Page 29 of This Kind of Forever
It takes me a second to realize my hands are shaking. When Gabe pries the paper away from me, I finally look up. The amount of concern in his expression makes me wonder if he called my name more than once.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I…”AmI okay? I shake my head. “That letter is from my father.”
“Yourfather?”
He sounds as shocked as I feel. The last thing I expected to be inside that envelope was…that.
“He wants to see me.” My tongue is dry, scraping against the inside of my mouth. “He wants to seeme.”
Gabe scoffs. “That’s the least he could do.”
Like I’m in a trance, I drift across the room and practically fall back onto the end of the bed. It’s just a bare mattress now, stripped of its sheets when I moved into the main house. Gabe follows warily, stopping to stand in front of me.
“When I was little, that was all I wanted,” I say quietly, gesturing to the paper in Gabe’s hand. “So many times, I wanted him to take me away. Because he had to be better than my mom.”
Gabe’s eyes soften. “Foster…”
“That was my birthday wish for at least ten years. I’d blow out my candles and wish he’d show up at the door. And now he’s reaching out, and I— I can’t?—”
My resolve shatters, and tears start to fall. Then the sob works its way up my throat, getting caught before it springs free. I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it’s no use.
Gabe sits beside me on the bed. The next thing I know, he hauls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I want to pull away, to keep a healthy distance between us, especially after I’ve already spent a night in his bed, but I can’t. Instead, I press my face into his neck and let him comfort me, despite how guilty it makes me feel.
Stop using him, Hallie. You’re exactly like the mother you claim to hate.
The voice is right, of course. I’m a hypocrite. I shouldn’t be seeking comfort from the man whose heart I stomped on all those years ago. Still, I cling to him. His ever-steady presence is the only reason I haven’t fully succumbed to my emotions, which roil inside me, just waiting to spill free.
Sadness. Relief. Anger. Hope. Desperation. They all fight for dominance. Whynow? Why now, when I’m a mess who feels like she’s simply floating through life with no real direction, does he decide to reach out?
When the tears eventually slow, I pull back, swiping at my cheeks. My eyes feel puffy and swollen, and I’m sure I look like a disaster, but Gabe’s gaze is void of judgment. Regardless, my face flames.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, disentangling myself from him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
The last thing I wanted was to fall apart on him. To burden him. It’s already bad enough I’m living with him, taking up his space.
When I try to stand, his arms keep me trapped in his lap. New conflicting emotions swirl inside me—the urge to curl up against his chest and beg him to never let me go versus the panic brought on by our closeness.
“You don’t have to do that with me, Foster.”
“Do what?”
“Run when shit gets hard.”
It has always been more difficult with Gabe. Clara is my best friend, sure, but I’ve always been able to balance opening up to her while keeping her far enough away so as not to witness the depths of my dysfunction. Her brother, on the other hand, managed to find a way to slip past all of my defenses. All of my safeguards.
This time, when I try to slide off Gabe’s lap, he lets me go. I cross the room, dragging in a deep breath now that it won’t be full of his cologne. My heartbeat settles, but I find that in the stillness, there’s a hollow ache.
“What do you want to do with this?” he asks, folding the letter back into neat thirds.
“I have to do it,” I say, eyes darting from the paper to Gabe’s waiting stare. “I have to see him. Right?”
His fingers tighten on the letter. “You don’thaveto do anything. You have every right to start a bonfire with this and never think of the man again.” His grip loosens, and he sighs, giving me a soft smile. “But I know that’s not what you want to do.”
He tries to mask it, but I can see Gabe’s frustration. He’s never been happy about the relationship—or lack thereof—I have with my parents. Of course he wouldn’t be. Maggie and John are the best parents you could ask for. They’re not perfect, but they beat my own by a long shot. And Gabe’s a dad himself. A great one. He’d never in a million years abandon Abbie the way my father abandoned me.
There is a part of me that wants to hang on to my anger. My hurt. But the bigger part of me is curious. Is this what it is to finally be wanted? After twenty-eight years, I want to truly know what that feels like.
