Beauty Beheld, page 26
“You? You want to give us advice on healthy relationships? What exactly do you think gives you the right to do that?” My voice came out calmer than I expected.
My father’s eyebrows shot up again, and his feigned shock sickened me. He stumbled before managing to say, “As your father, I believe I have the right to be invested in your happiness . . .”
“What about all the years your unapologetic absence crushed my chance at happiness? And all of my precious dreams? How it diminished my self-worth and my belief that I deserved to be loved. Were you ‘invested’ back then?”
Ox leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Patience, this isn’t the time or place to do this. Let me—”
My father held up his hands. “I understand you’re working off of a biased point of view, and I—”
“Biased? I lived every waking moment of the shit! Please tell me how it’s biased.”
“I was referring to you only hearing your mother’s version of what happened between us. We were adults doing adult things, and you were a child without the capacity to understand what happened between us, so—”
“Oh, I understood, all right. You selfishly walked out on your seven-year-old and six-month-old daughters without so much as a goodbye in the middle of the night to go start your brand-new family! So, please tell me, what’s left to understand?”
Ox slid out of the booth, standing to his feet. “Mr. Hampton, I think we should call it. This conversation isn’t going anywhere productive.”
My father’s eyes remained on mine, housing tears that refused to fall. “Sweet baby girl, I’ve tried for over two decades to explain my side of things to you. For ten long years, my access to you was blocked by your mother and grandfather. And since you’ve been an adult, you’ve built so much resentment toward me that I can’t even get through to you for a moment. I’ve tried time after time to foster a loving relationship with you, but you refuse to let me in. I was hoping that having your boyfriend here as a mediator would help things, but . . .”
“Who blocked you? You left us, and we never saw or heard from you again! So, later for your tears and sad-ass excuses. There’s nothing left to say on that. Your actions have already spoken for you!”
“Is everything okay here?” An older male wearing a shirt and tie suddenly appeared beside Ox.
Our waitress, Stephanie, trailed him wearing a concerned expression.
“Everything’s fine. I was just leaving,” Dad told them. He reached into his wallet and tossed money for the bill onto the table. Then he reached beside him and retrieved a bundle of frayed envelopes bound with twine rope. The thick stack thunked onto the table and rolled toward me. As my father stared at me, his eyes were still soft but laced with disappointment. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, Patience. I won’t ever deny that. But I’ve spent the past twenty years trying to make up for them, and I’ll do my best to continue to try to get through to you.”
Numb and emotionally spent, I watched him stand and shake Ox’s hand before striding out of the restaurant without another word.
Ox knelt beside me with worried eyes searching mine. He handed me a glass of water. “Babe, are you okay?”
One thing was for certain—I couldn’t be further from okay at that moment. Once again, my anger took over, making me unrecognizable to myself. I felt trapped and buried beneath all of the fury my father stirred in me. His aloof demeanor made me want to scream. His happy-go-lucky attitude made me want to cry for the little girl in me who could have used his positivity—even from afar—while carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. His disregard for my feelings and well-being made me want to crumble right there in Ox’s arms. I was coming apart at the seams under the scope of a stunned audience when all I wanted was to be whisked away.
My bottom lip trembled, and I couldn’t find the words to tell him what I needed.
Right on cue, Ox added a few bills to my father’s, grabbed the stack of envelopes, and ushered me out of the silent restaurant before the first tear could fall.
***
When Ox pulled into a parking space at the Metroparks and turned off the engine, I was still trembling. My nerves had calmed a little, but bits and pieces of my conversation with my father were still bouncing around my mind. I was stunned by his audacity to analyze my relationship with the first person I’d introduced to him. Now, after years of neglect, he wanted to be Daddy freaking Dearest.
When I felt Ox’s hand cover mine, I jumped slightly. He gently squeezed it, and I squeezed his back. He cracked the windows, and we watched a small flock of Canadian geese. The baby goslings trailed their mothers as the small group sailed across the fishing pond. I envied their collective peace at that moment.
“Why couldn’t I have just been a damn bird?” I mumbled, reclining my seat and throwing my arm across my forehead.
Just when I thought he wasn’t going to respond, Ox said, “Geese are pretty smart.”
“That’s great.”
“They have a good memory for recognizing harmful people or events.” He paused and turned to me. “And they get pretty aggressive when they cross paths with them again.”
I tried to ignore him, but he reached over and turned my face toward him, locking eyes with me for a long moment.
“You wanna go for a walk, Beauty?”
I sighed, then nodded before stepping out of the car and slipping on my shades. The heat hit us hard and strong, so I removed my jean jacket and tied it around my waist. Ox took my hand once we hit the trail circling the large pond’s perimeter.
“So, I caught your reference about being overly guarded, and I know you have something more to say about it,” I said, sidestepping goose poop. “Speak your mind.”
He looked over at me. “I’d rather hear what’s on yours.”
I groaned. “If my ex is Emo Ernie, you’re Talk-It-Out Teddy.”
