Five days have passed and my parents haven't asked a single question about my experience in the wilderness—not even a word. They haven't asked me about how I managed to survive all that time, or what I did to find food, water, and shelter. They know me, and they know I've never gone camping before or been exposed to the elements with just the clothing on my back. Shouldn't they be bursting with questions?
Maybe I need to be the one to bring it up, but I'm too nervous. I'm growing more anxious with their unusual silence on the subject as each day passes.
In addition to that, I'm missing Evan more and more. A deep-seated feeling of loneliness rests on my shoulders, burning within me like a fire whenever I think about him, and all I want is to see his face or hear his voice.
This feeling of longing is foreign to me. I've dated a couple of guys in high school, but I've never felt as connected to them as I do with Evan. The fact that I've only known him for a few days baffles me. I shouldn't feel this close to him, should I? Even though we argued, I still want to see him. I regret my words, and the guilt twists away at my stomach. He was just doing what he thought was best for me. I'm not saying he was absolutely right, just that I'm acknowledging that he had good intentions.
However, since my return home, I've been waking up with headaches every morning, which is far more than usual for me. I used to only get headaches once a month when I was younger, and then it started to build to once a week. Waking up with one everyday now is irritating, and I'm losing my patience with them. It's too much. Shouldn't my medicine be helping? Maybe I should make an appointment with my physician to increase the dosage or something? Anything to ease the discomfort I get every morning.
Then there is my job at the zoo. Just as I suspected, my supervisor, Ruby, cut my hours in half. It will take weeks, if not months, to get back to full-time status.
As I get on the MAX light-rail train after my first shift back at the zoo, I wonder, does it really matter if I keep this job in the long run? Why not just start looking for a new full-time job and be rid of Ruby and her attitude altogether?
What about Evan?
I chew on my bottom lip as my thoughts dance around him. The way he smiled, somewhat self-consciously, as he told me about being a tour guide and loved it. He's doing what he enjoys, while living a double life as a shifter. What about me? What should I do with my life?
Ava and I had talked about going to beauty school and becoming aestheticians, but we agreed that taking a year off to work and save our money up first was best. We wanted to share an apartment together, just the two of us. What now? If I am a shifter like Evan and the others, do I really belong here in the city anymore?
I look at my perfectly manicured nails, free of dirt and grime after being in the woods for a week. Do I belong out there? The city is all I've known. Running hot water, restaurants and grocery stores around the corner, electricity, heat, and public transportation to anywhere in the city—these luxuries have been at my fingertips my entire life. I have never had to rely on the strength of my body and my intelligence to survive on my own when everything has been taken away.
Despite feeling helpless, I admit that it was oddly exhilarating.
And Evan was with me the entire time, I remind myself, playing with one of my dreadlocks, wrapping it around my fingers absentmindedly as the MAX rocks lightly on the track. He has accepted me, even if I don't want to accept it.
I wonder why it doesn't bother me so much anymore that he's a shifter? Sure, he kept the truth from me, but I can't blame him for feeling shy and embarrassed at the time that we met. The circumstances weren't in our favor, and I'm sure if he hadn't gotten quills in his muzzle, he would have revealed himself to me sooner, probably as a hiker.
So why am I okay with him being a shifter, but not myself?
As the MAX slows to a stop, I cringe as I recall the sound of his bones grinding against each other as they changed position within his body.
Climbing off at my stop at Providence Park, I remember how Evan shifted so easily, like it didn't bother him, but surely it hurt? There's no way that it wouldn't. He had control over it too, and retained his memory during the change. Maybe that is something that just takes some practice?
Shaking my head as I weave through the small crowd of commuters to the street, I remind myself not to overthink anything. I still haven't heard the truth from my parents' lips yet.
Evan had said that shifters are born from other shifters, so with that logic, my parents ought to be shifters too, right? But why would they keep it from me after all this time? Why am I so late in shifting? Why don't I remember any of it?
Huffing, I hurry across the street before the light changes.
Why, why, why? I'm sick of not knowing why!
I know I have to ask them for the truth. If they haven't volunteered the truth to me up to this point in my life, then they never will.
I debate how to broach the subject as I walk the remaining few blocks to my house. It's squeezed in between two more houses with low-rise apartment buildings next to them on a narrow, tree-lined street. As I pass by my neighbor's house, I hear King bark at me, but I ignore him.
I climb up the few steps to the front door and reach into the mailbox. Among the two bills and flyers, I find a folded piece of paper. My name is on it in scratchy blue handwriting. I unfold it before I step into the house.
I miss you.
My heart squeezes. I know it's from him. I wonder briefly how he found my address, but the thought flitters away just as quickly as it came.
He misses me too. Of course he would. In this great big world, full of billions of people, he is my mate—the one meant for me.
With a shaky hand, I let myself into my house.
No one is home yet. Daddy should be home in an hour, and Mama not for another three hours. With my hours at the zoo shortened and cut back, I am home first, and that is unusual for me.
As I take my shoes off in the doorway, I hear King barking again. I roll my eyes as I glance out the window to see what the fuss is all about.
There is a brown haired woman with lightly tanned skin standing on the sidewalk directly in front of my house. I don't know her, but she's looking at my house, ignoring King and his loud snarls.
I pull back quickly. I don't know her, and I don't know why she's standing there, staring at my house. There's nothing for her to stare at on this street; no shops or tourist attractions. Maybe she's lost, and trying to find someone else's house?
