“We are homesick most for the place we have never known.” -Carson McCullers
O f all the things that Kyra and I have talked about, there is one topic that always seems to fall short in our conversations. We have yet to discuss our parents. Yes, we’ve skated on the surface of her mother and my father, but she’s given me no details as to what her father is like and I’ve steered clear of my mother, too. I wonder if she doesn’t ask me about my mother because she doesn’t want me to feel badly, but then again, I think perhaps it could be too painful for her to hear of my mother when she doesn’t have hers. I wrestle with the idea of bringing it up, to see if we can exchange some details in the name of friendship. Ultimately I know when she’s ready, we will talk.
She leaves for the party at the men’s dorm, triple-checking that I don’t want to go before promising to be back before midnight.
I’m lying across my bed on my belly, reading quietly when Kyra’s phone rings loudly, causing me to jump up off the bed. My heart racing, I dig around on her desk and find it.
DAD.
I knew Kyra wouldn’t take her phone to the party but now I’m wondering-is this a call she shouldn’t miss? In the few weeks we’ve lived together her father has only called once to my knowledge. Suddenly nerves wrap around my core and I feel the urge to answer, to let him know that Kyra is okay or to take his message, even. I can’t be sure if Kyra would want me to answer but it’s too late, I’ve grabbed the phone and answered.
“Hi, umm, Kyra’s dad?”
Hmm. My social skills need some brushing up on, don’t they? I clear my throat nervously as silence fills the line.
“I’m sorry, Kyra is out and she left her phone here. I just didn’t want you to worry.”
I can almost hear a smirk on the other end before Kyra’s father clears his voice and begins.
“Hello, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” his voice is smooth and rich, full of experience and it causes my nipples to suddenly go hard, something I’m unfamiliar with. What is this effect his baritone is having on me? The hairs on my arms rise up and I feel myself pull my knees together on the bed where I am now sitting. For some reason, it becomes hard for me to answer. I begin to say Elizabeth but, shit, her name stills in my throat. After a deep breath, I find my voice.
“Elizabeth, sir,” I sound quiet and throaty, like Kyra did when she was talking to frat boy.
“Elizabeth,” he repeats it back to me and god does it sound different.
And then it dawns on me that he has a British accent. How has Kyra not told me her father is British?! Thank goodness he cannot see me because my jaw is in my lap while I mull over this new information- Kyra’s father is British and he has a mighty sexy voice.
“Yes,” I confirm before nervously rattling on, “and I didn’t know if you were looking for her. She’s just across the courtyard. I can go get her if you like?”
He laughs quietly.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. Just tell her to return my call when she gets in, would you do that for me?”
My chest heaves at the sound of his voice, my body tingling ever so slightly.
“Yes, sir,” I say quietly in the phone, hoping he speaks one more time before he hangs up.
“It was lovely speaking with you, Elizabeth,” he says before the call ends.
Would you do that for me?
His words dance through my brain and I look down to see my nipples are still erect. I find myself feeling… anxious, eager perhaps even? I can’t quite figure out my feelings in this moment but now I’m dying to know more about Kyra’s father. I look at her phone. It’s 8:25pm, still early and I know she won’t returning home anytime soon. That means I won’t be caught if I look him up on her computer.
I don’t really have any idea why I’m currently Googling Kyra’s father at her desk, or why my heart is pounding in my ears while I twist my legs together tightly to relieve the insane pressure that is building in me everywhere.
“Hmmm,” I wonder aloud.
What did he say his name was? Shit, it occurs to me that he didn’t say his name.
“Something Bolling, obviously,” I continue to think aloud, typing Kyra Bolling’s name in with the word “father” attached to it.
I find a White Pages listing that gives me no details other than a man named Owen who is 42 has also lived with Kyra at one point.
Owen Bolling.
Yes, that must be him. Greedily, I delete Kyra’s name and replace it with Owen. Immediately the screen is flooded with OWEN BOLLING results. It seems there could only be one of great importance, as a singular man fills the page. I click the top result. It is a Wikipedia page.
My eyes cannot break away from the illuminated rectangle of information as I pour over his entire life and every other article I can come across.
I learn that he is the Chief Technology Officer of an important company based out of somewhere in the UK, though he’s been heading the bay area offices for quite some time. There is no photo on his Wikipedia and I am too nervous to click “images” on my Google search. I read all that I can, my breath caught in my chest for some reason, and then click the “x” to hide the evidence.