When a few seconds of silence passed between us, I was hesitant to look over at him. The last thing I wanted to do was take my frustration out on him when all he’d ever been was supportive of me. I snuck a peek at him as we stepped onto a small wooden bridge. He stopped to peer over the creek flowing below it. When I walked up beside him, the first thing I saw was that dimple.
He turned to face me. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “Actually, I’m hilarious, but I’m not trying to be right now. My father brings out the worst in me, and I’m not ready to talk about what happened.”
He nodded. “After my encounter with Halo, I wasn’t, either. So, I’ll grant you the same courtesy you gave me in New York. But, coming from Talk-It-Out Teddy, I learned a long time ago that not talking it out hurts a hell of a lot more. And, since you asked me to speak my mind . . .”
I stepped off the bridge. “Nope. Changed my mind.”
He followed me, and I stopped to snap a quick picture of a monarch resting on a milkweed plant.
“What I was going to say is I totally understand where you’re coming. You just saw the same thing play out in New York with Halo. It’s actually uncanny how similar our situations are.”
I nodded. “Yeah, what are the odds we’re both suffering from daddy issues?”
“But as far as your behavior at the restaurant, Beauty . . .” He waited until he had my full attention before continuing. “That was rough to watch.”
I started walking again. “I know. Not my proudest moment.”
“That escalated so quickly. What exactly brought on all that anger?”
I evened my breathing, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “Again. Don’t wanna talk about it.”
I kicked some pebbles with my Converse, refusing to look up at him. Maybe he’d understand if I told him to drop it en Español. I just didn’t know how much clearer I could make it for him that I was uninterested in continuing this conversation.
However, he continued, “Do you think your reaction could have been a little exaggerated?”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes straight ahead as tears perched on my lower eyelids behind my shades.
“Hell, I’ve done my share of lashing out at my father. That’s why I was hoping to avoid seeing him altogether in New York, but he and my mother clearly had other plans. But from my point of view, you were guarded from the jump and didn’t even give him a chance to speak his piece. Why even agree to see him if you’re not willing to at least be cordial?”
I spun around to face him with slitted eyes. “Because he doesn’t deserve cordial from me!”
His voice lowered as he reached out and held my forearms. “Beauty . . . it seems like he’s trying to make up for his past mistakes. And you forgave your mother for checking out on you and your sister. So, I’m just trying to understand . . . why not him?”
I shrugged out of his grasp, fighting to speak against the knot lodged in my throat. “My mother fell victim to a disease beyond her control as a result of being abandoned by her husband with two small children. My father, on the other hand, chose to walk out on his responsibilities and never looked back. What’s hard to understand about that?”
“You’re right, Patience.” He lifted my chin and stared into my eyes again.
When I finally looked up at him, I wanted to give in to his gentle expression. I knew he wasn’t judging me or questioning my choices, but I felt cornered by his insistence on having this conversation.
“Don’t forget I experienced all of that, too. But when you told me in Atlanta about your tendency to self-sabotage healthy relationships, I thought you were ready to let go of the pain you’ve been holding on to. Not forgiving your father doesn’t just impact you. It’s stunting your ability to feel secure in your relationships, to allow yourself to experience happiness, and it’s mentally tormenting you, babe. I’m always here to support you, but first, you have to face that shit head-on.”
The pleading in his voice was ripping me to shreds. I knew he desperately wanted the best for me. But he was being unrealistic about the depth of my issues with my father. Brushing hot tears from my cheeks, I removed my shades and plopped down in the grass in a huff. A few moments later, Ox sat beside me without a word. He pulled me into his arms, ignoring my resistance until I sighed and laid my head on his chest. After fifteen minutes of wrestling with my thoughts in silence, I tapped his chest.
We stood, and as he hugged me, he said, “Listen, babe. I may not get how you’re feeling every single moment, but I’m committed to understanding you more each day. I’m sorry if that feels like I’m coming on too strong.”
I looked away, and he pulled my face back to his.
“I also realize that I need to respect your healing journey, however that looks. We don’t have to talk about this again if you don’t want to. But if you want to, I’ll be ready to listen.”
I nodded, lifting up on my toes to kiss him. Then we strolled to the car, hand in hand.
18
By the time I had worked up the courage to unwrap the bundle of envelopes, Ox was back in Atlanta. I knew I wasn’t in the emotional state to process the content of those letters with a clear mind. So, I had shown Ox my old house, where I had attended school, and some of my old stomping grounds, temporarily taking my mind off things. I was grateful that we concluded our trip on a good note.
The envelopes sat on the foyer table for almost seven weeks before I even thought about touching them again. In the meantime, to zone out of the shitstorm components of my life, I devoted my precious time and attention to the things that made me feel happy, alive, appreciated, and celebrated. And to my heart’s delight, it just so happened that most of those elements were wrapped up in one tall, wonderful package. I also completed training for my new job, which I loved.
I had selected a Master of Fine Arts program and would be starting in a few weeks. I still taught line-dance classes to my church members, and I prioritized spending more time outside of the house with Chelsea and Bella. Outside of those activities, I FaceTimed and spoke on the phone with Ox. We talked every morning on the way to work, texted throughout the day, called each other while driving home, and FaceTimed as soon as we walked through the door, often chatting until we fell asleep each night. He came back to Cleveland a couple more times, and I made it out to Atlanta once.
