Finding Andrew

Chapter 9

James stays for dinner, which is homemade pizza, but has to leave around eight because June is crabby. He leaves with promises to bring me back to the beach tomorrow. We may bring Patrick and Emma, because Elise isn’t feeling so good, but it may just be an ‘us’ day, which I’m very much looking forward to. I actually have a heart to heart talk with my Mom before I go to bed, which I have my room to myself again because Elise’s caught something from the park. “I know you’re probably mad at me,” she walked in while I was reading, and sits down on the edge of my bed. “I’m not,” I close my book, “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? Reality? The truth?”
Mom smiles, “You couldn’t handle the truth.”
I laugh, “I probably could have. I’ve been pretty independent my whole life.”
“I know. I kind of wish you were a little more dependent, but I guess it’s better that you weren’t.” After a long pause I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me Mom?” She sighs, “I don’t know Elizabeth… I really don’t.” “You should have,” I say. “I’m sorry, really.” “What was he like?” I ask. “He was just like you are; level headed and smart, and funny, of course. I could never love someone who doesn’t make me laugh,” she looks almost sad when she says this. “You loved him?” I ask, to be honest I can’t picture my Mom with anyone but Phil. She smiles, “Of course I loved him! I had a baby with him!” I shake my head and smile, “What did he look like?” She hands me a picture she pulled from her back pocket. It’s a picture of a very young looking Mom, and a man I had never seen before, holding a baby, who I assume to be me. “How old were you?” I ask. “I was 17, you were a month or two old,” Mom says, peeking around my shoulder to look at the picture too. The man (man used extremely lightly) is tall, he towers over my Mom, a good seven or eight inches. They both have a sprinkling of pimples that cover their face. He has long hair that flops into his green eyes; his hair is dark brown and straight. He’s smiling, and I can see why I needed braces. His teeth are anything but straight. I look up after a long time, “What’s him name?” “Your Dad? His is name Andrew,” Mom explains, “He got called away to the army when he was 18, just before your first birthday. We tried, we really did. We couldn’t stay together because we were so far apart. I moved to Florida with you when you were three, Grandma and Granddad said they would pay for me to move if I got my GED. I met Phil and we got married when you were four. Andrew calls sometimes, but I told him that I didn’t want you to grow up with two fathers. I apologized every time called, until he stopped. He wrote you a letter that he wants you to read on your wedding day. He loved you very much.” She beamed, she was so happy to be talking about him. “Can I… Can I meet him? Doesn’t he live down here?” I ask timidly. “You can try to get a hold on him. The last time he called was your thirteenth birthday. He most likely has the same number. We can try tomorrow okay?” Mom says, and then she smiles really big, “His birthday is July fourth. Maybe if he still lives close enough you can meet him. He would love that.”

          I fell asleep easily. I don’t dream, at least I don’t remember if I did, but I wake up smiling. I call James, just because, and he asks if I still want to go to the beach. “Of course I do, but just me and you, or Emma and Patrick too?” I ask. “Doesn’t matter, I’m sure Patrick would love to see Emma,” James says. “I’ll go see if she’s awake. When will you be over?” I ask, getting out of bed. “Twenty minutes okay?” he asks. “Yeah, I’ll go see if Emma’s awake. Bring Patrick just in case, she’s more than likely awake,” I say, “If she’s not I’ll text you.” We hang up and I go and try to find Emma. “Where’s Emma?” I ask Mom. “She’s in her room with Ethan,” Mom says, “I think she’s upset, she’s shut me out all day.” When I walk into Emma’s room she’s anything but upset, she’s dancing around with Ethan. “Whoa,” I say, taking Ethan from her, “Why the good mood?” “Patrick asked me to be his girlfriend!” she beams. I try not to laugh, “Well Mrs. Emma Goyas, would you like to go to the beach with James, Patrick, and me right now?” “Yes! I’ll go put on my bathing suit,” she runs to the bathroom. “Brush your teeth,” I call, setting Ethan on the floor. He scampers out the door and down the hall.