Still woozy, I squat down and inhale deeply. “What are the theories?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you,” she says, eyeing me warily. “You already look like you’re about to hack your guts up.”
“I feel like I’m going to hack my guts up.”
“Here.” She crouches down in front of me and offers me her cigarette.
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t smoke.”
“I know, but a drag or two might help you chill out.”
The smoke burns my nostrils as I take the cigarette from her hands. My fingers shake as I lift the end to my lips and inhale.
“Holy shit, that burns,” I say through a fitful of coughs as my lungs drown in smoke.
Indigo laughs in amusement as she removes the cigarette from my hands. “Sorry. I probably should’ve warned you first. I thought going in blind might make it more exciting for you.” She sits down in the grass and takes a few drags as I catch my breath.
Once I no longer feel like a ninja used my lungs as a punching bag, I settle in the grass beside her.
“I wanna hear your theories. In fact, I need to hear them. Otherwise, I’ll come up with my own, and my head is full of all sorts of crazy already.”
She sighs heavily. “I was hoping the whole smoking thing would distract you from that.”
Shaking my head, I pick at the grass. “How can I think of anything else when it sounds like I was … adopted?”
“Is that what you think that was about?” she asks, squinting at the highway in front of us.
“Um, yeah.” I massage my temples as my head pulsates.
All this time, I knew I didn’t quite fit in with my family, that I was an outcast, different. And yeah, the thought crossed my mind that maybe I was adopted, but the thought was never out of seriousness.
“What else could it be?”
She grazes her thumb across the end of the cigarette, scattering ashes all over the grass. “It could be adoption … or it could be that maybe your …” She looks at me with pity in her eyes. “Have you ever wondered why your mom treats you like shit?”
“You’ve noticed that?”
“Isa, everyone who’s ever crossed paths with the two of you knows there’s tension between you and your mother.”
“Tension from her,” I point out. “I try to be nice, but she acts like I’m some sort of vile reptile or something.”
She puts her cigarette between her lips, and smoke laces the air as she gazes off at the highway again. “I have this theory that maybe the reason she’s always treated you like shit is because maybe you remind her of a shitty time in her life … Maybe something shitty your dad did to her that kind of led to the procreation of you.”
It takes a second or two to process what she’s implying.
“Wait … You think …” I shake my head. “No, there’s no way. My dad didn’t have an affair … He wouldn’t do that to my mom, trust me. He does everything she says. Sometimes, too much.”
Her brows arch. “He wouldn’t, huh? Okay, I guess my theory’s wrong.”
I shake my head, while inside, the wheels are turning. All those times my mother looked at me with such disdain, and sometimes jealousy, are starting to make sense.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” she says then mutters, “Although, I don’t know why since your mom’s a bitch.” She clears her throat. “You have to admit it kind of makes sense.”
I lower my head into my hands. “None of this makes sense. Where did you even get this theory? Did you just pull it out of your ass, or is it based on some sort of legit info?”
“I heard a rumor,” she says. “Or, well, I overheard my mom and dad gossiping about your family once, and my mom said something about the ‘other woman,’ and how it was a good thing your dad didn’t leave you with her.”
Wide-eyed, I lift my head and gape at her. “How long ago was this?”
She shrugs as she puts the cigarette out in a patch of dirt. “I don’t know. Like, a few years ago or something.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”
“Isa, this is, like, the longest the two of us have talked. Usually, at reunions, your family stays in a hotel and spends a whole lot of time sitting around in the corner with your noses stuck in the air like a bunch of snobs.”
“My mom makes me do that.” It hits me as I say it, like a bull charging straight into my stomach. “Wait. Am I even supposed to call her Mom?” I push to my feet and pace in front of Indigo, reaching full-on crazy panic mode. “Or am I supposed to call her Lynn. Oh, my God, I just realized that my sister’s middle name is after my mom’s first name, yet I’m named after no one. It has to be true.” I crouch down again as my legs turn into Jell-O. “I don’t even know who my mom is.”
“Hey, chill out.” She scoots toward me to catch my gaze. “My theory is just a theory. And I should probably tell you that I had a theory that Grandpa was reincarnated into Beastie.” She smiles as I blink at her.
Wow. She sounds as crazy as … well, me.
“What? They have the same eyes, okay? And you have to admit it’d be pretty cool if reincarnation existed.”
“That mean, old cat isn’t Grandpa,” I say. “But I get what you’re saying. I need to get some answers before I have a meltdown.”
“Or, you could just skip the meltdown and use this as an opportunity,” she suggests with a smile.
“An opportunity for what?”
“To take a self-discovering journey.”
“I already know who I am.”
She inspects my outfit with her brows raised. “I’m not sure I agree with you.”
I tug on the bottom of my hoodie. “Just because I dress a little different doesn’t mean I don’t know who I am.”
Her head slants to the side as she studies me. “Okay, answer this for me: what’s the most exciting thing you’ve ever done?”
“I don’t know.” I try to think of something, and it’s pretty dang sad how hard it is to come up with anything. “I entered a comic book contest once. That was really cool.”
“I’m not talking about doing stuff that’s cool. I’m talking about stuff that’s exciting. Like, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-at-a-concert exciting. Dancing-in-a-room-full-of-people-like-no-one’s-watching exciting. Or sporadically taking a trip to nowhere with no plans other than to drive.” She smiles as she gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Or, like being kissed in the rain by a total stranger you have no plans of calling again.” She looks at me, grinning. “That one I plan on doing while we’re on this little trip.”
“How do you know it’s exciting if you haven’t done it yet?” I ask, tucking my feet under me.
“Oh, Isa, the fact that you ask that means you haven’t nearly experienced enough in your life. Life is all about the experiences, the good ones and the bad ones.” She stands to her feet, yanking me with her. “Stick with me, and I promise that’ll change.”
I almost open my mouth to tell her I don’t want to change, but then I remember her theory, and my grandma and dad’s argument rings loudly in my head.