I hesitate a moment before peeking out the window again to see her disappear down the street.
Weird.
I go into the living room and relax on the couch. Looking at Evan's note in my hand again, loneliness floods over me again.
Why couldn't he have just waited for me to come home? I would've liked to apologize to him, or even to just let him know that I still think about him. Surely I'll see him again? He's just giving me some space, right? Didn't I want some space in the first place?
I look at my hands, remembering how they had changed when I first encountered Evan in his human form. I haven't had any issues with shifting since then. The only thing that has been different is the increase in headaches.
Why is that?
I pull myself up from the couch and decide to get started on dinner, so everything will be ready before Mama comes home.
When Daddy comes home, I've finished chopping all of the raw ingredients and am about to turn the stove on when he steps into the kitchen.
"There's my busy little bee," he says, kissing my forehead. "How was your day?"
I shrug. "Fine, once my headache passed this morning."
"Another one?"
I nod.
"These headaches are becoming more frequent, aren't they?"
"Uh huh."
"I wonder if being in the forest has thrown your system out of whack?"
I put a frying pan on the stovetop element, still thinking about Evan. "Maybe. I didn't have any headaches the last couple of days in the woods. Then, as soon as I came back home, the headaches started up again."
"Hmm," he murmurs as he empties his dirty lunch containers into the dishwasher. "Maybe you should make an appointment with—"
"I've already thought of that," I interrupt him. "I just wish I knew why my pills don't seem to be preventing anything anymore."
"Well, I ain't a doctor, so I don't know."
He excuses himself, going to shower and change out of his work clothes. When he returns, I have dinner ready and am setting the table. As he sits down at the table, he tells me about his day at the office. I load up a plate of food for him and put it before him.
"Woah, girl. I'm on a diet. I can't eat all that. I'm fat enough as it is," he says, slapping his gut for emphasis.
"Fine," I grumble, moving the plate to my seat. "I'll eat it all then, and you can have nothing."
"Now, now, that ain't fair. At least give me half of that."
"Nope. Afraid I'm going to have to eat it all now."
He chuckles as I serve him a plate with a smaller portion. "Better?" I ask.
"Yes, boss. Much better."
I roll my eyes at him as I sit across from him at the table.
"Do you know what I ate in the forest?" I ask, waiting for his reaction before I put any food in my mouth.
His eyes are on his food, inhaling the spices that waft up. "Nope," he says, picking up his fork and digging in. "No idea."
"Asparagus."
He looks up with his mouth full. "Really?"
"Yeah."
He swallows the food in his mouth before speaking this time. "I didn't think you liked asparagus."
I sigh, remembering the awful stuff. "It's not like I had much of a choice. Not like I'd be able to catch, kill, and cook some kind of animal to eat, huh?"
I'm baiting him, but he just gives me this half shrug, scrunched up face that says, Hm, true. She has a point.
A guttural noise of disgust gurgles from my throat as I grip my fork tightly and look down at my plate of food. Seriously? Why am I getting nothing from him?
"What's wrong, Princess?"
I purse my lips, not sure whether I should bring the subject up now or later when Mama's home. Daddy's easier to talk to, but...
I shoot him a hard look. "You. You and Mama."
He peaks a curious eyebrow.
Rolling my eyes again, I say, "You know, you and Mama haven't asked me a single question about what happened to me the entire time I was out there. Aren't you the least bit curious about how I survived?"
"Of course, but we've been waiting for you to bring it up."
I groan in exasperation.
"What?" he looks surprised, but his defensive response is uttered with a touch of humor. "We thought you'd be the one to bring it up when you're ready. It must have been hard, we don't know how hard, so we don't know if it traumatized you or not."
"But you still didn't ask any questions!" I fire back. "I was starting to wonder whether you and Mama were hiding something from me."
I swear his left eye just twitched.
"Like what, Princess?"
I narrow my eyes. "You are hiding something, aren't you?"
"Nonsense. Why would your mama and I hide something from you? We're just concerned, that's all."
"Concerned about what I am."
His Adams apple moves up and down with some difficulty, despite the seemingly innocent look on his face.
"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" I say, putting my fork down on the table. "You and Mama knew, and you didn't say anything earlier because you were afraid."
"We had to, Princess," he says, looking away regretfully. "How were we to know that you weren't a normal child? But—"
"What do you mean?" I ask, interrupting him. I want him to say it, once and for all. Just come out and say it!
"But we stopped it from happening," he says insistently. "We have it controlled now. Your migraine pills—they've been preventing that thing from happening."
The blood drains from my face. "My-my pills?"
He nods, looking defeated. "You... changed... in your sleep, one time, when you were sick. You remember, you were eleven and missed a week of school because of fever, pain, and flu-like symptoms."
Biting on my bottom lip, I remember that time. I thought I was dying and I saw several physicians to try and treat me, but most of it was just a blur.
But, how am I different from them?
"What," I ask hesitantly, "What about you and Mama? You just said that I wasn't a normal child."
His thick lips press together as his dark chocolate brown eyes lower to his plate of food. "We hoped that we'd never have to tell you this—and we worried even more when you disappeared, whether you had changed, but..."
He sighs, rubbing his face with his big rough hands. "Your Mama and I have loved you since the day you came to us. We were never able to have children, Princess. You're adopted."