Ave Maria

I stared at the picture. My mind was racing. One would expect a gift card on Christmas day, I think.

From an outsider's perspective, it wasn't that crazy. A man, a woman, and in between them, a baby.

The man was my father, the woman was his girlfriend, and the baby was now my half sister. 

"Oh."

"You have a half sister," my father grinned in front of me, expectant. 

"Yeah I can see that," I muttered, unable to help myself. I was shocked that whatever filter that I had in my brain was short-circuiting. 

Maybe that's why he invited me to a coffee shop. Somewhere public so he could break the news and the public could contain me, control my reaction. Instead of his apartment or in the car.

"What's her name?"

"Ava Marie."

The name alone broke my daze and I felt a bizarre grin drift onto my face. 

"You mean, like, Ave Maria?"

"Yeah, cool right?" he said nodding, taking back the picture. He mistook my grin for enjoyment, in reality, I found it hilarious and stupid. Out of all the names she could've picked, all the girl names in the world, she picked Ava Marie. It was a fine name, just stupid. 

"Yeah. She's cute," my voice to my own ears sounded terribly bored. I fixed a smile on my face, taking a sip of my coffee. I was going to need a bigger cup or another shot. 

"Isn't she?" He stared at the picture with great pride. 

I was raging with so much jealousy, I would have to ask Jesus to forgive me tomorrow morning. I was so angry. I didn't see red, but I felt red. 

"Are you going to marry her?" I couldn't help to not be blunt. 

His smile faltered, and he placed the photo back in his wallet. I wished he kept a photo of me in his wallet. 

"I don't know. Maybe. Her parents don't want me to."

"Mm." I nodded. I took another fat sip, feeling it burn my tongue. 

I was talking to a very old child. He was in his fifties and he was talking to me like I was both his therapist and his wife. Sometimes, I thought that all he saw me as was my mother, his first wife. I picked out his clothes for him and he told me things that I really could care less about. He would take me to church, introduce me, and I would feel like the doll that my mother had been.

"So what does it mean? I mean, are you going to pay child support?"

He took a deep sigh, "That's the issue. I have to go to court in order to prove that I'm a," he raised his fingers into quotation marks, "a fit father. They asked for my divorce papers but I said no, that's private."

More like they would prove you're a shit father. 

"You may have to testify too."

"What." 

What the fuck. 

"Say that I'm a good father, that we hang out, that I pay for things, stuff like that."

He kept talking but all I could focus on was the rant in my head. He never called, barely answered my texts, locked me out of the house one time, broke our car, sold it without telling us, cheated on my mother, stole money, committed fraud, lied. It's easier to tell the things he didn't do, really. 

"-visitation rights. I want to see her on weekends, and whether Cassidy can be there or not, I just want to have time with her and bond."

I leaned back. Screw caffeine, I needed a strong drink. 

"Visitation rights," I said blankly. "Right."

When my parents divorced, he fought for our money. But now he has a second chance, a way to start over, a new life. I couldn't take it, my fists were shaking and my nails were starting to sink into my palms. 

I stood up, the chair scraping loudly. "I need to use the bathroom, be right back. Caffeine, you know." And left. 

I sat on the toilet, just staring. The air conditioning whirred around in my head, and the buzz was comforting in an annoying way. More of a distraction, if anything. 

I leaned my head against the cold stall door, and just breathed. Air in, air out, over and over again. 

The dream I had a couple of months ago made a lot for sense now. I dreamed that I held a baby. I remember it in my hands, it was so little. 

Maybe that baby was my sister. 

My stomach lurched and twisted and expanded all at once. I jerked up, turned around, and promptly threw up, squeezing my eyes shut as the vomit splattered against the ceramic bowl and my knees shook against the linoleum tiles. 

I was going to have to pay for another cup of coffee, I staggeredly thought. Crap. 

Combing my hair back, I breathed again, straightening up. Wiping my mouth, I stood up and flushed, unlocked the door, washed my hands, smiled at myself to lock in the position, and left. 

I sat back down at our table, my father was still drinking his coffee. 

"Her middle name is Lin, you know."

I needed a bowl. I was going to hurdle again. 

"Like, my last name? Like Mom's last name?"

"Yeah, so that you guys are always connected."

"Why?"

He shrugged, "I don't know.”

I finished my coffee, hoping that it was enough. Thinking for a minute, I sighed. Coffee on Christmas Day looked perfect in that aspect, but I wish I was still sleeping. 

"I don't have to testify right? I could just... choose not to, right?"

"See, that I don't think so. They might send a subpoena to you or to your Mom. So you'll have to come in and testify. I don't want you too, but," he spread his hands as if helpless. 

I frowned. I was no lawyer, but that couldn't be true. In criminal law, yeah, subpoenas are important. But in civil law, they weren't really. I was pretty sure, from what I knew about the previous divorce, you could just... not. Say no.

"Hm." Was all I said. I felt very tired, bone deep tired. Exhausted, catatonic, sleepy, dumb. 

Maybe I was dreaming one of my very realistic dreams again. Maybe I would wake up a second later and smile because I was in my room, in my bed, warmed in the covers. 

My brain told me I wasn't. I got ready that morning, did my hair, did my makeup, met my father, ordered, smiled pretty so the male barista would give me three dollars off as a discount, and threw it all up a minute later. 

"She's also wanting to send her to private school," he sighed, waggling his eyebrows. "I mean, I could care less about that-"

I tuned him out again. He was nailing my coffin, was I dead yet?

He sounded like he didn't care, but deep inside, he was skipping in a field of flowers with joy, high on the fact that his new lover was younger, richer, and had a baby that was his. 

I had a baby sister. A baby sister that shared my name from a mother who had the same name as my own mother, who would receive gifts and treatment and have a better life than I ever could get, where she had a house and a family. 

I threw up all over the glass table.