The Parental Bond
Chapter One... New School
It's something that every child wants to know if they are raised by a sole parent... Who's my daddy? Or, where's my mommy?
For some parents, the answer is simple. 'Oh, daddy lives across town. You can see him when you want.' Or 'Mommy's in heaven, and she's watching over you and making sure you're okay.' But then there are the parents who have the bitter disputes with their partners leading to an ugly divorce with one hell of a custody battle where parents become greedy. Parents only want the child or children so that their ex can't have them. What matters to the child is irrelevant.
Then, there are the moms who have children, and can't even tell their kids who their father is because they don't know themselves. And unlucky for me, I fall squarely into that category.
Being raised as an only child by a reckless and free-spirited mother left me severely disadvantaged. I'd never been extremely close to my mother, even though it's only ever been the two of us. There was always that wall. The wall that left us distanced, unconnected. I did love my mother, don't get me wrong. She's basically the only person I've ever had in my entire life. Except for my grandmother, but she lived in Australia now with the man she'd married on a whim. I was always closer to my grandmother, always able to connect with her unlike anyone else in my life before.
But I wanted a father.
Mom had dated (if you'd even call it that) some of the most ridiculous men in the world! She'd shuffled me from town to town, seeking out the man she thought she wanted. Guess that getting pregnant at eighteen to some random guy was her true personality. And though she never ever dared mention it, I knew that I was saddling her down. She couldn't just pawn me off on my grandmother, because nana would never allow it. She was always encouraging my mother to be more of a parent than an older, somewhat distant sibling to me.
If she'd never had me, where would she be now?
The thought actually made me shudder.
I knew my mother was wild. My grandmother had once told me that I wasn't the first child she'd conceived, just the only one that stuck. Apparently she'd been pregnant before. I wasn't surprised, no. But I couldn't help but wonder what sort of brothers or sisters I might have had if my mother had've had them too.
My life sucked. Yep, that was the way I saw it. Sucky. At sixteen I had much more maturity than my mother, and this morning I decided to bring up the 'd' word at breakfast again.
"Morning, peanut," mom said as I walked over to the kitchen. She was sitting at the table reading the latest fashion magazines. As usual.
"Hi, mom," I greeted her dully.
"What's with that sad face, Holly?" mom sighed. "Are you having boy troubles?"
"Mom, we seriously moved to this town like, two days ago!" I groaned. "I do not have boy troubles. I don't even know any of the boys around here!"
"Ease up, princess," mom frowned. "What's on your mind, then?"
"Dad," I said simply.
Mom dropped her coffee cup. It smashed all over the table, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were hard.
"I'd hardly call him that," she snorted. "He's just the sperm donor."
"Ew," I muttered.
"Holly, Holly, Holly..." mom droned my name out, standing up and walking over to me. "You don't need a father figure in your life. Haven't us girls always stuck together? You don't need Mr sperm donor to be here for you. You have me, and you always will have."
"Right," I said, frowning. "Then can you stop calling him 'the sperm donor'? It's just so not something that I want in my head when I think about who my father could be."
"Then don't think about it, peanut," mom said simply. "You're a strong girl. And that man, whoever he is, would only bring you down."
It was an impossible topic with her.
Just once, I'd like to meet my father. But with my mother not even knowing who he is, what was the hope of me ever meeting him. The thought brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back and concentrated on thinking about the dread of starting at a new school. As I walked out of the front door, mom cracked open a bottle of wine. She seriously needed a job, not wine. I rolled my eyes as usual and kept walking, out into the beautiful morning sun.
The school I was attending was Freya Lake, a snotty school that my grandmother paid for. I suppose, at least she cared about my education... my mother sure didn't.
The fully uniformed prep school was full of the most pretentious kids I'd ever met. My grandmother had always paid for me to have the best education, so I'd never been to public school. And in this town, the public school was right across the park that was smack bang in the centre of town. The town was Blakehurst, and was in California.
I held my breath before I entered the school. Glancing across the park, I saw it was filled with the rowdy kids from the public school. I felt nervous watching them able to wear what they wanted to wear, to act like actual students. I could have seriously joined them.
"This place makes you dream of being over there, doesn't it?" a soft voice spoke.
I spun around to see a tall, handsome older male standing behind me. I eyed him, then smiled weakly.
"My grandmother pays for me to be sensible, because my mother is far from mature," I sighed. "Guess this place can't be any worse than the last school I went to."
