I pause in front of the desk, reaching out to straighten the curled length of the page, careful not to smudge the ink with my fingers.
Nothing about our reunion was what I thought it would be. The way she looked at me, the coldness and detachment in her gaze, it was what made the DNA test necessary. The girl was like a reflection of myself as a young woman, with eyes the color of damp earth, high cheekbones, and a proud nose. Her mouth and my mouth were matching shapes, even our hands were synonymous. Every part of her was like an extension of me and yet, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the idea that this person, this stranger, was my Mia.
Blood was drawn.
DNA was matched.
Not once, but three times.
I had to be sure, because my dreams and hopes were being dashed to pieces all around me. How could my daughter be alive and well and yet look at me like I was the enemy? How could my daughter look at me like the interloper in her life, like I was the true villain in this story, the real kidnapper.
She may be my child by blood, and my love might be eternal, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her. It doesn’t mean I can’t wish for things to be different, that I can’t have regrets. Sometimes—oftentimes, really—I wonder if it might’ve been better for both of us if we’d never found each other.
She’d have the fantasy of her false family; I would have my dreams.
For now, they are dashed. For now, I must live with the fact that this person, this Mia-impersonator, is the one that I am bound to, obligated to, related to. Because even as I find myself crying at night over the person I wish she was, I know that I will never be able to let her go.
Without thinking, I tear the page from the typewriter, holding it up to hazy eyes. I’m not sure if I’m tearing up or if I’m just angry or …
“What are you doing?” a voice asks from behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s Parrish. When a tear finally falls onto the page in front of me, I look back at him. There must be something in my face that mollifies his usual bitterness because he doesn’t mock me when the tears begin to flow like saltwater rivers, carving grooves of pain into my face.
I turn and move toward him, handing out the paper in my hand before sweeping past him without a word. I’m slipping into my room when he catches up to me, blocking the door from closing and stepping in behind me.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he says, shaking the page like it’s thoroughly pissed him off. Clearly, it’s a follow up to Abducted Under a Noonday Sun; clearly, it’s based in reality. “It doesn’t.”
A small, wry smile takes over my mouth, but it just tastes like salt and misery when I lick it away. Did I think things were going okay here? I mean, school isn’t nearly as bad as I’d expected. But home? Home is much, much worse. That letter last night gave me false hope, but it was written three months ago, right? Things have changed since then.
Somehow, I’d been under the notion that no matter how much Tess and I squabbled, that there was some spark of unconditional love inside of her that would allow me to rebel and express my feelings without facing any repercussions. Somehow, I thought that I could fight back until I was too tired to fight anymore and she’d … I don’t know, be there to help pick up the pieces?
“Parrish,” I start, because I’m not really sure what else to say. Instead, I turn away from him and move over to the wall of windows, suddenly hating that I’ve got the lake view and he doesn’t. My fingers rest against the glass as I gaze out at the water and try to ignore the sick, hollow feeling inside my chest.
I put my forehead to the cool panes and close my eyes for a moment. I’m not sure what I expect out of Parrish, but it isn’t for him to leave. He does, however, storming out without another word and letting the door slam into the wall. He doesn’t even bother to close it.
That doesn’t mean I have to like her.
Tess’ words ring in my head like the chiming of a bell, a constant clanging that I can’t shut out, not even when I put my hands over my ears to drown out the sound. It’s impossible to escape from, a cacophony that exists only inside my own head.
As quickly as he left, Parrish comes back. As soon as I hear his footsteps, I open my eyes and look back, watching as he walks in and slams down the black metal trash can from his room. In his right hand is the stack of Tess’ manuscript. He throws it into the can and then looks up at me, slipping a lighter from his pocket.
