Finding Me by Stephanie Rose

holiday, an excited greeting from my friend Barb telling me to make sure to call her the second ‘my ass is back in the five boroughs’ and a random email with the name Christensen listed in the return address. My cousin Janice was the only person I still spoke to from my father’s side after my grandparents passed away, but she rarely emailed me. I usually spoke to her through text.
    I opened the message, and my stomach dropped. My phone shook in my quivering hand as I kept reading.
     
    Hi Bella,
    I know it’s been a long time, but I’d really like to see you. Janice gave me your email address. I’m still in Chicago, but I’m moving back to New York in January. I could meet you near Culver after the holidays. You must have a lot of questions, but I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to explain.
    I hope to hear from you soon.
    Daddy
     
    Daddy? Rage burned my insides. He had balls bigger than the Empire State Building. I hadn’t seen or heard from Marc since I was six years old; no phone calls on special days, no cards on holidays, no acknowledgement of any kind. He moved to Chicago and forgot I existed. I was very young, but my hazy memories of him weren’t exactly warm.
    When someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally—especially a parent—casts you aside, it leaves an indelible mark. I was thankful that Lucas, the man I called Dad and the only real father I ever had, turned a lot of the damage around when he came into our lives. But a rejection like that never really goes away. It colors your thinking in ways you don’t realize. Maybe that’s why I let Christian treat me so badly before we broke up instead of just ending it. Somewhere in my psyche, I accepted it as normal because of the way I was pushed aside as a little girl.
    I had Daddy issues that translated into guy issues, and it was so cliché it made my empty stomach turn with disgust.
    Marc knew my email address and where I went to school. Why was Janice so free with that information, and when did she start speaking to Marc in the first place? A little warning would have been nice. Shutting my eyes, I dropped my head back with a groan. I was annoyed at Janice, mad at Marc, and totally clueless as to how to handle any of the mess suddenly dropped into my lap.
    “Miss?” A concerned whisper from the passenger beside me made me jump. My eyes darted to her concerned gaze. She reminded me of my grandmother—my father’s mother, ironically enough—with her perfectly coiffed hair and stern expression.
    “I’m sorry to pry, but the color just drained from your face and you’re shaking. You look as if you saw a ghost.” She offered a concerned smile and squeezed my hand. That was exactly it; an unwelcomed ghost from my distant past reached out to me and screwed up my head with a four line email message. “Are you all right?”
    I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thank you, but I’m okay. I haven’t really eaten anything today and didn’t sleep last night. I’ll eat the granola bar in my bag and I should be fine.” I forced a smile and an exaggerated nod.
    The last thing I wanted to do was eat. Why couldn’t I turn back time a few hours? I wanted to lay my head on Owen’s hard but cozy chest and feel the security of his arms around me. I wanted to be excited about seeing my parents and little brother. Marc Christensen crawled out of the hole he was residing in for almost thirteen years and turned my world upside down. I let my heavy eyelids drop and I tried to forget the new complication in my life before I surrendered to sleep. Some ghosts should stay gone forever.

    The train pulled into Grand Central Station fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I hopped on the seven train and headed to my neighborhood in Queens. My nap calmed me down and gave me clarity. I wouldn’t answer Marc until I planned what I would write. My first inclination was to say go screw yourself, but I’d regret not at least hearing what he had to say. I