~All characters are at least 18 years of age at the time of sexual interaction. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1:
Twenty-two years. The amount of time it took me to idle my way from birth through the educational system to finish my Art degree. Believe me when I say my mom loved that. Sorry if my words don't drip the sarcasm that hers did. An accountant mother, who worked steady hours for the last thirty years and her, currently employed as a painter, art graduate son. And when I say painter, I don't mean paint to canvas like I spent the last four years learning. No, I mean paint on walls manual labor. She loved that too.
The last time I actually heard her voice, six months prior, I listened to a string of I told you so's and general criticism of my questionable life choices. The conversation ended as many previously had, weird silences after her latest thinly veiled insult grew stronger until she finally sighed and said, "I'll let you go."
Since that day, we spoke in curt text messages. I didn't tell her how I was working steady hours. I didn't tell her that, strangely enough, I actually liked the work. I had a bit of luck going to school with the brother of the painting company owner. Seth introduced us after I mentioned I was having trouble finding something steady, and the office work I had been doing previously was likely to drive me insane if I kept at it. I had some faith that my degree would come in handy, but for the moment, I just wanted to keep paying the rent, so I could paint at home.
It seemed a good match, relatively short days, considering I would regularly work eight hour days then proceed to school for four plus hours. I had painted before, a summer job when I was a teenager. It was a trade that took some time to learn, but I was a fair hand at it. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to be doing, but in all honesty, I liked it.
We painted residential interiors all over the city and suburbs. I may not have been able to make money putting paint on a canvas, but I can't say I didn't like when I client was smiling at our finished product as we left. It was something at least to brighten someone's day.
I was making a stable living working with a painter named Sam, splitting the jobs and the pay. In just a few months, we had garnered some trust, and we were doing steady work. I couldn't complain about the money. I was making twice as much as I had at the office. I made my rent payments, paid monthly on my student loans and even managed a bit of comfort after throwing some into savings.
The upside was, I had plenty of time to pursue my own interests. I caught up on books, I watched some shows and movies I had been putting off, and I actually had time to paint. I wasn't exactly churning them out like hot cakes, but I made a few that I liked.
All in all, my life might have seemed a little stale, but I didn't mind the break. If there was one thing that hadn't seen much progress recently, my dating life would come to mind. In college I did alright, but a couple long term relationships and a handful of shorter ones were past tense now. No surprise there though really. I didn't go out often enough. And don't get me started on the events that followed telling a girl you met, while out with friends, that you graduated with an art degree. In general, there were two reactions, with some variance.
They either would seem somewhat excited about meeting an artist, yet decidedly less so when finding out that you hadn't sold many paintings, followed by the current job; Or, they would immediately lose interest. It wasn't purely money snobbery, though there were a couple occasions I'd swear to it.
It led to me going out a little less with my friends, and a possibly unhealthy amount of sitting at home. I wouldn't go so far as to say I was depressed, but I was in a bit of a funk.
There I was, home one night, twenty-two years and nearing a dozen months, when I received a text, then phone call I hadn't expected.
Chapter 2:
*A lawyer called looking for you. I gave him your number.*
My mom's text proceeded the ringing of my cell phone by all of twenty seconds. I hadn't even managed a reply before an out of state area code popped up. I slid my thumb across the phone and spoke, "Hello?"
"Is this Alexander Reed?"
"This is," I replied, "How can I help you?"
"Son of Arthur and Elise Reed?" he tried to confirm.
"Yes," I added, "Though its Elise Baum now."
"Right, right," he apologized, "Sorry, just had to make sure. My name is Dennis Lewis. I'm calling because I oversee your father's estate."
A rush of emotions flowed through me. To be honest I couldn't categorize them all. In that short time where I tried to catch my breath and keep down the wealth of feelings rising up I barely managed a stuttering, "Is he... Did he..."
"He hasn't passed, but," his pause gave me a chill, "Shit, I shouldn't be the one saying this..." He tried to collect himself. "Your dad is sick, quite sick. Lung cancer"
I wanted to ask several questions, but I had trouble managing a single thought.
Dennis continued, "I've known Arthur for years. I'd even call him a friend."
