Twenty minutes later, me and my father are sitting on my front porch in an uncomfortable silence.
The sun's still shining brightly which means my hair is mostly dry except for the ends, which are still slightly damp.
"I feel like you're waiting for me to say something even though it's clearly you're the one that wanted to talk when you called me here." My father says quietly.
I snort, "Sorry, the whole you-can-tell-me-anything parent concept is hard for me to understand. I spent most of my life without you, obviously."
He frowns, "Look Skylar, I know how it must look but-"
I cut him off with a wave of my hand, "Forget it. I know you're only saying that because you feel obligated to. And besides, we're not here to talk about the crappy father you've been, we're here because I want to move past this-this weirdness. I want to believe that you're not as bad as you think you are."
"I honestly don't know what to do to help you with that." He says honestly.
I shrug, "neither do I. I'm kinda new at this, but I'm guessing you start with baby steps, right? Like you're favourite colour and stuff like that."
He looks at me and smiles and I realize how many things I didn't get from him. Other than the shape of my nose and my jaw, I'm my mom entirely. Where he was brown haired with dull gray eyes, my mom had blonde hair and blue eyes.
But his eyes were different.
They held a heavy weight of arrogance, like he owned the largest amount of power and control and knew it too. They were cold like ice, much like mine, but his were scary. Because you could tell they've been like that for a while.
"I noticed you don't smile much," he says suddenly. "And the things that do make you smile aren't who you really are."
I look at him oddly but choose not to respond.
He looks at me, "I know you don't want to hear it, but I really am sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you like I should've been. I feel horrible when I realize you went through so much and I wasn't there to help you out. I'm sorry Skylar, but I'm going to try my best to make it up to you."
"You wouldn't have been able to know that she died," I say, understanding what he's referring to. "It's not your fault that she died. It's no one's fault but hers."
"I know that, but I should have been there to help you through it."
I don't respond; just bring my knees to my chest and rest my head on them.
"No response?" he says quietly, his voice slightly judgemental.
I shrug, "I honestly don't know what you expect me to say. You weren't there; it's as simple as that. You were never around, Malum. You feel bad because you feel guilty; if she wasn't dead you still probably wouldn't be here."
"I'm not going to lie to you," he replies, "I came here to talk to your mother and apologize. When I realized she wasn't here, I decided to stay because I thought you were going to need me, but it looks like you don't."
I shrug, "I have my friends, and my grandparents, and Derek. I don't really need anyone but myself, but that doesn't mean I don't want you to stay."
"You're family and friends may not be too happy about that," he says.
"Well it's not their choice to make. It's my decision because you're my family." I respond, my voice appearing calm and careless.
He stays silent for a moment. Then he says, "green."
I stare at him in confusion.
"Earlier you said you wanted to know the small things; like what my favourite colour is ," he explains, "it's green."
I smile at him, "Birthday?"
"November 22nd, you?"
"August 29th." I say, finding it strange that I had to tell my own father the day I was born.
He smiles at me, "summer baby, exactly what I wanted."
We sit in silence for a while and I watch him as he scratches his arm in a meaningless way. I focus my attention on the puddles of rain littering the ground beneath our feet, watching as the heat of the sun slowly dries them up.
"I picked the name you know," he says suddenly.
My face brightens, "you did?"
He nods, "I told her if we had a girl I wanted to name her Skylar."
"Why Skylar?" I ask.
He shrugs, "you were special, and you weren't a normal baby so it didn't seem right to name you a normal name."
"I'm pretty sure everyone says that about their child," I say, "that their more special than the rest."
"Everyone's child is special. When you create something so amazing you want the best for it. And I know it may sound dumb, but I liked the name skylar because it represented that just like the sky; you were everywhere I went and in everything that I did. Like the sky, you surrounded my whole world."
"And what about a boy?" I ask, trying extremely hard not to point out the fact that I obviously meant nothing to him if he left without a second glance.
"She liked Nicolas. We agreed on that; if we had a girl I was allowed to name her and if we had a boy she was allowed to name him."
