Page 69 of Artfully Wild
I furrow my brow and consider something I don’t think I ever really have before. There is plenty of wildlife in the mountains here. Bears, foxes, deer, otters, eagles. I mean, it’s nothing exotic like I’m sure he’s used to, but conservation is the same thing here as it is there. It’s the protection of animals. Albeit much smaller animals, but still. He could do his job here if he really wanted to. He could still find ways to advocate as well as protect wildlife here. There’s always wildlife that needs to be protected and I think that’s something that is going to continue on this Earth. So why does he decide to keep doing what he is doing? Why can’t he just comehome?
A familiar anger flares up in my chest. An anger that comesaround whenever I let myself think about Dad and his decisions and why he makes them when every single time they feel like the wrong ones. Why can’t he just chooseme?
And that’s what it comes down to…not the fact that hecando his work here, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t want to. If he wanted to, he would.
“Are you okay?”
Sky’s voice breaks through my downward spiral into my anger. Usually, I’d stew in it. Slowly simmer until I finally boil over or figure out a way to let off steam. Normally by walking to Sky’s and seeing her.
I try to give her a soft smile, but I don’t think I want to pretend I’m okay when I’m not. Not around her.
“Not really,” I admit with a sigh. “I was just thinking about my dad and how he seems to choose everything else over me all the time.” I look down at my hands, the feeling of shame sliding over my skin like a thick coat of black oil.
Small pieces of wood softly clank together as Sky sets down her painting supplies and stands from her stool to walk over to me. Kneeling in front of me between my knees, she wraps her hands around my own and meets my eyes.
“Your dad loves you,” she says, sounding so sure. But she has always lived her life knowing her dad loves her because he was there. Hell, her dad has been there more for me than my dad ever has.
“He doesn’t show it very well.”
She grasps my chin and lifts it gently. “Yeah, well, I used to know a man who didn’t exactly show it well either,” she jokes.
I try to laugh, but all that comes out is a huff.
“He may not show it, but he does love you. I see it when he comes to visit—”
“Barely,” I scoff.
“True. And your anger is valid.”
That gets my attention. “It is?” I don’t think I have ever hadanyone tell me that my anger is okay. I’ve always been taught to just…be okay. Get over it. Don’t worry about it. Ignore the feeling when you get mad. You can’t be mad, you have to be happy all the time. When you’re mad at someone, it makes them uncomfortable. Even though they're the ones who caused the issue, making you uncomfortable in the first place.
Your anger is valid.
“Yes. Of course it is,” she responds, moving a hand up to cup my cheek. I lean into it and close my eyes, feeling her warmth and the dry paint splattered on her palm.
“Your dad left when you felt you needed him the most. It was his job, sure. But you were a kid and wanted your dad. And all you saw was the fact that he wasn’t there. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”
“That’s fine and all, but he never tried to mend anything,” I argue, the pot of anger still simmering beneath the surface. I close the lid and take a deep breath.
“Neither did you,” she says.
The lid rattles, liquid seeping from the sides and hissing on the burner. I want to yell at her and tell her she’s wrong. I want to get this red, hot weight out of my chest. I am so tired of feeling angry every time I think of him. When I do, all I am met with are memories of him leaving and never calling. Or did he call and I refused to talk to him? I don’t know anymore. My head hurts and I just want it all to stop.
“I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me, I guess. He just…” I hesitate, part of me afraid to admit this. “I was scared he wouldn’t care what I was doing and what or who I was interested in. He doesn’t even know I had a boyfriend in the past, because I was too afraid to tell him I’m bisexual. I was terrified to talk to him and I still am. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if I decide to tell him and it makes him hate me more?”
“Then you let him go.”
“I—”What?
“Remember a couple of months ago when Avery came into town?”
“I’m not even sure how anyone here would be allowed to forget.”Fuck.I can feel the dull pulse behind my eyes start to get stronger. Rubbing at my brow bone to relieve some pressure, I try to focus my attention on Sky and not the anger still in my chest or the worsening pulse behind my eyes.
Sky’s gaze follows my hand and she takes over the movement. Her other hand mirrors her movements on the opposite side and I feel temporary relief.
“How long has it been progressing?” Her tone is calculating, serious.
“Mmmm, just the last hour or so,” I admit.
