Page 121 of Fade into You
“Yeah, as long as I do what she wants and never question anything, we get along great,” I say, only realizing now that this is not something new; it has always been this way with her. “I confronted her about my father.”
I fill her in on the hidden letters, I show her the envelope with his address my mom has had all this time. I read the card out loud to her. “He said ‘my Birdie.’MyBirdie,” I repeat.
She murmurs, “Holy shit,” as she reads it for herself, holding the card gingerly at the corners, like she knows this is a fragile artifact to me.
“And… I found out the real reason she’s been keeping him away.”
“Why?” She hands the card over, and I place it back in the safety of its envelope.
“He’s… he’s…” There’s only one way to say it. “He’s gay, Jessa.”
“Oh my god!” she shouts, suddenly coming alive.
“But she told me… She said he… She said he has AIDS. Said she wouldn’t let someone likethataroundherchildren.” I can’t help but let out a stifled laugh. “Can you believe that?”
“Oh my god,” she repeats, quieter this time. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Still processing, I guess. I mean, she’s probably lying, right? About the AIDS thing?”
“Maybe,” she says, looking down. “I mean, Liv essentially told the better part of school I was an AIDS monkey once, so yeah, people lie about that shit all the time.”
“I hope no matter how fucked my mom’s logic is, she wouldn’t lie about something that serious. But if it helped her get her way, she just might, right?” I ask, but when I look over at Jessa, she doesn’t seem convinced. “Actually, I hope she is lying, because if he’s sick, if he’s dying… I don’t know what I would do. I always imagined we’d have this great relationship somehow, someday. But if…”
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft and solid, placing her hand on top of mine. “I know you’re scared. But I’m here and if—if—it’s true, you won’t be alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her.
At 10:58 p.m., with only one hour and two minutes left in the entire millennium, we’re finally pulling up outside the address on the envelope.
My father’s house.
I stare for a moment at the brownstone, and I can’t quite make myself believe that my dad is actually inside. I’m pretty sure I’m parked illegally, but I turn the car off anyway. I look up and down the street. This neighborhood is filled with rainbow flags and historic-looking brick structures showing their age, but also brightly lit up with decorations left from Christmas—this world feels foreign, nothing like our street back home.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“I’m sure he does. Who wouldn’t want to see you?”
“You didn’t, at first.”
“What?” Jessa looks genuinely surprised, then gets serious. “What are you talking about?”
“The night we met. At Six Roots. The open mic.”
“Bird, when I first saw you on that stage, the incredible poetry coming from you, I not only wanted to meet you, I was straight-up crushing. I had no idea you knew Kayla, and when I told Dade I thought you were, well, hot…”
“He laughed,” I interrupt, finally understanding.
“Yeah, and I told him to shut up, and then you came right to our table and I figured out you were, you know,Bird.”
“That I am.”
“And in usual me fashion, I freaked, knocked over a coffee, and ran to the crapper.”
I’m laughing now, a silent shaking through my whole body.“Oh my god, Jessa! I totally thought this whole time you two were laughing at me—at my poem! I hated you for weeks over this.Weeks.”
Jessa’s eyes widen as she covers her mouth with her bandaged hand and mutters, “Oh, fuck me…”
I smile at her, at my own absurdly belated realization that she always liked me, she always saw me, she wantedmefirst. It’s a warm, cozy feeling, knowing that what we have didn’t grow from roots of anger, but awkwardness and awe and one big misunderstanding.