"Looks like you got everything you wanted," I say sarcastically.
"I did," he says seriously.
Well obviously not if you didn't care about me enough to stay.
My eyes start to fill with angry tears and I blink them away, pinching my arm so I can focus on the pain rather than thinking about the tears.
"You remind me a lot of your mom, you know?" he says. "Like you, she was sarcastic, and she never let anyone see her tears. Said something about not wanting to appear weak, I'm guessing that's your reasoning too?"
I stare at him blankly, "just because I'm her daughter doesn't mean I'm exactly like her. I was only four years old when she died, I barely even remember her."
"It must suck, hearing people talk about how great she was and you have no choice but to agree even though you don't even remember what she likes to do on a Sunday afternoon or what kind of shampoo she used in the shower."
I nod, "relaxing on the couch with a book, and vanilla lilac."
He shoots me a confused look.
"She relaxed on the couch with a book on Sunday afternoons, and used vanilla lilac shampoo in the shower." I explain.
He shoots me a look of pity and I try my best to ignore it. I don't need him feeling bad for me because he can join every other person in this stupid town, and I don't want him to. I want him to be different; I need him to be different.
"I thought you said you didn't remember her," he challenges me with a pointed look, a hint of a smile playing on his face
"I don't. I was referring to the things I did know. Just because I remembered what shampoo she used in the shower doesn't mean I remember her. Those things have nothing to do with who she was as a person."
"Oh, but they do," he says, "they matter more than everything."
I nod, "I guess. But just because I remember that doesn't mean I knew her. She wasn't alive long enough for me to grow older, with the stories of her past and the people she knew and loved stitched in my head."
"So how could you possibly remember her shampoo?" he asks, his eyebrow arched in mockery.
"There wasn't much mom left when she skipped time that day. Her shampoo was all I had, along with some articles of clothing that still smelt of her, so I kept them close."
"I feel like there's a but coming," he says humorlessly.
"...but eventually her clothes stopped smelling like her, her shampoo got thrown out, and I grew up, and grew out of trying to remember everything about her. For me she's always going to be the person who left me behind, and then died before I could grow old enough to understand and yell at her for it."
He looks at me in pity.
"Don't," I say, "don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" he asks.
"Like you feel bad for me," I reply.
"I do feel bad for you, to grow up without either of your parents, it's-"
I cut him off before he can continue, "difficult, sad, unfortunate, unfair? Take your pick; I've heard them all before."
"You talk about it like it doesn't matter to you," he offers quizzically.
"It doesn't," I snap, than my tone softens when he winces in guilt, "well at least not anymore. I stopped waiting for you to come back to Belmount, and I stopped waiting for mom to come back from the dead because I knew neither of them were ever going to happen. It was toxic for me to think you guys were coming back when you weren't. You were gone, the faster I came to that realization, the better. I eventually had to grow up, and find a way to live my life without both of you. Life goes on; it was going to go on with or without either of you."
"Didn't it hurt? To have to go through all that?" he asks.
"Sure it did, it still does in a way." I shrug, "I learned to live with it, and it made me into the person I am today."
"You mean cold hearted and rude?" he jokes.
I laugh, "Only to the people I don't like."
"That sounds promising," he mutters.
My face falls, "I'm sorry- I didn't mean it like that."
He waves me off, "don't worry about it, the least I could do is let it slide considering everything I've put you through."
We fall silent for a while, this time a comfortable one and I start to wonder when my grandparents are going to be home.
"Why did you do it?" I ask suddenly.
"Do what?" he looks away from me, and I know he already knows the answer to my question.
"Leave." I reply, looking at him intensely.
He winces at the bluntness in my tone. "When I told you that every parent wants what's best for their child, I actually meant it. I thought I could do it, I thought I could raise you, but then I started to question myself and I knew you didn't deserve that doubt. I chose your name because I knew it would forever remind me of you when I looked up at the sky, no matter where I was. Because I loved you and I wanted what was best for you, I decided you'd be better off without me."