A bout of anger managed to wrestle a moment from the rest, "Then you should know that I haven't so much as spoken to him since I was barely out of diapers."
I could hear some pain in his breath from the other end of the call. "He probably thinks he doesn't deserve it, but he wants to see you." He paused for a moment, "I've heard what happened, at least his side of it, and I'm aware it doesn't paint him in a good light."
"That's an understatement."
"I get it if you don't want to come. I understand seeing him again might be hard, but if I'm being perfectly honest here... You will likely regret it if you don't."
Even in my clouded head, I could sense the honesty in his words, but I wasn't entirely ready to process it all. "How long?" I managed to choke out.
"Not long. Doctors say not much more than a few weeks or so. He's not in good shape, he hasn't left the hospital in the last week." His pain was evident, "Pretty sure he knows it's about his time."
"I'll, uh..." I started without knowing what I was going to say. I'm pretty sure the rational person's response would be to start packing a bag. To say that it was hard to be rational where my parents are concerned is an understatement.
Dad gone for good at two years old. The next twenty spent being raised by a distant mother. I wouldn't say I hated either of them. To be fair, I didn't know my dad well enough to hate him. I had some strong resentment knowing that he just walked, that was to say the least. And Mom, well, for her many faults, I always believed she only wanted what was best for me.
Fuck it! I thought. I might wind up regretting it, but I believed at that moment that Dennis was right. I would regret it more if I didn't go.
"I'll pack a bag and uh..." I stopped unsure of the destination, "Where am I going?"
"It's outside of Chicago. I can text you the info when were done."
I planned it out quickly in my head, eager to do anything other than think about the circumstances. "I can take some time off work and drive out in the morning. I should make it out there early evening."
"Give me a ring when you make it into town." He added, "There are some things with the new draft of his will that I'd like to speak to the three of you about."
I almost nodded blankly into the phone, until I realized, "The three of us?"
"You, Kathryn and Selina," he explained, obviously confused at my inability to comprehend.
My stunned silence gave way to the obvious question, "Who?"
"Your half-sisters," his stunned reply. My half-sisters? My mind had trouble tracking. "I knew you didn't speak, but I just assumed you knew. He told me he spoke to your mother a few times over the years, but..."
"I never knew," she never told me?
The conversation faded from there. I was more than a little shocked. It was still evening, so I called my boss and told him I needed some time off to deal with family. I wrote a check for November, despite it being the 7th of October, and slipped it in my landlords drop box. My bag was packed before my head hit the pillow.
I sent a text to Mom before I fell asleep.
*I have two sisters?!!!*
Her reply was an actual phone call. Surprising for sure, but I didn't answer. A few minutes later there was no voicemail and no text. I sighed and tried to sleep.
I managed a couple hours, not the worst thing being that I intended to get on the road early for the 8-hour drive. I slammed half a pot of coffee, throwing the rest into a thermos and hit the road after a light breakfast.
Mom called again on the road. I answered this time, and listened in for an hour of excuses as to why she never told me. He had tried to contact me through her. He wanted me to meet his family. She blocked every attempt. I wanted to rage, but I found out quickly there was some bad blood between them. He had left her, left me and didn't look back for almost five years until the first call. Others rarely broke past a shouting match. She hated him for leaving. He hated her for keeping him away. She hated herself for keeping me away. He hated himself for leaving. It was a vicious cycle between them. One, I thought, could've been remedied fairly easily just by letting me know, but neither of them could manage it.
To be succinct, the call left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I began to understand both sides, but I didn't agree with either. It definitely explained some things growing up, but it didn't leave me pleased with either of them.
The email app on my phone dinged to an email from her, after she hung up. It was a number of digital pictures. So, at twenty-two years old, I saw my sisters for the first time. And saw my father for what felt like the first time. I spent a half hour at a rest station flipping through them. I want to say it made me happy, but honestly, a large part of me resented them.
The pictures seemed to show a happy little family, recent ones missing their Mom. I suddenly felt sorry for them. I even felt a little warm thinking about meeting my sisters. If I am being honest, even a little about meeting my father.
I hit the road again with the music loud enough to drown out at least handful of my thoughts.
Chapter 3:
