16 Things I Thought Were True (6 page)

There's a caption under the picture. Tiny. I enlarge it some more.

“Bob White wins the Golf Tournament, for the Victoria Blues.” I recognize him from Google Images, one of the less offensive looking Bob Whites. We have a match. I suck in a deep breath. After all this time, this is it.

I peer closely and disappointment settles in. He's an ordinary person, this Bob White, just a normal-looking man. Not too tall. Not too heavy or too slim. Not someone I can look at and automatically hate. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. Just a man. It's hard to feel much of anything. It was almost better wondering if he was dead. Or really tall and handsome. Or maybe a famous celebrity who would never acknowledge me as his daughter because it would ruin his career. Not some guy in a golf shirt who looks like he shops at Costco and pays all of his bills on time. He doesn't look evil. He doesn't look mean.

He is a man. But he's more. He's my dad. I try to imagine what his voice sounds like, what he likes to eat, if he has a new family. Mostly I wonder why—why he never wanted to know me. I stare at the photo. I have to go. Now that I know. I have to see him myself. In person. I'll find a way to go to him and see for myself who he is, and why he didn't want me. Maybe, just maybe, if he sees me now, sees I'm not so bad…

I shake my head and stop that train of thought. I wonder if he'll be underwhelmed and disappointed when he looks at me for the first time. I wonder for the millionth time why he left me. “Morgan,” I say, speaking for the man in the picture, “I am your father.”

4. Likeability can be measured by how many followers you have online.

#thingsithoughtweretrue

I'm working in the gift shop, ringing up a woman's purchases, ignoring the shrieks of her unhappy baby. “Whoa,” a voice says from the entrance of the gift shop after she leaves. “That took commitment.” Adam walks in. “Ignoring a baby's cries.” He walks inside.

I remember that I'm mad at him, so I fake a smile and act busy. He never returned my call. He doesn't get off that easy. “So, your mom's operation went okay?” he asks.

I don't glance up. “Fine.”

“So…?”

“She'll be home in a few days.” I bend down to pick up a pencil I dropped on the floor. When I stand again, he's directly across the counter. Frowning.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks. He's holding a brown paper bag. Of course he would bring a packed lunch. It's mature and sensible.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Call display, dude. He didn't call back. Text. Acknowledge my call in any way. I don't need to have things spelled out. He's my boss, he felt obliged to drive me to the hospital, and his interest about my mom is medical curiosity. I made up the connection between us.

“You have a break in a few minutes, and Theresa's on her way. Are you going to the staff room?”

“No.”

He tilts his head. “Why not?”

“Break time,” Theresa says as she walks in. “Hey. Is your mom okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I don't move.

“That's good.” She smiles at me then turns to Adam. “You find your phone yet?”

He turns to me. “Someone stole it.”

“Contact your carrier. Maybe they can trace it?” Theresa says.

I sneak a look at him. His phone got stolen. That's why he didn't call back?

“I called. They couldn't trace it. I have to buy a replacement.” Adam turns to me. “I'm on my break too. I'll go with you.”

“I wasn't going to go to the staff room,” I tell him. I'd been counting down the time until I could go to the old abandoned washroom stall and catch up on my tweets. I grab my backpack and walk out from behind the counter.

“Don't worry,” Adam says. “You can bring your phone.”

“I know.” I need to recalibrate. I can't be mad at him for ignoring my call since he didn't have his phone.

“Come on.” He glances at my backpack. “You need to stop to buy something to eat?”

I shake my head. I took one of Josh's protein bars so I could have lunch in private. I hadn't planned on returning to the staff room again. Ever. I want to slip off to the path that leads to privacy, but I'm too chicken to admit it.

When we walk outside, two pretty girls in yellow shirts run up to Adam. One smiles at me, but the other looks me up and down and blinks in slow motion before turning to Adam. “So, I need to get off early this Saturday. Can I do that?”

“Talk to me later,” he says to her and turns to me. We've reached the entrance to the staff room. It smells like dirty feet and cotton candy. It reminds me of my brothers when they don't shower after working out and try to cover their smell with cologne.

“Come on,” Adam says, and we step inside. It's early for lunch, so there are only a few employees sprawled at one table. I avoid looking at the managers' table, closest to the far wall.

Some girls at the full table squeal with laughter, but Adam ignores them. “We don't have to sit over there,” he says, gesturing to the manager table. “How about the couches?”

