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Robert: The owner is a long-time friend. We served in the army together.

Becca: Wow, okay. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at 9:30.

Robert: Great! Talk soon.

I don’t reply. I plug the phone into the car charger and turn up the radio. The temperature inside is finally a few degrees warmer than the outside. I drive to Riggins with a flood of thoughts.

My father also has a story. We all do. We’re telling ourselves stories and listening to other people's stories, and sometimes those stories don't go together. Sometimes two stories have chapters that don't overlap until much later.

This is the kind of story I have with my father. There’s a prologue, and then we skip straight to chapter twenty-two. Looking at my life as chapters, only written as I go along, makes it easier to look forward. But looking back becomes that much harder because I get to see how well I didn’t do.

I spent so many years blaming my mother for everything that happened to me. And yes, she was responsible for a lot of things. Her neglect, her hateful words, what she allowed to happen right under her roof. But if I'm being honest with myself, when I was older, I could have chosen differently. I could have asked for help. I didn't have to believe the stories my mother or Theodore told me. There comes a time when one has to take responsibility for their actions.

The only way to move forward is to leave the past behind.

I can choose to be who I want to be. I can create a new story.

A story in which I'm worthy of love.

So, I say yes to meeting my father again.

I say yes to the love he wants to give me.

I say yes to starting a new story.

It terrifies me.

Chapter Nineteen

Waffle Bear is madness,especially on a Saturday morning. The parking lot behind the two-story log cabin-style restaurant is full, and I maneuver my car to the back where I find a spot under a tree bare of leaves. The naked branches reach for the sky like fingers looking for the warmth of sunlight in the chilly morning.

“I know how you feel, tree.” I shake my head. “Great. Now I’m talking to trees too. If I didn’t need therapy before, I do now.”

I step out of my car and lock the door. Tilting my face up, much like the tree, I soak up the weak warmth. The cornflower sky is clear of clouds.

My phone vibrates, breaking the moment.

Robert: I’m here. By the big bear.

I pocket my phone without answering and walk around to the front of the building. Despite the chilly morning, there are people everywhere with pagers in hand waiting for their turn.

I visited Waffle Bear only once before during my first year at Riggins. River treated me to the best breakfast I’ve ever had. Now I’m here again in my last year at Riggins. If my father hadn’t invited me, I don’t know that I would have returned. I’m in the habit of denying myself things I love. The insight digs into my brain. Learning my worth is a battle I must wage against myself.

I find my father next to the big bear—a nine-foot grizzly carved out of a single log. My heart speeds up, and I scratch at my chest. He looks younger than forty in dark jeans, a T-shirt and a gray jacket.

A smile lights up his face as soon as he sees me, and my steps falter. I cover my hesitation with a wave.

“You’re here!” He steps closer, arms out as if welcoming me with a hug. I stop short of reaching him, shove my hands in my jacket pockets. This is much too soon for touching. Even if a part of me craves the love and attention he wants to give me.

“Yep. I’m here.” I look around at all the waiting people milling and huddled into each other. Couples, friends, families. No one could guess that this is only my third time meeting my father.

He gestures to the door, smiling at me still—his whole heart shines in the crinkles of his eyes, in the curve of his mouth—he’s happy I’m here. A part of me wants to do something mean and wipe the joy from his face. But I stop myself. Repeat the question that’s now a mantra, a prayer, a guiding light in my web of self-harm and misdirection.

What is the truth?

Who’s the real me beneath all the crap and all the lies I tell myself?

I find comfort in the question. It keeps me in check, giving me something to hold on to and stop me from drowning in misery.