Read 16 Things I Thought Were True for Free Online

you were a baby. I swear you did everything on your own. I guess with the twins and the energy and attention they consumed, well, maybe I took your independence for granted.” She stops talking and stares off past me, at the curtain separating us from the rest of the room. I remember being younger and trying desperately to earn her attention. The things I did never seemed to matter as much as the boys’ things.
    This hospital version doesn’t look the same or talk the same way as the mom I know. She doesn’t even smell the same. “You’re a lot like your father, you know, and sometimes I guess I resented you for that.”
    Everything in my body goes on high alert. I don’t move. Something fills my stomach, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s excitement or anxiety. My dad?
    I don’t even blink, yet somehow a tear rolls down my cheek and slides into the corner of my mouth. I ignore the salty taste and hold my breath, waiting for her to continue. I’ve never been this terrified, terrified she’ll say more about him—terrified she’ll stop and leave me with nothing but this one small mention. I’m like him?
    Layers of silence pile on top of each other. Finally she sighs. “He had a dry sense of humor, your dad.” She says it quietly and then laughs, staring off out the window, seeing something I can’t. A memory of him? My dad. I want to see it. I want to peer inside her head and see it.
    â€œYou’re smart like him. He could do math in his head in seconds. And he could turn on the charm.” Her eyes focus, and she turns to me. “You’ll be able to do that someday—when you grow into your skin.”
    Her specialty—the backhanded compliment. Still, I lean forward and will her to continue. My heart beats so fast and loud I feel it in my throat, but if she doesn’t say more about my father, it will stop and I will die. My math comes from him? What else?
    â€œYour awkward phase won’t last forever.”
    I close my eyes and breathe deeply. No. This isn’t what I want. I don’t want to hear about my faults. I open my eyes. She’s about to have surgery. I shouldn’t upset her. But she brought him up. My insides are close to exploding, wanting to demand more. But I breathe and wait, reminded of the silent treatments I used to get if I dared ask questions about my dad when I was little. She never told me anything about him. Not if I cried, not if I had a tantrum, not even if I refused to eat. She knew eventually I’d stop and get hungry enough to leave her alone. And I did. I heard that being ignored has the same effect on the brain as being physically hit. My bruises were invisible.
    She reaches up and moves my hair from my eyes. “Your blond hair is his too.”
    She smiles but it’s low voltage and never reaches her eyes. “I loved him. It was different than with the twins’ father. Than with any other man.” She shakes her head and stares off again, caught up in her own memories. Ones I’ve never been privy to. She loved him? My dad?
    â€œI was so young when I had the boys.”
    I don’t want to hear about Josh or Jake but don’t dare interrupt.
    â€œHe swept me off my feet.” She reaches up and traces her fingers over her lips.
    Footsteps traipse by outside the hall, and I glance over and see a nurse hurry past.
    â€œHe asked me out at work. Before he knew I was a mom. I mean, he found out eventually, of course, and he met the twins. He liked them enough, but the boys were two and kind of a handful. When we spent time together, the twins usually stayed with their dad, with George.”
    I hold my breath.
    â€œHe didn’t want to be a father.”
    I strain to keep my emotions off my face, to hide the wound, the puncture she pounded into my chest. “When I realized I was pregnant…” She sniffles. “Well, he didn’t want to be a