I shrug, kind of embarrassed he guessed my feelings about sitting at the manager table, and follow him to the grimy-looking couches that semicircle the vending machines. He walks to a machine and plugs in some quarters. “You want a Coke?” he asks me as he takes out a can.

I lift my shoulder and plunk down on a couch, trying not to think about how dirty it is. I put my phone on my lap.

“Sure, Adam, I'd love a Coke,” he says in a high-pitched voice, imitating me. He puts in more change and pulls out another can. I turn on my phone to Twitter and scroll, but he stands right in front of me, holding out the can until I stop and take it from him.

“Thanks.”

“How about talking to me instead of your phone?”

I put my phone down but glance longingly at it.

“So everything's okay with your mom?” he says and sits on the couch across from me. I dig through my backpack and pull out my bar, nod, and rip the wrapper open with my teeth.

“You sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.” I take a bite of my bar and pop open the can. Adam watches me as he unfolds his lunch bag.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

“Besides forcing me to eat in this place?” I smile even though it's true and take a sip of the soda. It's awkward. I'm angry about things, most of which have nothing to do with him. I'm being kind of an ass and I know it.

He pulls a sandwich from his lunch bag and glances around the room, seemingly undisturbed by the other people or the mess. “Where do you usually eat?” he asks. “Outside?”

I shake my head, trying to shake off my mood.

He holds up his sandwich to take a bite. “Isn't anyone allowed to be nice to you?”

I put the soda between us on the table and lean back on the couch, sigh, try to explain. “Sorry. It's just. Since the video…”

He smiles. “I get it. And by the way, in case you didn't notice, I'm not exactly Mr. Popularity around here.” He bites his sandwich and shrugs. “At least you'll be seen talking to me in public.” He smiles again to show he's joking, but I wonder if he is.

The confession warms me a little. “I have to figure out things with my mom and my…birth father. And I usually use my break to get caught up with my friends, so I guess I'm a little edgy.”

“Your friends on there?” He gestures at my phone and raises his eyebrows. “You have a lot of people following you. I have, like, twenty.”

He has nineteen. But I don't say that out loud. And I try not to judge him for it.

“Stop me if this is a crazy idea,” he says, “but I thought you might want to talk to someone, you know, in
person
.”

I take a sip of soda and study the coffee table, trying to put my words together in a way that makes sense. It's so much easier to get things right on Twitter.

Adam watches me, his expression calm, not rushing me or trying to fill in the silence.

“Last night, my mom finally told me his name. My father.” I stop and look up, waiting to see his reaction.

“Wow,” he says and leans back on the couch. “That's huge.”

“Yeah.” I take another sip of Coke and smile at him.

“Why're you smiling?” he asks.

“Just that you get it's a big deal. I have a picture of him too. And I found him. He lives in Victoria, BC. In Canada.”

He finishes off his sandwich, watching me. “Are you going to call him?”

“No. I'm going to go see him. I want to do it in person,” I blurt out and wait for his reaction. I haven't told anyone that part. Not even online. And it's only when I say it out loud that I know I have to. I have a father. I want to show him that I made it, that his rejection didn't break me—not in a way that he'll be able to see, anyhow. I ignore the way my stomach twists. I ignore the little girl inside of me who wants to cling to his pant leg and cry and demand to be loved. I'm not that bad…am I?

Adam puts down his drink on the coffee table. I notice a carving in the table.
JM
+ LG.

He pulls an apple from his paper bag and rubs it on his T-shirt. “So you're planning to go all the way to Canada to drop in on the father you've never met—without warning?”

I take an aggressive bite of the bar. “Yup. Pretty much.”

He bites into the apple and some juice squirts out and hits my arm, but we both ignore it.

“Cool?” he says but phrases it like a question.

That makes me laugh. “I want to see his face when I tell him who I am,” I say softly. I finish my bar and scrunch the wrapper up in my hand.

Adam watches me as he chews through the apple in big bites. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

I throw the balled up wrapper at the garbage and it goes in. I take that as a good sign. I believe in signs. Then I bite my lip, embarrassed. I don't want to tell Adam that I hope my dad will see me and change his mind. I pick at a hangnail on my thumb, and Adam leans forward to toss his apple core in the garbage. He misses and I hide a smile.

“He walked away,” he says softly.

I sigh. “I know.”

“Well,” he says, “I guess anything can happen, but you should be prepared…in case…”

“Did you know it costs over two hundred thousand dollars to raise a kid to the age of eighteen?” I interrupt before he can say more.

He sips his drink. “No, I didn't.” He tilts his head, studying me. “Is this about money?”

