Your father? Are you sure?
She studies my face intently.
I nod. “Pretty sure …”
And I tell her the story, starting
with noticing piebald eyes
in the crowd at the Christmas
parade and ending with the X
holiday party. Deep breath.
I DIDN’T THINK
Talking about it would bother
me so much, but my hands quiver
and my breathing falls shallow.
Mom notices, comes over to
me. She takes my hands in hers,
presses gently. You okay?
I wish I were little again so
she could wrap me in her arms
like she used to. I remember
how, growing up, I wanted to
be taller than her, always kept
measuring. Then one day, I was.
It was better before. I look down
into her eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay.
I just never really expected
to meet him. Or that I might
actually like him. It was easier
hating him for what he did.”
Mom tugs gently, sits me
at the table. Resentment is
always easier than forgiveness.