Steven Easton

She Knew

Thursday, May 9

I don't even know how to write this because I don't know if I went about this the right way, and this isn't going to be pretty to write out, but I'm going to do it because y'all deserve to know what's up. 

I told Ava about her father, Nick, and I told her that he and his wife, Melissa, have plans to come up and visit her over Memorial Day weekend.

This morning, I promised myself that I would tell Ava what's up before we ate dinner if she seemed to be in a good enough mood. When I got home, she was watching Friends, and I sat down with her to finish out the episode, but then I took the remote to prevent another episode from playing. 

"We need to talk," I told her bluntly. She was leaning on me, so I put an arm around her.

"What?"

"So, you know how I told you I didn't know who your father was?"

"Yeah..." Shifting to look at me, she scrunched her eyebrows together.

"I really didn't know, but he reached out to me through Facebook, telling me he thought he was your dad, so I took one of your hairs to do a DNA test, and it was a match. He didn't know he was your dad until he saw a picture of you on Facebook because he was mistaken you for his other daughter, and then he recognized our last name, and he friended me."

"Really?" Tears were welled in her eyes.

"Yeah."

"Can I meet him?"

"He and his wife are coming over Memorial Day weekend."

"Really?--Does this mean I have siblings?"

"Yes. You have a sister and brother, both younger." 

"Am I going to go live with them?" There was an excitement in her voice, but I don't think it was about that, but it still hurt.

Chuckling nervously, I said, "No. You'll stay with Morgan and I." 

"He's my dad though." She looked up at me. "Did my mom know?"

"Um." Clearing my throat, I ran a hand down my face. "Yeah, she did." 

Stacey and I spoke shortly after I had met Nick, and she confessed that she knew. I haven't spoken to her since. The fact that she was willing to keep that from Ava pisses me off. 

"I thought you said--"

"I know," I whispered.

"Did you know?"

"No, Ava. I would've told you." 

"She knew?!" Blinking, she shed two tears, burying her face in her knees.

Putting a hand on her back, I swallowed, "I need you to trust that she made that decision because she had your best interests at heart." 

"Like, what?" she snapped. "How could she not tell me who my dad was?"

This is way too close to home. If you read the blog before, you may remember when I reunited with my father, and there were so many unanswered questions that are still left unanswered. "I don't know. My mom did the same thing to me, and I know how hard it is. I know it doesn't make sense."

"I hate my mom." She crossed her arms, scowling.

"Why?"

"She didn't freakin' tell me that she knew who my father was."

"Ava, he didn't--he wasn't able to take care of you when you were little, but you know that Aunt Heather and Uncle Tom loved you, too, so they too care of you while I was in college, and then I adopted you because I had a job and was the closest living relative."

"Did you want to adopt me?"

"Yes, but I know that you would've rather had your biological mom or dad take you."

"At least you wanted me." Her chin quivered. "My mom didn't even want me before she was in jail."

"She was sick, Ava."

"Drug addiction isn't the same thing as cancer." Her voice was raised. "At least your mom died of cancer."

"She got cancer because she drank too much alcohol," I confessed, tearing up unexpectedly. 

She stared at me for a moment, and then whispered, "That's why you don't drink or do drugs?"

I sighed. "Yup."

"Why did they do it?"

"Do what?"

"Drink and do drugs?"

"Because they were sad, and they thought that stuff would make them forget."

"Why were they sad?" 

The fact I was talking about this with my 11-year-old broke my heart, and I wanted to shut this conversation down, and tell her I didn't want to talk about it, but I knew that she deserved answers that I didn't have. "I think my mom wished she had a husband, and I think your mom wished that she had had a better childhood because our mom was rarely around, and that's why I want you to know that I am always here for you, and I love you."

She gave me a hug as she started to cry. I hate that she's going through this. I hate that I lied to her, even if it was unknowingly. Understanding what all this is like, I would never want my 11-year-old to go through this. 

When she cooled down, she agreed to meet her real dad because she's more mad at her mother, and so am I. 

I have no idea if I am doing the right thing here.