Under the Bridge

chapter fifty eight- "the stars"

I AM TRYING TO MAKE SENSE OF EVERYTHING, but that doesn't work when none of the puzzle pieces fit together. He said that my grandmother told him about something that happened when my mother left, but left where? 

Also, why would he know my grandmother? I've met the woman once, and I was about five. All I can remember was a fighting match between her and my mother, a tall, skinny woman with nimble fingers and cheap clothes. 

I'd think it was when she left home, but my mom skipped two grades and went to college at sixteen. This man, however, wouldn't be coming for his high school sweetheart. My mom spent her childhood at prestigious private schools, unless he's some burnout, the likelihood of her dating someone lower class, especially with scholarships to maintain and a life to escape, all seems irrational. 

I can't seem to piece together who this man is, and I especially cannot tell why I recognize his dusty blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. The softness of his nose, the smile lines on his face, all seem perfectly familiar, and yet, I can't pinpoint who he is and what his relation to my mother could be. 

I sink back against the pillow on my bed, pulling a blanket over my body and opening up my Laptop. With shaking hands, I begin to type Eric Keller into the search engine. Begrudgingly, all of the pages that come up don't seem to match, all of the pictures look unfamiliar. Facebook shows a number of men, all of whom fail to meet the basic description of the man at my door. 

I sigh. 

There's nothing, no information, no clues, just a man and my mother. I try another search, Monica Bear and Eric Keller, only to find portraits of my mother and her company, but no Eric. 

For some reason, my eyes water in frustration. 

I consider leaving, calling Liam and pretending this didn't happen, ditching the rest of today for a concert that I'm probably not emotionally equipped for and going on a destructive, reckless spiral. My brain feels fuzzy. 

Back when I was on medication, I felt like this all time time, like I was on the brink of collapse, but not quite there. When I stopped taking the pills, it was like the floodgates opened, but at some point, the water ran out, and I was okay again, at least, as much as I can be. 

Today, with Elle and James, makes me feel stupid. How could she not know? Does she not care? Why is he going after her? Is it genuine interest or petty revenge? Should I even interfere? Is it bad I haven't interfered already? 

I think I am crying now, at least, silently, but my brain is in tune to my surroundings. I can hear voices, vague yelling that's inaudible from behind my door. I slowly creep out of bed, using my forgotten cup of tea as an excuse to climb back down the stairs and quietly sneaking down the stairs, careful to remain just in earshot but not in sight. 

"You left without a trace! We were supposed to have a life together! I thought I was over all of this, but then I find out that you've been hiding a daughter for eighteen years! My daughter, who I would have been happy to know," Eric shouts. 

I feel nausea hit me from all angles. 

My mother, who told me I was the child of a sperm donation, lied to me. I was not a project, meant to fulfill the company's needs. I was an accident, a mistake with a perfectly living, breathing, father. One who I hadn't even known existed. 

It makes sense. My face is softer than my mother's, my lips are plumper. My nose is longer and more round. All of these features are shared with Eric, as well as the freckles, which dot both of our skin like ink on a canvas. All three of us have blonde hair and blue eyes, a homozygous recessive trait, whose likelihood of being selected was amplified by his addition to the equation.