"I've been teaching here for two years, and I can tell you it gets better, once you fit it," he chuckled. "Welcome to Freya Lake."
"Thanks," I muttered.
Surprisingly, this was the first school I'd been to where a teacher actually approached me on my first day, outside of classes. I smiled weakly, then entered the fancy-looking prep school.
My first class was annoyingly difficult to find. Even with the stupid map that they had given me. Twice I ended up in front of a door that was not my classroom, and I once ended up in the cafeteria. Finally, I was in an unfamiliar corridor, and stumbled right into the classroom I was after.
Twenty minutes late.
"Nice of you to join us, young lady," the man spoke. I noticed it was the same teacher from before. I chuckled to myself.
"This place is apparently in some secret, impossible-to-find corridor," I said sarcastically, annoyed.
"Give it a couple of days, you'll learn," the teacher laughed. "Come to the front, miss...?"
"Holly Anderson," I finished his sentence.
"Anderson, eh?" he frowned. "Other than knowing you're the same girl from this morning by your hair, have we met before?"
"Don't know, don't care," I grumbled. "Aren't you supposed to teach me something and not ask questions I couldn't possibly know the answer to?"
"Sorry, Holly," he sounded sincere. "Take a seat."
The class droned on, and I learnt that I was actually at an advantage to the other students having studied this topic before. When I correctly answered every single question on a pop quiz at the end of the lesson, the teacher held me behind. I was at a blank as to what his name was.
"So, Holly," he began, sounding serious. "You're quite smart."
"Helps when you know what you're doing," I joked.
"I have a question for you," he said quickly.
"Yes, Mr Gowan?" I said, suddenly recalling his name.
"Do you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Matilda Anderson?" he questioned, looking me up and down.
"That's my mother," I smiled. "Wait. Do you know her?"
"Yes, we go way back," he laughed. "So Tilly's back in town, eh? Haven't seen that girl since she was eighteen!"
"Well, she hasn't changed," I frowned. "She still acts like she's eighteen."
"You are honestly the spitting image of her, Holly," he grinned. "Except for those eyes. Those beautiful deep brown eyes definitely don't come from her."
"No, her eyes are blue," I sighed. "How do you remember all of this about her?"
"I was close to your mother," he admitted. "Long time ago now. We went to school together. Last time I saw her, she was running away from home. And from the boyfriend she had then."
"My father?" I asked.
"Maybe," he smiled weakly. "I take it you don't know who he is?"
"Not a clue," I frowned. "Mom reckons she doesn't even know. We're not close, you know. She's my mother, but she's far from a mother figure."
"She had the sense to send you to private school."
"That was my grandmother."
"Oh. I'm sure your mother has some good qualities, Holly. She always did when she was younger, as wild and reckless as she could be."
This was strange, discussing my mother with someone she knew that I didn't. I left school in the afternoon deep in thought, wondering just how small of a world this could be. An old friend of my mothers, a teacher. And from what nana had said, my mother's friends were just as wild as she was. So I went home, walked in the door to find mom cleaning. She never usually cleaned, only when she was trying to sober up for work.
"Hey, mom," I said, walking in and sitting in the living room. Mom was dusting.
"How was school, peanut?" she asked.
"Different," I said honestly. "Do you know a Mr Gowan? I don't know his first name, though. He says he knows you, from when you were eighteen."
Mom stopped dead in her tracks.
"Jason Gowan is back in town?" she frowned. "God, I haven't seen him since before I found out I was pregnant! Oh, the memories..."
"Small world," I breathed. "Wait, you said back in town? Back in town? You lived here before?"
"Holly, I grew up here," mom confessed. "This is my hometown."
"How is it you've never once told me this?" I snapped. "You don't tell my anything! I'm not a little kid!"
"Jason and I went to school together, peanut," mom said thoughtfully. "I was with Dave Harris, and he was dating Ella Brewer. But a part of me wanted to be with him. And I could tell he felt the same. But then he went off to college, and I got pregnant and I know that Dave wasn't the father because we broke up before I fell pregnant. There, Holly. You know something."
Mom stormed off into the kitchen, and I decided to drop the issue. No need to push her buttons further, right? I wandered upstairs to do some homework, but I knew that mom had only told me half the story. There was more to it, and I wondered if questioning Mr Gowan would give me the answers I needed.