All I Ask(31)

Have I really never said it? “I guess. I mean, once you’re off to college it would be nice to have a plan.”

Since I doubt painting is ever going to be anything more than just an outlet, a backup seems necessary.

“Why haven’t you mentioned it?” Dad asks.

“Why would I?”

“Because we could’ve helped.”

Now I’m stunned. “Helped how? You and Mom have been going on and on about me being independent and caring for Chastity on my own, which I’ve managed to do. Why would I think that was an option?”

“You have been the one that demanded handling Chastity on your own, honey.”

Is he crazy? “How?”

“You moved out of this house, for one,” Mom says with a sarcastic laugh. “You wanted nothing to do with us and having a built-in support system. You couldn’t sign those papers fast enough releasing Keith from—”

“Don’t!” I slap my hand on the table. “Don’t talk about him in front of her.”

This is the one thing I’ve done my best to shield Chastity from. She knows who her father is. She sees his stupid ass on television and hears all about what a hero he is for this stupid town. I don’t lie to her, but I don’t talk about what happened between him and me.

“Mom, it’s fine.” Chastity tries to calm the situation, but there’s not a chance of that.

“None of your life had to be this way,” Mom says. “You could’ve had a different future, but you were so damn sure you could do this on your own.”

And here it is. The talk of how I did this all to myself. That I signed away the right to be pissed at him.

“Yes, I know, Mom. Keith is the saint who did the right thing by all of us out of the kindness of his heart.”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t for your own good. You were always so thick-headed.”

I shake my head. “What about the fact that he could show up at any point? He knows where we are. I see his mother once a week, right? It’s not like they don’t know that Chastity is their granddaughter, but…it’s me.”

My mother busies herself with her food. “They’re honoring your wishes.”

“My wishes?” I yell and slam my fork down. “My wishes? Are you serious?”

None of this was my wish. I didn’t wish for him to never pay a dime after she was born, and then once the paternity was established—as if there was any doubt he was the father—tell me that I had two choices, thanks to his fucking agent. Either he would fight me for full custody and make my life a living hell or I let him out of all responsibilities and never have to worry about any interference from him again.

I was ready to fight him. He was signing his big football contract in a few weeks. That’s when the floor dropped out. I had to choose, either I let him walk away from all parental rights or they leaked the tape that I regret more than anything, ruining my life and having the shame follow me and Chastity for our entire lives.

“Mom, please.” Chastity stands. “Please, I really don’t care. He doesn’t care about me and I don’t even think about him.”

Protecting her has been the only thing I’ve ever given a shit about. “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with anything regarding him.”

“Well, you made that her reality when you got pregnant.” My mother’s words feel like a slap across the face.

I start to say something, to defend myself, and demand that she stop this. I can take the fault for a lot, but I’m tired of the blame for getting pregnant being completely on me.

My father clears his throat. “I think we all need to calm down. Meredith”—he turns to my mother—“Teagan has done a good job raising Chastity, we should at least acknowledge that much. She’s handled her situation better than most and I, for one, am proud of her.”

“Yes, but think of how much easier it would’ve been if she hadn’t pushed Keith away.”

I shove out from the table. “I need a few minutes,” I say as I get to my feet. “Please excuse me.”

“Mom.”

“No, it’s fine.” Her brown eyes, the ones that match her piece-of-shit father’s, stare back at me. I see the displeasure in them and give her a reassuring smile. My daughter shouldn’t feel bad. “I’m okay. I just need…to think.”

I don’t wait for a reply, I head out the back door and go to the only place I can ever feel any sort of peace…the beach.

*



I wish I had my paint. There are so many emotions at war inside of me and painting is my vessel that allows me to extract them. It’s cathartic to feel pain and paint with red to emulate the hurt. Each color gives a visible voice to what I feel.

I need to find my voice.

My house is close and I rush there, grabbing the canvas and paints, not looking at what I grab, not caring because every color on the rainbow is appropriate.

I’m moving quickly, needing that release because if I don’t, I might burst.

Painting has calmed me since I started. It was something Nina talked me into trying a few years ago, but it quickly became my form of therapy.

I get to the shoreline, tossing my supplies on the blanket, and sit.