on Dex.
I told him that I’m not up for the three-hour drive to his place this weekend, even though Kennedy said I could borrow her car and Dex made reservations at a trendy new restaurant in the Mission District.
And this is the funny thing. Dex wigged out about it and said he’d come to me. When has that ever happened?
Now, he’s on his way.
“Did you do something?” I stare Misty straight in the eye.
“Like what, dear?”
“Like put a spell on him. Or stick a voodoo doll with a pin or something like that. I mean, when we first talked about it, I thought you were just going to get inside his head and tell me why he was holding back. Why he couldn’t love me? But I don’t know how I feel about you using . . . I have no idea what to call it. Okay, for a lack of a better word, magic. I don’t like the idea of that. I don’t like the idea of you using magic because then it’s not real. It’s forced. It’s trickery. Contrived. How am I supposed to know if he loves me for me or if he loves me because you did some kind of hocus pocus on him?”
“Hocus pocus? Really? That’s not the way this works. Think about it, Emma. The reason why Dex has suddenly come around is because you don’t care as much anymore. It’s that simple. ”
“Of course I care. He’s the love of my life. He’s all I ever wanted. ”
Misty’s brows shoot up. “Then why are you spending so much time with Liam, hmm?”
“Liam’s a friend. That’s all.”
“I’m not buying that—nor is Dex. The hocus pocus here is Liam. As soon as he came into the picture, Dex became more attentive, right?”
The kettle whistles on the stovetop and Misty rushes off to prepare our tea while I sit in her fluffy easy chair, waiting for answers. Misty is wrong on the Liam front. Dex isn’t the type to be threatened by another man. And though I’d like to believe that it’s the physical distance between us that has made him more attentive, I’m not buying that either.
“Here we are.” Misty places her silver tea server on the coffee table and pours us each a cup.
“Just be straight with me. Did you do something to make Dex more interested? Anything.”
Misty sits on the couch and takes a long sip of tea. “Nothing untoward, I promise you. But if your wish is coming true, why are you fighting it? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
She raises a good question because it is. Dex is everything I always wanted. And yet, while it finally feels like he’s within reach, like our relationship is exactly where I’ve always wanted it to be, something inside me is trying to sabotage it. Why?
I’m the one who is supposed to have all the answers. I’m an advice columnist, for goodness’ sake. But on advising myself, I’m coming up totally empty.
