I shrugged after a moment. “That’s how I ended up in the foster care system. Just for a couple years.” I paused and grinned wryly. “And that’s how I ended up in the military, too.”
Nancy frowned, trying to connect the dots. “Did the foster care system push you into that?” she finally asked.
I shook my head. “Nah, they didn’t really care what I did with my life. And I bounced through so many different school districts that I don’t think anyone really thought I was even going to graduate high school, let alone go to college. I think they all figured I was just going to be another ‘going nowhere’ boy, working some dead-end job there in West Virginia.”
“Why didn’t you end up there?”
“One of my foster dads was in the military. Army. Not the nicest guy, very disciplinarian. But I figured it was a steady job, and it was my ticket out of West Virginia. And if I did my time, they’d pay for me to go to college and all those other things. The perks were great for someone like me. I didn’t exactly have any other prospects.”
“Do you regret it?” Nancy asked.
“No,” I said seriously, looking her in the eye. “I needed that. And to be honest, it’s opened all the doors that I had hoped it would open. I’m making friends here with a bunch of ex-military people. And all of my dog training experience has come from my time in the service. Besides, it gave me a direction. It let me grow into myself. I needed that.”
Nancy nodded slowly. “You know, I think this is the most I’ve heard you say at any of these sessions,” she said. “What’s brought on this breakthrough?”
“Harper has a daughter,” I said.
“You mentioned,” Nancy said, nodding again. She paused. “Are you worried that you’ll turn into your father if you get close to her?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I used to worry about that. But then I met Ava.” I paused. “I think she’s my daughter.”
Nancy’s eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” I said, nodding. “I don’t know for sure. Harper hasn’t told me anything. But one of my friends pointed out that Ava kind of looks like me. She has the same eyes, the same smile. And she’s definitely mixed race; her skin isn’t nearly as dark as Harper’s.” I paused. “And I did the math. It lines up. Harper was in Kuwait four years ago. Ava is three. It all kind of makes sense.”
“Be careful,” Nancy cautioned.
“Of what?” I asked in confusion.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, thinking that Ava is yours, only to find out that she isn’t,” she said delicately.
I nodded. That was a good point. But I wasn’t worried. “The thing is, I don’t really care either way,” I told Nancy, trying to figure out some way to explain. “What’s important to me is, a few weeks ago, if I’d even had the slightest thought that Ava might be mine, that I might have a kid, I would have freaked out. But I’m not freaking out.”
“What are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I really just want to know the truth. I can’t seem to stop thinking about it, just wondering if Ava really is mine.”
“Have you tried talking to Harper about it?” Nancy asked.
“Ava’s been sick, so she’s been busy, and I’m letting her have her space,” I told
her. I smiled, remembering the other night. “I brought over some soup and juice and things. Harper said something about, for someone who never wanted to have kids, I was doing a pretty great job of it.”
“That’s good,” Nancy said. She paused. “But I do think you need to talk to Harper. Sooner, rather than later.”
“I know,” I agreed, nodding.
“About more than just Ava and the possibility that you’re her parent,” Nancy added. “Obviously everything about your childhood has shaped you into who you are today. And I’m guessing that Harper doesn’t know the details of it either. You need to let her know that you’re open to the idea of parenting. But in order to really do that, you need to tell her what your initial hesitations are. She deserves to know that.”
“I know.” I paused. “I don’t know how to tell Harper about some of the stuff, though. I don’t want her to think of me that way.”
“You think it’s going to change whether she lets you around Ava?” Nancy asked.
“No. Or at least, I hope not. I just don’t want Harper to know all the bad stuff.” I paused. “I’ve tattooed over pretty much all of the scar tissue, at this point, but I looked pretty terrible for a while there.” Outside of myself and my tattoo artist, she was the only person who had ever known about the thick scars that had cut across my body, especially along my back. I knew that Harper must have felt the scars there. But she didn’t know what they were from. She had never asked, and I doubted she ever would.
“You met her in Kuwait, didn’t you?” Nancy reminded me. “I hate to point this out, but I’m sure she’s heard worse things than the story of you almost killing your drunken, abusive father.”
Her words were matter-of-fact, but they didn’t really bother me. Instead, I felt something settle inside of me. “I should tell her,” I agreed slowly.