Down From the Clouds Read Online Free PDF Page B

the empty dining room. My phone beeped again.
    "You can get it," she said.
    "You know how I feel about letting technology interfere with life."
    It beeped again.
    "Might be important."
    "Nothing is important enough."
    I took it out to silence it and saw a bazillion missed calls from Matt. Not like him to call so much. They must've been back already.
    "It's Matt," I said. "Maybe I will call him back. Is that okay?"
    "More than okay."
    She unpacked a box as I dialed.
    "Gavin," he said. "Did you see the news?"
    "What news? Are you back already?"
    "We're on the way home from the airport. When we were there I saw something on the news. You never told me your dad went missing."
    "You never asked."
    "Well, he's not missing anymore."
    My stomach rose to my mouth. I waited to hear those words since I was five. Other dads dropped their kids off at school, taught them to ride a bike, tie their shoes, and fly kites. Not mine. He disappeared and chose to desert me. I told myself I'd never let him back in. I wished he were dead. I didn't want him to show up again. I didn't want to face what he did to me. I didn't want a dad.
    "Are you sure it's him?"
    Ella stopped and looked up at me.
    "Has to be. He said he came back because of his dad’s health and he wanted to meet his son, who happens to be named Gavin Kessler."
    "Okay."
    "We'll talk later. Check the news."
    "I'd rather not."
    "How do you feel about it?"
    "I don't."
    "Right. The ever mysterious wonder."
    We hung up and Ella inched toward me. "Your dad is back?"
    "Apparently."
    "And you don't want to meet him?"
    "No."
    She sensed my defensiveness. I didn't want to take it out on her. Didn't want her to see the anger and bitterness I held inside because of that man, that man who decided after three decades of lost memories he was going to show up and apologize and have a son again? No way in hell.
    Ella touched my arm, kissed my neck, and whispered in my ear. "I'm here if you want to talk."
    I didn't. "I'm sorry. I just don't think I want to give him the honor of being talked about."
    She pressed her cheek against mine and wrapped her arms around my neck. "I love you."
    "I love you, too."
     

     
    There are many sides to all of us. There's the side we show the world. The one that cleans up a messy house before guests arrive, but not for our own spouse. The one that holds a phone in front of our faces for hours, snapping a thousand pictures until we find one good enough for Facebook. This is the side we want others to see. Then there's the real side of us. The side of us buried inside that few people find. Some of us pretend to reveal our true colors. We pride ourselves in being "authentic" and "transparent," touting our flaws like there's no tomorrow, except we choose the flaws we want to show the world in our "transparency." What a joke, really.
    Then there's the side no one knows, not even ourselves. The side we suppress and shove so deep inside that we forget about it. Meeting this side of myself didn't appeal to me. Scared the life out of me. I didn't want to find flaws I didn't know existed. Real flaws that I didn't want to parade around. These are the things that make us who we are, the very things we want to hide from everyone around us as we pretend to be someone else. Someone we wish we could be, and all the while miss out on living our own life, real life.
    I don't know about you, or anyone else for that matter, but for me it felt safe to hide behind the person I wished I could be. It was easier. Joy could be turned on like a light switch. I liked life this way. The idea of my boat being shaken by a storm at sea didn't appeal to me. Ye of little faith.
    That's me.
    I didn't want to change, but when a quick-talking detective called to ask if I'd like to set up a day to reunite with Harold Kessler I knew there would come a time when choice no longer existed. Change was about to grip me by the neck and shake me until I consented.
    I said, "No, thank you," and hung up the phone.