My mind is full of questions. How did I not know? Why did Miranda hide this? What would Kira think if she knew? But the one thing that rises above it all isn’t a question at all, it’s an absolute: I love Kira. Because more than anything else that’s what matters. Am I angry? Hell yes. Do I feel betrayed? Beyond belief. But, more than that I love my little girl.
The wait for them to return is long, not in a matter of minutes, but in heartbeats. Because each one reminds me of my anger. I feel it pulsing along in my bloodstream. Each time it constricts I tick off another thing about Miranda that disgusts me. It’s a cause and effect. One leads to the next, leads to the next, and before I know it I’m thinking about things I haven’t thought of in years. Things I’d put behind me are heat in my veins again.
When the door finally opens, I hug each of my kids to absorb some calm. And I vow someday very soon to get answers from Miranda, someday after the adoption is finalized and she can’t meddle.
That’s a stunner to open with
present
“Faith?” It’s accompanied by knocking on my bedroom door. It’s Benito’s voice.
I open the door to his smiling face. “I brought you a cup of coffee.”
I perk up at the sight of it. It’s become a ritual at my new home to have coffee with him on the nights I don’t work at the diner. I look forward to it. Our chats are short, but they always cover a wide range of topics. Benito knows a little bit about everything because he reads so much, but he’s not a know-it-all. He usually delves into something further only when I’ve prompted him or asked questions. And he’s always curious to hear what I have to say; I like that. Good listeners are rare. He’s like the dad I always wanted.
“What are your dreams, Faith?” Our conversations begin with a question like this, because we need a starting point. Usually, they go down bunny trails, in two minutes we could be talking about the relevance of hip-hop in modern culture or if the Dodgers are going to make the playoffs this year, you just never know.
“That’s a stunner to open with, Benito.” I’m thinking. Dreams are hard to put into words.
“I like to keep you on your toes, young lady.” His grin tells me that’s true.
“That shouldn’t be a hard question, should it? I mean, most people grow up with dreams. They’re defined and vivid and can be measured. My dreams growing up were survival based for the most part. I dreamed of a nice family to live with. I dreamed of my favorite meals. I dreamed of having a new pair of shoes. The older I get I dream about going to college someday. I dream about finding my birth mother. I dream about figuring out who I am…so I can just be her, you know?”
Benito nods at my words. “I believe you do know…you are her. You’re just too scared to go after the things you really want because you don’t think you deserve them. I’m here to tell you that you do.”
“Addiction is a hard thing to get out from under. It’s shameful. It’s polarizing. It’s defining. Even when it’s behind you, it’s never really behind you. I still feel like my past will always dictate my future. That’s a tough hurdle.” It’s nice to talk to someone I can be this candid with.
“Every day is a new day. It took me years to believe that, Faith, but it’s true. Every day is a new opportunity to be the person you’ve always wanted to be. Some days your heart will be in it, and some days you’ll fake it, but eventually it will become a habit and without thinking about it, you will be changed anew. A new attitude. A new outlook. A new perspective. The human mind is a wonderful thing to grant us that kind of change.” He pauses and smiles. “What else do you dream of, Faith?”
I sip my coffee before I answer because this one is harder to explain. “Love.”
He’s leaned back in his seat. His posture is never lazy, but it’s always relaxed. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s so easy to talk to. “Love. That’s very general. Do you care to expound on that?”
“When I was growing up I just wanted someone to love me.” I shrug. “That’s what every kid wants, right? The past few years that’s changed. I mean, I still want someone to love me, but more than that I want someone to love. I want reciprocation. I want connection. I want to wake up in the morning thinking about him and go to sleep at night doing the same. Not in an obsessive, unhealthy way, but I want to know what it’s like to have so much emotion inside for another person that it manifests itself in selfless, kind, random acts. I want their well-being and happiness to be taken into consideration unconsciously, because it’s second nature. I want attraction, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally, I want to be inexplicably pulled to someone. And for them to feel the same. What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance that would be to be in…” I trail off, because all I can think about is Seamus.
His eyes are thoughtful. He can read between the lines. “What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance to be in indeed. Well put, my dear.”
He stands, which means it’s time for him to leave. Sometimes our time together only lasts minutes. “Thank you, Benito.”
“You’re welcome.” He walks toward the stairs, but stops just short. “Faith?”