Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
My mom lent me a cross stitch of a duck, and Apollo brought a cat poster from his bedroom for the walls. The treehouse was at his place, so I know these are the originals. Either he asked his dad to save them, or John did it on his own. I imagine it was Apollo who took them down before he left. I don’t want to imagine him doing it as a kid because that makes my heart sore, and it’s already painful enough right now.
Apollo is sitting on the black bean bag chair over to the right. I know that one isn’t original because it’s missing the giant, taped-up hole the old one used to have. He looks hilarious in it. And about ten times too big. I bet he can feel the floor through it. I’m in a blow-up chair, which is also hilarious because who the heck has blow-up chairs anymore? It’s also not original. The real one died after we got into a jumping contest and popped it. Not the brightest idea, but we were seven. What can I say?
“I don’t even have the words to describe any of this.” I want to flip over and see if my legs will reach the ceiling so I can plant my feet there like I used to.
Apollo is quiet, and I think about my dad again. I also think about my mom, who I don’t even know, and who has been trying to contact me and have a relationship with me for years. Who never stopped loving me.
This morning, when my dad left, he and John shook hands like they were agreeing to an uneasy truce. I could tell John knew something was wrong between us.
I heard Dad get up around six this morning, so I walked quietly to the kitchen to have a cup of coffee with him. I told him I would work on not being mad, but I needed space, and I wouldn’t be coming back home with him as I was going to try and find Mom. I think he expected as much. I also told him that I knew how much what happened scared him. That, even before that, he was just trying to protect me. He never forced me to stay with him after I graduated. He was a good dad. He always listened, and he always tried. He more than tried. He was always there. Maybe I should hold it against him that my mom wasn’t there when I needed her more than anything, but I won’t. I won’t because it’s useless, and I hate feeling bad. I hate things eating me up inside, and I don’t want him to spend every day feeling that way, either. It still felt tense between us when I hugged him goodbye, but he knew I loved him. He knows I’ll always love him, and space doesn’t mean forever. It just means I’m an adult, and I have my own life. He’s going to have to accept that, and it’s going to take time for both of us.
Apollo has been the patient one tonight. We came up here fifteen minutes ago, climbing up the wooden slats nailed on the tree—albeit a heck of a lot sturdier than our old one—and ducking down to even fit in here. I think the walls are a good three feet higher than our childhood treehouse because there’s no way Apollo would fit in here at all if they weren’t. Also, it’s probably wider. Way wider. I honestly can’t remember. It’s been too many years, but I imagine my childhood perceptions of the place saw it as being bigger than it was—like how all adults look like giants because they’re two or three times your height.
It’s just after eight right now. Apollo’s been patient all day. He hasn’t tried to force me to answer all the questions burning in his eyes. Instead, he hung out with his dad this afternoon while I read a book and then went for a walk around the house. Both of them gave me space. They played cards, and then I heard them discussing the rules of backgammon. He even made dinner. He wasn’t stiff at the table, and after dinner, he cleaned up.
I’m not sure if he said something to his dad, but John said he was turning in early—real early—and he told us to have a good night.
Oh, and he was taking Bitty Kitty to his room since he wanted some skunk cuddles.
“I made some calls,” Apollo says, breaking the silence. I think he knows I don’t know how to start. “Last night. I don’t have weird PI people at my beck and call or anything, but I think I found a guy. He’s going to look for your mom.”
He doesn’t have to do this. I won’t ask him to, but I also won’t stop him. I want to find my mom, and I don’t have the resources on my own. I don’t have words to thank him for this either.