Fomalhaut

2. My dad is a ball of gas ... cool.

Opelousas, LA

I wake up to the smell of bacon and I frown in confusion. Finn has this weird thing about pork and bacon and hates the smell, so no matter how much he loves me like his own, he'd never be able to make bacon for me without throwing up. So it's not him in the kitchen. But my mom is away for a meeting, so who the heck is in my house cooking pig?

I stagger into the kitchen with a toothbrush pointed outwards like a weapon. I didn't really have time to make a shiv, so I'm improvising.

But, when I enter the kitchen, I see my mom, clear as day, making bacon and nodding her head to the song playing through her earbuds. Her dirty blonde hair, tips dip-dyed azure, hangs in a wavy ponytail. Her skin is tan because of all the time she spends in the sun, being a game warden and all that. I know we look a lot alike, save for a few differences, like the fact that I like to wear my hair down or that mom is missing an eye due to a birth defect and wears a prosthetic.

Back to the situation at hand, I watch, confused, as she dumps the bacon onto a plate with a paper towel to soak up the grease. I set the toothbrush down on the table and walk towards her slowly. "Mom?" I ask and she spins around, pulling an earbud out of her ear. She gives me a smile.

"Morning, sleepyhead. You slept in, for once." She chuckled, even though we both know the reason I slept in.

I smile, albeit awkwardly, and move to sit down at the bar that cuts off the kitchen from the living room. She sets a plate of bacon, eggs seasoned with pepper and onion powder, and a patty of sausage in front of me. I pop some bacon into my mouth and watch as she makes her own plate.

"So ... what happened to the super important meeting that you needed to sleep for?" I ask her, almost accusatory. Mom just pauses halfway into her seat, closing her eyes and sighing. She sits down fully and looks up at me from across the bar.

"I called in sick," she answers, though her face is shifty. She twists a piece of bacon around her fork and then stabs some of her fried eggs, shoveling the entire bite into her mouth to avoid saying anymore.

There is a silence between us for a few moments before I clear my throat, coming to a decision.

"Listen, mom, something ... happened last night and I want–"

"They've found you, haven't they?"

I blink and set down my fork. "Excuse me?"

Mom just pushes her plate away and rests her face in the palms of her hands. She seems sad, in a way, which is weird. I'm so used to seeing her all happy after she married Finn that I'd forgotten what she'd been like all those years after she had left my father, my actual father that is.

"Finn told me, he told me this would happen and then last night, when he'd woken me up and said they'd found you ... I'd hoped it was a dream, I just ..." She cries into her hands and I reach across the bar to touch her, to let her know I was there.

She takes my hand into hers and presses it against her check, sniffling as I shift awkwardly in my seat. I've never really seen my mom cry like this before. Sure, we've all watched sad movies and cried a little when the dog dies, but this was different.

"I just wanted you to be safe," she finishes.

"But I am safe, mom," I insist.

She shakes her head. "No, honey, you're not. And it's all his fault."

I drop her hand in confusion. "'Whose fault? Finn's?"

"No. Your...'' she hesitates, before reluctantly sighing, her shoulders dropping. "..it's your father's fault," she admits.