“Did something happen between you and your dad? You’ve always gotten along.”
He’s quiet for a second. Then he sighs. “He lied to me.”
“How?”
“All this time, he’s known where she was. He purposely kept us apart.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure what to believe. She said that he wouldn’t let her see me.”
“B, your dad loves you. There has to be a good reason.”
“We got into a fight. Today. On Christmas. I wanted answers. He said she was mentally unstable. Didn’t want to talk about it. I kept pushing. I asked how I could trust him when all this time he’d been lying to me. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he walked out the door. It killed me.”
I picture the look on Aiden’s face when he walked out of the dance.
“You need to find him and apologize.”
“How do I trust him?”
“Sometimes you have to lie to protect the people you love.”
“I want to see my Mom. I need to see her. I need to understand.”
“Then see her. But listen to your dad’s story before you decide he’s lied to you about everything. Maybe he only lied to you about one thing. When are you supposed to see her?”
“What’s taking you so long?” Aiden says as he walks through the door.
I hold a finger up, asking him to give me a minute. He narrows his eyes at me, trying to assess the situation.
“On January third,” Brooklyn says.
“I’ll go with you, B.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to see her. After all this time.” He starts crying, and then so do I. I wish I could reach through the phone and hug him.
“It’ll be okay. B?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t send you a Christmas gift because you’re supposed to be with that girl.”
“I didn’t send you anything either.”
“I want to sponsor you next season. No strings attached. Just text me what you need. It’s my Christmas gift to you.”
“Keats, I can’t let you do that.”
“I went crazy on Christmas this year.”
“In case it’s your last one?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Don’t fucking say that.”
“I’m saying it, B, because it’s true. Now, go find your dad and let him tell you his side of the story.”
“Fine. I will. Merry Christmas, Keats.”
“Merry Christmas, B.”
Aiden looks at me expectantly.
“Um, I need just a minute.” I put my face into my hands, take a few deep breaths, and try to process everything that just happened.
After a few minutes, Aiden sits on the bed next to me, wraps his arm around me, and kisses the side of my face.
“You okay?”
I nod.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really, Aiden,” I say, but then I see his eyes and remember what he said at Stockton’s about his imagination. “It was B, as you heard. He was upset.”
“Where are you going with him?”
“To visit his mom. He hasn’t seen or heard from her since she left over ten years ago. Until today. And, to top it off, he found out that his dad has been lying about her all this time. He told B he didn’t know where she was, but he just didn’t want him to see her.”
“Why?”
“His dad says she was mentally unstable. They got into a fight about it. He was upset.”
“Why were you crying?”
“Because he started crying when I said I’d go with him.”
Aiden is quiet and seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Will you be gone for long?”
“He wants . . .”
“You?”
“He wants to see how we feel. When we’re together.”
Aiden looks up at the ceiling, closes his eyes, and goes, “Boom.”
And that sets me off.
“You're right. I'm in no position to be saying I love someone or sleeping with them when my life is such a mess. It's not fair to you. It's just, you made me feel—never mind. I have to go.” I’m ready to start crying, and I’m tired of letting him see me cry. “Uh, I’ll see you later,” I say as I rush out the door.
“Keatyn. Wait.”
I don’t. I run outside, down the long drive, and to the gate. I see the guards and feel trapped.
Caged.
Like an animal in the zoo.
I have to get out of here, so I walk to the gate and open it.
“You can't leave,” one of the guards says to me in French, another guard quickly repeating the same phrase in English.
I drop to my knees, bang my head against the gate, and start bawling.
A few minutes later, I hear Grandpa’s voice.
“What's all this ruckus about?”
I wipe my eyes and turn to look at him.
He hands me a to-go cup.
“What’s this?”
Grandpa smiles. “My special lemonade, of course.”
“I need to go for a walk,” I tell him.
“Then let's go,” he says. “Boys, open the gate.”
Surprisingly, the guards listen to Grandpa.
As we walk out onto the road, he turns back and instructs them not to follow us.
I take a deep, cleansing breath, pulling as much air into my lungs as I can before exhaling it.
“Talk,” Grandpa commands.
“I’m hurting people that I love.”