“Sure, mom.” As in, sure, I’ll avoid that subject like the plague.
After I get everything unpacked, I’m too restless to watch TV or anything, so I decide to poke around on the internet a while. Maybe I’ll find some good sales. I sit at my desk, and my eyes are drawn to the pictures covering the corkboard above my computer.
Ah, high school . . . seems like so long ago. I thought life was simple back then. No real complications. No real worries. All I had to do back then was keep my grades up and my room clean, and my parents were happy. That’s it. Everything else in my life came easy. Once I started ninth grade, I was finally out of my ugly duckling phase and got my braces off, and the boys finally started to notice me. By the time I was in eleventh grade, I was one of the cool kids. I was always surrounded by friends, I never had to worry about having a date to the school dances, and everyone wanted me at their parties.
I didn’t know it then, but that person wasn’t really me. I’ve always been opinionated and spoke my mind about things, but when it came to how I looked in high school, I was a damn puppet. I wore what the other girls wore, I styled my hair like theirs, and I even wore the same color of nail polish. It was ridiculous. Makenna wasn’t like that at all, and she was the only person I didn’t have to pretend with. I never have had to. She’s always been that one person that, even if she didn’t like what I was doing or saying, she supported me.
It’s funny how you don’t find out who you really are until all of that is gone. College was a real eye-opener for me. Nobody knew who I was, and nobody cared to find out. I was just another freshman taking up space. I was surprised that I actually liked not being the center of attention for a change. I liked not having to dress a certain way, just because people expected me to. If I wanted to wear jeans and a t-shirt every single day, nobody really cared. It took those first couple of years in college to really discover who I really was and what I really liked.
That’s why I don’t much like looking at these photos, but they also serve as a reminder for me to stay true to who I really am. No matter if Makenna and Shane think I’m a horrible person. No matter if Wes doesn’t think I could ever be trusted. I know who I am, and I won’t change because someone wants me to. Never again.
Shaking myself back into the present, I check my email first, having to wait a few minutes for all of them to load. I really need to check it more often . . . and stop adding my email to mailing lists. I delete email after email of store sales, credit card offers, and blog updates, but I nearly have a heart attack when I see the subject line of one that was sent earlier this week from a remotely familiar email address.
I feel like my stomach drops into my feet when I open it and see who sent it.
To: Callie
From: Chesley Adams
Subject: Wesley
I received your picture a few weeks ago, but I never got around to thanking you. So thank you. So so much. It means more to me than anything in this world, and I look at it every day.
I’ve been thinking a lot about your question . . . you know, when you asked why I was reaching out to him now, after all these years. I knew the answer then, but I didn’t think I was worthy of it. And I still don’t think I am, but meeting my son is the one thing that would make my life complete, and I couldn’t stand myself any longer if I don’t at least try to make that connection with him, even if it’s just for two minutes.
I know what kind of a position this will put you in, but I really need your help. And I need it fast. I don’t expect you to help me without the full explanation, so I’m willing to tell you anything you want to know. I’m hopelessly desperate, so please, whatever I need to do in order to make this happen, consider it done. I’m in the Tuscaloosa area, so just text or email me a time and place, and I’ll be there.
If you won’t help me, then I completely understand, and I wish you and Wesley all the best. I hope to hear from you soon.
Oh hell. I can’t get in the middle of this, especially now that he never even wants to see me again. I know his mother is desperate, and I know what it would mean to her to get to speak to him. But then again, I know that she’s partly responsible for his inability to trust women, the reason he doesn’t think anyone could ever stay with him. Maybe if her reason is good enough, he can actually believe for once that he’s worthy of love. Maybe I can listen to her story and decide if it might be beneficial for him to hear.
But, oh, he’ll be so pissed if he finds out I intervened. Perhaps I should call his mom and let her know that Chesley has contacted me and what she’s asking me to do. I’m sure Eve would much rather handle the situation. I do a search online for Robert and Eve Baxter, and I’m quite amazed that their number is listed. After punching the numbers into my phone, I take a deep breath and say a little prayer that Wes isn’t there. That would not be good.