"No child is better off without her parents." I shake my head firmly, my voice filled with permanent denial. "And besides, you were doing what was best for you in that moment, not me. You can lie and say that you didn't think you were going to be a good father, maybe you aren't, I wouldn't know, but you can't say you were thinking of me when you left. Because if you were, if you truly wanted what was best for me, you would have stayed, and tried to be everything I needed you to be. But instead you chose the easy way out, you left, and I know we're trying to get past this, but I don't think I'll ever forgive you for that."
"He stays silent for a while, like he's trying to pick out the right words, "I don't expect you to forgive me, the things I did were wrong, you're completely right about that. All I can ask of you is that you try to let me make it up to you."
"That's what we're doing isn't it?" I say, "You can't move forward if you don't talk about what has you stuck in the past, right?"
He smiles, "right."
My smile falters, "Do you have any other kids?"
He hesitates, a look of anger flashing across the face before he answers, and I know that whatever he's going to say it going to be a lie, "not exactly."
I raise my eyebrow at him and he chuckles.
"Believe it or not, his name was Nicholas. He shortened it because he didn't like it but I never called him anything but his actual name."
"How old was he?" I ask.
"Seventeen at the time, same as you. I treated him like a son though."
"Did you love him?"
He sighs, "Not enough."
I shoot him a look. "Look, Skylar I told you that I'm not any good at this. I wasn't trying to replace you in any way if that's what you're thinking. When I arrived in London, he was just there, kinda like he came with me."
"And his mother?"
He hesitates again, "just a woman I used to know, someone took him away from her but they didn't treat him right."
"So where is he right now?" I ask, finding it bizarre that he's talking about him in past tense.
My father's eyes darken for a moment but it's replaced with a smile so fast it was like I didn't see it at all. "Oh, he's back in London."
"Why didn't he come with you?" I question, squinting at him accusingly.
My father looks at me, his eyes heavily guarded, "because I told him where I was going and he didn't agree with me."
I fight the urge to ask him why not, knowing I shouldn't pry myself into his personal life. I instead say, "I'd like to meet him one day."
He shakes his head slightly, "no you wouldn't. He's not exactly the best kid on the block. His parents all but abandoned him so he grew rebellious. He's a good kid; he just doesn't do good things."
I snort, "Not every kid is going to be a happy bundle of joy. Everyone does bad things- makes bad choices-, you're only considered "good" if you feel bad about it after."
"See, that was the thing with Co- Nicolas." He clears his throat awkwardly, "he never felt bad for the things he did. He did things- hurt people and he didn't care. I don't want to say he's a monster..."
"...It's just that the people that created him were, and he therefore had no choice but to become exactly that." I finish for him.
My father shrugs, "I'd like to say he never became that person. He wasn't a monster-"
I cut him off before he can continue, "it's just that he did monstrous things?"
My father nods, "exactly."
"I'd still like to meet him," I say.
He looks away from me, "Oh I'm sure you will one day."
I try to ignore the shivers that rack all the way down my spine and rested at my feet.
I see him from the corner of my eye, looking at the ground darkly.
"I know you're almost done school and you're turning eighteen soon, so I'm thinking maybe you can come back with me to London. You can meet Nicolas and we can catch up on everything that we've been missing."
I avoid looking at him, "sure," I say, both of us knowing I'm not telling the absolute truth.
"You don't sound too convincing," he mutters.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, "I have a life, Malum."
Lie.
"Once I get out of here I have plans to go to school somewhere far from Belmount and start over."
Lie.
"I want to go somewhere where nobody knows me as the girl who lost her parents. I want to travel the world, and make something of myself."
Well the first part is the truth, but it's still a lie.
"You do have a point," he says quietly. "I know you're not going to be eighteen forever. You're eventually going to grow up and move on with your life."
Ha no, funny thing I forgot to mention is that my mother was immortal and somebody killed her for a reason I don't know. Oh, and I'm immortal too which means I'm going to be eighteen for the rest of eternity.
I wish I could say that, but I know I can't. So I nod my head and smile instead, "you're right."
"You don't need to go to school if you come to London," he points out.