I stare at him. He's looking at me as if he cares, and it's sweet. He's being rational. I know it. Of course it's not about the money. It's about me. Me. And Bob. And some stupid hope that I'm clinging to. That if he sees me…

“I can handle this,” I say. “I just need to figure out a way to get there. To Victoria. It's not that far, but unfortunately, Josh is selling his car, so I can't borrow his. Maybe I'll rent one.”

Adam leans back on his couch. “Don't you have to be twenty-one or even older to rent a car?”

“Really?” I unclench my jaw and roll out my shoulders.

“I can drive you,” a tiny voice says from behind me.

Amy is standing beside the couch holding a paper tube wrapped in pink cotton candy. The corners of her mouth are bright pink.

“Amy,” I say, “this is a private conversation.”

She pulls a big chunk of cotton candy off with her tiny fingers. “You're sitting in the staff room, not the private conversation room. If you wanted privacy, why didn't you go to your bathroom stall?”

Adam looks at her. I narrow my eyes at her and shake my head. “Well, I heard. And I can drive. So that's probably a good thing if you really do want to go find your dad.”

I glare at her. She doesn't even look old enough to have her driver's license.

She walks around the couch so she's in front of me. “I've always wanted to go on a road trip.” Her cotton candy sticks straight down, almost in my face, but she doesn't take her eyes off me. “It's at the top of my list, like the very top.”

“How could you possibly drive?”

She puts her hands out like she's holding a steering wheel with her cotton candy and steers the air. “Um. Like that.”

“I mean what car would you drive?”

Her mouth opens and closes, and then she takes a bite of her cotton candy and looks at Adam.

“She has a car,” Adam says. “A new Mazda 3 hatchback. It's bright yellow. You can't miss it. I've seen her driving in the parking lot.”

I glare at Amy. “You have a new car?”

She pulls off another chunk of cotton candy and looks around the staff room. “Actually, my dad bought it for me,” she says, not looking at me.

“You have to give your parents your paychecks for rent. How could your dad possibly manage to afford a car? A new one?”

She makes a snorty giggle sound that's both nervous and awkward, and then she looks at me. “I may have exaggerated not being able to afford lunch.” Her gaze darts off to the table of red shirts making a huge amount of noise as they snap pictures of themselves. “A little.” She glances back at me. “Okay,” she says. “A lot.”

“What?” I ask.

She plunks her butt down on the couch beside Adam. She glances at him. “Um. I lied.” She sighs. “I don't work here for the money, okay? I thought it might be a good way to make new friends. I was homeschooled until last year, and all the kids at my high school are so…lame.” She picks off a strand of pink fluff but doesn't put it in her mouth.

“You don't have to give your parents your paychecks?” I repeat.

“No. My dad, well my mom too, since they're married and all, but my dad made lots of money. I didn't lie about him being an inventor though. He's a software designer. And he's good. Really good. He invented Sour Cats.” She hums the theme song to the app that every person in the world seems to have on their phone or tablet.

“Your dad invented Sour Cats?” Adam asks. He turns to me. “I did hear that the guy who invented it lived in Tadita.”

“Why? Why would he live in Tadita?” I ask.

“Where are we supposed to live?”

“Hollywood? Hawaii? Beverly Hills?” I suggest.

She shrugs. “My dad likes it here. And my mom grew up in Tadita.”

Adam sits up taller and opens his mouth. I raise my hand up to stop him. “How do we know you're not lying again?”

She pouts a little. “I guess you don't.” She holds out her cotton candy to me and makes a puppy dog face. “Want some?”

I glare at her.

She sighs and folds over a little in the middle. “I'm sorry. I was so embarrassed that Adam caught me eating from someone's popcorn, and you looked so
judgmental
when I told you, so I, uh, made that up so you wouldn't hate me. And then I had to take your money to go with the story. I meant to pay back the five bucks.” She stands and digs into a pocket on her skinny jeans and pulls out a bill. “With interest.” She holds out a ten, but I shake my head.

“Twenty?” She pulls out another bill and leans over the coffee table and puts it in front of me and then sits back down. “Yes. And I can pay for gas for the trip too.” She grins and there's a glob of pink cotton candy stuck in her teeth.

I snatch the bill from the table and shove it in my pocket to spite her. “A yellow car? For real?”

“I like yellow. It's a happy color.” She bounces on her butt, clearly excited. “Let me make it up to you. I'll drive you to BC. I can pay for the gas and the hotel.”