Relative issues

Chapter 6.

I never had a father and I barely ever had a mother. All my life, I had found a sense of identity in my role as an abandoned and unwanted child. I had identified myself as a mistake from a young age, something that led me to become overly social later in life as I found myself feeling the need to be liked and wanted. Since I came from nothing, my personality had become my only strength. Instead of letting it toughen me up, it had made me vulnerable and insecure. But insecurities do not make you likeable, nor do they make you interesting. So I shoved my shortcomings away and put on a brave face, always pretending to be wiser than I was, pretending to be more sure of myself, less scared of failure and mistakes, less susceptible to anxiety and fear.

But the moment my mom uttered those words, I felt as if my whole identity had been burned to the ground. My heart pounded slowly and harshly in my chest, vibrating like a bass drum in the orchestra of organs that my body housed.

For a split second, blood rushed to my head like a heatwave. Bile rose in my throat and my extremities faded to static and electric pulses that ran through my veins. A strange, choked whimper forced its way out of my mouth. It was the sound of a child – the sound of a confused, lost little boy; so full of vulnerability that it was difficult for me to register it as my voice. I took a step back as the blood continued rushing to my head. I felt nauseated, sick enough to vomit. The sensation was very similar to when you are about to faint from low blood sugar. Your body becomes hot, sweat breaks from your skin and you feel dizzy and sick.

I grabbed ahold of the doorframe to Smith's nursery for balance. How a few words had taken such a toll on me was beyond my understanding. I had not even reacted as strongly when I confirmed Micah's pregnancy or when my grandparents died. Those times, it had been more of a slow realisation. This time, the reality hit me like a train going a hundred miles an hour.

"Jayden?" Micah asked worryingly. His posture was alert, leaned forward with his back straight and his shoulders pulled up. Despite holding our son, he seemed ready to rush over to me if needed.

"I'm alright," I reassured him.

A dad. My dad. A figure that did not have a name, a face, a voice or a personality. The image was blank. My heart was beating fast. Everything was piling up to a mountain of emotional shocks. Mom, her kids and now a dad? I swallowed the rising bile, shuddering at the sour taste in my mouth.

"I don't wanna know..." I mumbled. "I don't care if you found him. If he wanted to see me, he would've tracked me down and stalked me as you have." I wandered across the room and slumped down on the couch, getting as close to Micah as I could. He stood up from the armchair and walked over to me, sitting down next to me. I leaned my head on him, pressing myself against him tightly. His hair smelled of shampoo.

My mom stayed silent as she observed us. Her eyes burned on my figure – a reminder of her unwanted presence. Shutting it out, all I could try to focus on was the smooth cheek that was pressed against my shoulder, the warmth of Micah's body and Smith's soft hair between my fingertips. This was supposed to be my safe place, but now I felt naked and exposed. Around the kitchen table, my siblings were scarfing down brownies and hot chocolate like hungry wolves. I sighed as I watched them.

"What have they eaten today?" I asked with a heavy sigh, contemplating whether or not I should go make them something other than dessert.

"We stopped for some McDonald's on the way here... Then we have some cheese crackers in the car that they've been snacking on."

With a scoff, I continued to rub Smith's head. He had finished his bottle and was slowly drifting off to sleep again, his pouty mouth open and Micah's shirt bundled up in his small fist. "No fruit and veg? No proper meal? Did they even have breakfast?"