Page 98 of Whirlwind
It doesn’t come out as strong as I’d like, the weight of what I’m saying truly hitting me for the first time. Willa’s hand grasps mine. Tyson’s lands on the small of my back. I love that they want to give me support, but this is a fight that I think I’ve needed for a very long time, now.
“You don’t know that for sure, do you, Kit? She didn’t take you with her. She was there to look for a different life. While you were here. With me. She could have taken you.”
The words cut deeper than anything he’s ever said to me or anything he’s ever done. Or not done. It’s one of the things I’ve asked myself the most since reading my grandmother’s letter. Why leave me behind?
“What have I ever done to make you hate me?”
“I hated the situation—you’re just a casualty of it,” he says, almost looking remorseful for a half second. “Of the circumstances I was pushed into. I look at you and I see her—a constant reminder of the woman who left us. I didn’t know whatto do with you, and you never cared. You were indifferent to everything.”
“I wasn’t indifferent to anything. I felt it all; I just didn’t know how to show you. No matter what I did, you’d scold me for it. You knew your friend raped me and blamed me for it. How could you do that to your own flesh and blood?”
“That is not what happened,” he says, and Tyson steps up next to me.
“I need you to be careful and intentional with whatever words come out of your mouth, next,” he tells my father. “If you think for a second that you will argue with her about her lived experience, you’ll be having that argument with me. Understand?”
“Yeah? You going to punch me like you did him? I heard about that.”
“He got off easy,” Tyson says. “It’s not a mistake I’ll be making again.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” I say when the stare-down between the two men proves to be unwavering on either side. “I didn’t want any part of what happened. When you walked in at the end, you told me I was just like her—chasing men.”
He has enough shame to look at the ground, his feet shuffling. He looks nervous—something I never dreamed of seeing.
“At the time, I didn’t realize what had happened. By the time I did, you were long gone.”
“Just like my mother.” He flinches at my words. It’s a small victory, and enough for me to find the peace I need to say the next words. “I’m leaving, again. I won’t ever be back. You’ll never see me, and we’ll never speak again.”
“Kit,” he says, taking a step forward.
“No,” Tyson says, blocking his path. “If she wants to come to you, she will. It will never be the other way around.”
“Goodbye, Dad.” I say it with my whole heart. This needs to be over with—I’ve said all I need, and he can never say anything that could make it better or right. Even an apology, which I likely wouldn’t believe, doesn’t do me any good. It doesn’t bring my mother back or make my childhood happy. There is noforgive and forgetfor us. Forgetting isn’t an option. Moving on is.
He must sense it, too; he nods at me once, then walks away.
There’s no love lost, here. Him being my father was never enough for me to love him, in the same way that being his daughter wasn’t enough for him to love me.Blood runs deeper than wateris a lie.
The only person I share it with drives away without so much as a glance back in my direction. A finality settles over me like a warm blanket. This was long overdue. Maybe I’ll dwell on the conversation—wish I’d said more, fought harder. Maybe he’ll do the same, though I wouldn’t expect it of him. I said the most important thing.
Goodbye.
“I’m ready to go home, now.”
27
Tyson
When she said she was ready to go home, she meant Seattle. Kit was determined we find a flight as soon as possible. Especially me.
“You can’t miss another game,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”
Within hours, we’d closed up Anna’s house, dropped a key to Susan for emergencies, and boarded a flight. I don’t know how Damian pulled it off, but he got us all on the same last-minute flight. As soon as the plane took off, Kit passed out. She slept the entire flight. A testament to how emotionally draining this trip was for her.
The only time she ever sleeps this well is after a major life moment. Or an especially chaotic day. She had said her mind is always all over the place, and I think that’s why she keeps her life simple. She doesn’t keep a busy schedule—a good day for her is living her best homebody life.
I overheard her speaking to Willa, earlier. She said she hated dragging the rest of us into her vortex, these past days. But none of us wanted to be anywhere else. And honestly, her storm isn’t the tornado she thinks it is. Her childhood trauma, her mother’s tragedy, those are huge. Everything else, though, only feels overwhelming to her. She’s not the burden she’s been taught to believe she is.
I’d weather a million of her hurricanes.