I snort, "Everyone needs to go to school. If I want to make something of myself I need to go to college or university."
Hey look, lie again.
"Not if you come to London with me, I have plans for you and they have nothing to do with getting an education."
I shiver involuntarily again, trying to ignore the weird vibe I get.
"Like a family business?" I squeak, figuring I'm getting worked up over nothing.
"Something like that."
We sit in silence.
"It's because of that boy isn't it?" he spits out eventually, but I'm not surprised because I knew it was coming.
"That boy has a name," I say annoyed. "And no, this has absolutely nothing to do with Derek."
"So what's it about?" he asks.
"It's about the fact that I barely know you and coming to my doorstep saying you're sorry and asking for a seconds chance isn't going to change anything," I snap. "I need time, to figure things out and get to know you better. Maybe then I'll think of going back with you."
Hey look again, I didn't lie this time.
He mutters an apology saying I'm right and that he's sorry for bringing it up.
"Is he a good guy?" he asks.
I smile immediately. The single thought of him brightening my mind, "He is. Derek is good for me, he helps me out a lot."
"And you're happy?" he questions, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I smile, nodding my head eagerly, "he makes me happy, I feel important when I'm around him. He's a good person, Malum."
"Than that's all I can ask for," Malum smiles, "but as a father, I think it's my right to make it clear I'll kill him if he hurts you."
I smile, trying to shake the feeling that what he said was one hundred percent true. "He isn't going to hurt me."
"How can you be so sure? I mean you're only eighteen; you have your whole life ahead of you to fall in love with the wrong people and get your heart broken. Making mistakes is a part of that too, why start now?" he asks.
"I know I probably sound like a cliché teenager right now, but I just know that things are going to work out for us. It's like the feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me we're going to be okay. We have each other and it doesn't matter how far away we are from each other, we're always just a phone call away. It's amazing, having that person you know you can count on for everything, you know?"
He nods, "I do, because I felt the same way with your mom."
"Which means you understand what it is to be happy?"
He smiles, "just watch what you're doing, okay? All I ask is that you are careful, you're not as indestructible as you think you are."
I nod.
We sit in silence for a while and eventually he gets up reluctantly, stating that he has to go do some things around town.
I follow suit and hug him tightly, "thanks for everything, um..."
He notices my discomfort and smiles, "you can call me Malum for now, until you feel comfortable calling me dad."
I smile.
He gets into his car but calls out to me before he drives away, "hey Skylar?"
I turn towards him, "hmm?"
"You have the glow in your eyes when you talk about him, you know? But you also look really hesitant about something."
I stare at him in confusion, trying to understand what he's saying.
Almost as if he can read my mind, he says, "What I'm saying is that you need to tell him. I don't know what you're keeping from him, or why, and I'm not going to pry myself into your life because in a way I know I probably won't understand at all. All I'm saying is that you're not telling him something that seems to be really important to both of you, and it's eating away at you. Tell him, before someone else does."
He doesn't give me a chance to answer as he pulls away, almost on cue as soon as Derek's truck enters the street.
I watch them in confusion.
Derek drives up to my driveway and shoots me a look as my father mouths, "tell him"
I stand on my driveway dumbstruck as to how my father even noticed that.
Derek jumps out of the car and practically runs to me, attacking me with questions, and if he didn't look so angry I probably would've felt that flutter in my chest whenever he passes by.
"What is he doing here? What did he want? Are you okay? Did you invite him? What did he say? How long has he been here?"
I laugh humorlessly, "Which question do you want me to answer first?"
He responds but I'm no longer paying attention. I'm instead trying to figure a way to keep his questions coming so he doesn't notice my distress.
Do I tell him what I know?
Am I a bad person if I don't?
What's going to happen to us if I do?
Questions run through my head as I invite him inside, wondering and praying that his mother knows what she's doing.
****
hi guys! sorry about not updating again last week, I got really busy but I'll update twice today
song: for you by James tw
he's a new artist, pretty lowkey and he opened for Shawn Mendes (who's concert I went to on Sunday) he has some really good music so go check him out.