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Journal

Gosh, where has the time gone?

Finn, if you are reading this… you’re probably looking at the dates and wondering where the hell I have been and what’s been going on the last five years!

You’re old enough now to know that I have been desperately trying to reach you.

Unfortunately, the last time I was allowed to speak to you on the phone was at least three years ago.

You’re so young, I don’t know how best to get ahold of you.

If you have a cell phone, I don’t have your number.

If you’ve moved… I don’t have the address.

I don’t even have a phone number to your mom’s house to try and get in touch with you.

All my cards, letters, and postcards have been returned to me.

I hope you are well and, truth be told, hope your mom is well too.

Brock thinks that maybe she is in a relationship with someone else and doesn’t want to be bothered with me. I truly hope that’s the case.

Please know, I have prayed that you have been happy, healthy, and living the life I wished I’d been able to provide you.

Having said that… I am no longer holding out much hope you will ever see this journal.

Part of me is now writing it to you and to myself.

There are things that I have been doing and feeling lately that I can’t explain and don’t fully understand.

However, I am happy. For the first time, I can truly say I know what happiness feels like.

Although, it would be much better if you were here.

Since, this journal has turned into a way for me to process my feelings… even more so than a letter to my son, I am going to talk about something personal going on in my life. Finn … I hope I don’t scare you away with what I am about to admit.

Brock and I were drinking wine one evening.

I think we’d each consumed a full bottle.

We were laughing and enjoying ourselves, talking about our past and future plans.

It was nice. Real nice. I felt that I’d had enough to drink and when I stood up, I was definitely tipsy.

I wobbled a bit and Brock being Brock, jumped up from his seat to try and steady me.

We ended up embracing… he held me in his arms and for the first time in my life, I felt whole. I can’t explain it very well, lord knows I’ve never been good with my words, but at that moment, in the firelight, we kissed.

My heart melted. My knees felt weak.

I pulled away and hurried away to my room where I locked the door, sat on my bed, and cried. I don’t know what this means about me. Brock and I have not spoken of it since that night. Was he too drunk to even remember? Good God, I know I wasn’t.

If I’m being honest with myself, I can’t stop thinking about him…

or at least that moment. When I close my eyes, I can feel his lips pressed against mine.

Just writing this little note in my journal has made my heart go pitter patter like in those damn cartoons kids watch.

You know the ones, where the character’s heart is pounding out of his chest and little hearts replace his eyes?

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. There’s a part of me that hopes writing this down and putting it out into the universe, will help me find answers to my questions. Help me understand why I have the feelings I have and why they feel so right.

One of the biggest questions is, why now? Why at my age am I feeling these things?

I close my father’s journal and place it on the bed next to me. My mind is racing a thousand miles an hour. I can’t make sense of what I am thinking. Was my dad bisexual? Had he just come out to me in the journal? Clearly, he had feelings for Brock. Then it hit me… Brock was Wyatt’s dad.

What kind of weird twist of fate have I fallen into? I slept with my father’s boyfriend’s son—and I absolutely loved it. Does that somehow make Wyatt and I stepbrothers? I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to clear my mind.

It didn’t work. Not by a long shot.

Do I tell Wyatt? Is everything going to be weird between us now? Does he know that his dad and mine were possibly sleeping together?

It was just one kiss between my father and his, after all.