Finding Daddy

I sat at the table, staring at the chicken strips, broccoli, and mac and cheese on my plate. Once in a while I would push something around with my fork, but besides that, nothing. My mom was oblivious to me, as always, eating without batting an eyelash. When it was just Mom and I, dinner was very quiet. We had had a bad relationship since I was eight. Sadly Aaron, my stepfather, was working late at his office today so this was all we had for dinner.

Silence and awkwardness.

“Danny.” I looked up as my mother spoke. She had placed down her fork long enough to take a sip of her wine. That was another thing that happened when Aaron wasn’t around. I had theories of why my mom drank when it was just me and her, but I had never brought it up and she had never spoke of it. As she placed down her glass, she sighed. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m just not hungry,” I murmured, running my index finger around the rim of my glass of water. I half expected it to just end there, but my mom must be feeling…motherly tonight.

“No, you haven’t eaten all day. You’ve been locked up in your room. Now tell me, what’s on your mind?” I thought about blurting out what I’ve been thinking about all week. If I were to say it now she’d just shut down and storm off. Gotta get her into it first.

“Why do you keep trying to drink away the fact I’m here?” Her gaze instantly turned cold and she glared daggers at me. If I still had my childish fear of my mother, I would be cowering and begging forgiveness. Instead, I straightened my back and returned her glare.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She spat.

“Exactly what it sounds like. Every time it’s just you and I, you have at least three glasses of wine. Is there just something you can’t stand about me?”

“Your attitude right now seems like reason enough.”

“It’s because of him isn’t it? I look so much like him.” My mom fumed, her hand tightening around the stem of her wine glass. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“We will not mention him in this household. He is no one,” my mother growled.

“Because you made it so!” I shouted, banging my fists on the table. My glass tumbled over, spilling onto the table and dripping to the floor. “I never got the choice! I’ve never even seen a picture!”

“Stop this Danielle,” my mother spoke, trying to keep calm. I could tell she was straining, but my hardheadedness wouldn’t allow it. I wanted to snap her and learn what I’ve been wanting to know.

“Just because you’re a fucking twat and hate him doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get a chance to know my real father!”

“Enough of this shit, Danielle!” My mom shouted, shooting to her feet and knocking over her wine glass, the red liquid spreading rapidly across the hardwood table. “Yes, you look exactly fucking like him and I can’t stand it! I should have let him take you when my mother made me move. I should have left you behind so I could have a life! I was only seventeen when that fucker got me knocked up. I should have been having a life, not taking care of some stupid brat.”

“Well you’re the dumb ass that spread your legs instead of crossing them,” I snapped. “Don’t think Grandma hasn’t told me anything about when you were younger. You were a whore and seduced a drunk man that was older than you. It’s your own fucking fault.”

My mom stomped around the table, slapped me, and stormed off down the hall. When I heard her door slam shut I swept my hands over the table, making the plates and utensils fly. I ran upstairs and slammed my door shut, blasting my stereo with Linkin Park. I wasn’t lying when I said my mother and I hadn’t gotten along since I was eight. She hates my guts and I hate hers. Aaron always had to play clean up and I pitied him for it.

As I plopped down on my bed, running a hand through my hair, an idea hit me. I bit my lip, thinking hard on it. It was insane, really stupid in reality, but how else was I going to learn anything? This is where the real story takes place. My mind pieced together a plan for the next span of summer.

I am going to California to find my father.