Page 28 of Sinful Abandon

I have yoga pants on and a glass of vodka in my hand in no time.

I’m standing in my kitchen, the UPS mailer on the counter. It’s the contract for the investigator I hired to find my dad. I don’t know why I’m even doing this. The man can rot on the streets for all I care. He’s a despicable human being who treats women like shit.

Especially his daughter.

“I got you a job. Dancing,” he said one night, drunk off his ass.

His wifebeater was riding up, causing his gut to appear between his shirt and his jeans. His denim button-down was open and hanging around his bulging stomach.

I was only fifteen, but I knew exactly what kind of dancing he was referring to. “Dancing where?”

“Pinkies in Astoria.” He had a look of pride on his face.

My history book was lying in front of me as I tried to study, so I could actually go to college and not be a stripper at the club where his current girlfriend danced.

“I’m underage,” I said with disgust.

He waved me off and started walking toward his room. “They all are.”

“You’re a pig,” I called after him.

“And you’re useless.” He slammed the door behind him.

I push the contract in the trash and walk into my living room. A barren room, void of any reference to life or family. It’s just filled with things.

I fall to my knees and open the bottom door of the entertainment unit. Inside is a bronze box, ornate in detail, with rose filigree. I open it and take out the only personal artifacts of my childhood.

At the top is a newborn hospital hat. It has a smear of dried blood on it, obviously the one I wore the day I was born. I hold it in my hands and feel the soft fabric between my fingers. It used to smell like baby powder. Now, it just smells stale, like it’s been trapped in a box for three decades.

Next, I take out a tiny pink bear with the words Mommy’s Little Cub written on the belly. I’d like to think she loved me once upon a time in order to have kept these things. I’ve thought about hiring someone to find her, but I never will. She left me. She might not have wanted him, but she deserted her only child.

I push past a few knickknacks—most from school, like a medal for winning the science fair and an eraser set given to me by the first boy I ever had a crush on. I don’t know why I still have it, but I do.

At the bottom of the box is a picture. It’s faded, and it has my fingerprints indented on it. In the photo is a man. He has shaggy dark hair that falls around his ears and a mustache that rounds down to his chin. He looks like he’s sleeping, but he’s not. His eyes are closed in a peaceful moment, a smile on his lips. In his arms is a sleeping baby, snuggled close to his chest, content and safe in her father’s embrace.

It’s a picture of me and my dad.

I don’t know what happened or why he changed. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that, for one fleeting moment, a moment long enough for someone to grab a camera and take a picture, he loved me.

I’m sure my parents had no idea when they named me, but heather is a plant that thrives in decaying lands. That’s me. Thriving in a home that slowly fell apart each year until there was nothing left but sadness and pain.

I place everything back in the box and close the door. With my back against the wall, I bring my knees to my chest and stare at the carpet. The same carpet I danced on with a beautiful man, feeling right for the first time in my life.

A man who, despite only knowing him for one night, has captured my soul and made it flourish in his light.

A man who I wish I would stop dreaming about.

A man who I secretly wish I could be with.

A man who I need to stay far away from.

It’s been four weeks since Ryan started his internship, which also means it’s been four weeks of enduring certain office chatter.

“What are they feeding these boys these days?”

“They didn’t look like that when I was in college.”

“Forget compliance. I’d risk my job for one night with that.”