With all that communication, we had learned a plethora of things about one another. We discussed everything that crossed our minds, and no topic or subject was off-limits, with the exception of my father. I told him everything, and he never hesitated to answer questions about his childhood, his proudest moments, and his deepest fears. After the drama of New York and the breakfast with my dad, I felt comfortable letting him see each side of me. Our personal worst nightmares had already played out, and we’d never left each other’s side. He had faced the storm beside me and stayed behind to help me pick up the pieces. He had carried me when I lacked the strength to stand on my own, and his loyalty spoke volumes to me. It was just like Lorna said: his actions showed me everything I needed to know about him.
When I walked into my house on a rainy Wednesday evening and saw that stack still awaiting me on the entryway table, I paused instead of walking by. Ox had a late client meeting that evening, and I had grown tired of all the tormenting, unanswered questions coursing through my mind about the content of those envelopes. Almost two months had passed since the pancake house, and I still hadn’t spoken to my father. With each day that passed, I had more questions about what made him so insistent that what I believed about him was wrong. I was tired of the confusion I felt and of carrying the burden of acrimony inside of me. I finally had found happiness with a good man who was protective of me, adored me, and made it his daily mission to ensure that I was aware of how sensational he thought I was.
I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my happiness for suffering in the baggage of my past any longer. I was ready to release all of the unforgiveness and fully experience the joy right in front of me. I knew it wouldn’t happen until I finally heard my father’s side of why he suddenly had gone missing in my life. After that, I’d have to address the things he had to say with my mother and grandfather.
Settling on the couch with a glass of wine while holding the stack of envelopes, I took a deep breath, knowing that nothing but God would help me face the demons waiting ahead of me. “Dear Lord, please grant me clarity and a clear heart so I can fully receive the words on these pages. Help me recognize the truth and not fall for the lies of the enemy. Block any unfruitful emotions or clouded judgment from distorting my thoughts. Help me remain close to You and easily adhere to Your guiding voice. Please cast all negative thinking—or anything that is not of You—from me. Help me remember my goal of forgiveness. In the name of Your son, Jesus, I pray. Amen.”
I exhaled, then untied the bundle with trembling hands. The first envelope was cotton-candy pink. My name was at the top, followed by the address of the home I grew up in. The first thing I noticed was the red Return to Sender stamp at the top. The postmarked year was 1999, a few months after my father had walked out on my mother, sister, and me. That confused me because we were still living at that address at the time. So why would the letter automatically be returned? I quickly googled the return address and found it was for a Holiday Inn that was now closed. That was probably where he had gone after walking out on us and before marrying my stepmother.
I instantly recognized my father’s tight handwriting. It was the same handwriting from the personal notes on the inside covers of all the children’s books he had bought me as a little girl. I studied those words for years, wondering how someone who took the time to buy books and inscribe them while his wife was still pregnant with his first child could abandon that same wife and his daughters without a backward glance. I slid the card from the envelope, and a piece of paper floated out to the floor. It was an old ten-dollar bill wrapped in wax paper. He had tried to send me cash the same old-school way my family from out of town had. There was a huge eight on the birthday card.
Tears stung my eyes as I read his message.
Sweet Baby Girl,
I’m sorry I couldn’t see you on your birthday. I had some challenges getting to you. But I promise to come get you this weekend. I love you more than life itself. I hope you enjoyed your day and always remember that Daddy loves you.
Challenges. Wondering what kind of challenges would prevent him from seeing me on my birthday, I moved on to the next envelope postmarked one month later. It was a letter.
Sweet Baby Girl,
How have you been doing? Boy, how I miss that darling smile of yours. It was the first thing I saw each day. I miss you waking me up every morning—my little personal alarm clock. I’ve been trying to get to you, but it hasn’t been easy. I’m not going to give up, though.
Do me a favor. Make a list of all the things you want to do this summer, and when I get you for a few weeks, we’ll make them happen. I can’t wait to take you on a trip and buy you all the pink cotton candy you can eat!
I’ll see you soon and always remember that Daddy loves you.
I frowned, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned Chelsea. After reading a few more letters, brimming with what seemed like empty promises, I looked through the rest of the stack and counted over eighty envelopes in total. They were all marked as Return to Sender, spanning from 2000 to 2011. Then I noticed a bulky legal envelope holding photocopied child support payment stubs and legal documents starting in 2002 for sole physical custody hearings on which I was the only name listed. I thumbed through the rest of the envelopes, and my heart sank when I came across court-ordered DNA test results.
Had my father really tried to deny my sister? I always looked exactly like him and my paternal aunts, and Chelsea favored my mother’s side of the family, but it hurt me to know that he had put my mother through that type of ridicule. When I scanned the paperwork for details, I gasped, nearly dropping them believing there was no way the information could be accurate.
The alleged father is excluded as the biological father of the tested child. This conclusion is based on the non-matching alleles listed above with a direct index equal to 0. Probability of Paternity: 0%.