I slide into my bed, my book resting against my chest, but my mind is everywhere. Kyra’s father is lodged deep inside my brain, there is a strange sickness in my belly and my eyelids become heavy. When sleep takes me, his voice is the last thing I hear in my mind.
A WEEK HAS PASSED since I spoke to Kyra’s father on the phone last Friday night. The next morning I told Kyra that he called and she rolled her eyes; “he always calls at a time when he knows I couldn’t possibly be available, he does it on purpose, I swear,” she snorts, pulling her socks on, preparing to go for a jog with frat boy. My father couldn’t give a shit if I even exist and my mother was never chomping at the bit to talk to me, so I am confused as to what she means. And deep down I know I need to feed this raw hunger inside of me; this gnawing pain in my belly that yearns to know more about Owen Bolling.
“I don’t understand,” I say, my brow furrowed.
She stomps her foot to get her shoe on tightly and then pulls her curls to the top of her head, taming them with an elastic band.
“He wants credit for calling but he doesn’t actually want to talk to me, so he calls at times when you know, he knows I’ll be out or in class.”
Her explanation sheds no light on my confusion, and so I prod further, hoping I don’t anger her or arouse suspicion.
“What do you mean he doesn’t actually want to talk to you?”
She puts her hands in her lap and smiles at me. Internally I let my shoulders droop with relief that this subject is not off limits.
“Do you have a bad relationship?” I continue, needing to know more about that voice.
I see her smile melt away while she mulls over my questions. She inhales slowly before she continues.
“We have a great relationship,” her voice is quiet and it is a new tone for Kyra. “We just have spent too much time together. Me going away to college is good for us both. He worries too much.”
I nod, imagining how wonderful it must be to have a parent care about you. To have a parent give an actual crap about how you are doing, inside and out.
“My mom, I don’t know if I told you this, she died of cancer. You know, when I was five. So, my Dad worries a lot about me. He works a ton
but still manages to fill his downtime with worrying about me.” I nod, understanding somewhat but still full of interest.
“I don’t know, he just always tells me he can’t bear to lose another woman he loves.”
There is darkness on her face now and I don’t know if it is for her mother, grief for her mother’s death, or if it for her father-grief for his perpetual heartbreak.
“Perpetual heartbreak,” I hear myself utter, quietly.
Kyra’s gaze jerks up and commands mine. I look at her, my fingers graze my lips, realizing I’ve said it out loud. I think for a moment she is going to find what I’ve said to be peculiar instead she nods enthusiastically.
“Yes! He never dated, I assumed it was because he was raising me. Now that I’m grown, I just really wish he’d find someone. I know he loved my mother very much.”
I find myself feeling… disappointed, almost, but why? It is a good thing that Owen loved his child’s mother. He seems to be a wonderful person- an attentive father and successful businessman. Why do I find myself feeling upset and also strangely more attracted?
“You know, they weren’t lovers,” Kyra is confiding in me and she has no idea how much I want these details, strangely. “They met in the UK, my mom was there studying abroad. And they were… friends. She wanted to have a baby and,” she throws her pointer fingers up in the air before directing them down on herself. “They both moved here for his work, I came and they planned to co-parent as friends. But then when I was four, she got sick and we moved in with him. My Dad. And…” she looks lost in thought, almost as if she can remember the details of those formative years with Owen, her mother freshly stolen away from both of them. She shakes her head, a curl falling loose from her bun and dropping in front of her eye. She tucks it away. “They weren’t lovers. But he loved her very much.”
I nod, unsure what else to do, and without hesitation I blurt out “and he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”
Kyra is in the dark about my butterflies from Owen’s voice and truthfully I’m still sorting out those feelings, too. I’m only categorizing it as “interesting person I am interested in” because clearly it is insane to let my mind wander any further.
“Nope, not really, he’s a loner. Reads a lot,” she smiles then freezes, realizing she could also be describing me. I laugh to let her know I understand she wasn’t talking about me… but then my thoughts shift to him.
A faceless person in my mind, but taking up quite a bit of space.
“Enough!” she puts her hand up jokingly, halting the parental conversation where it is. I’m okay with it, though, because I know far more now than I did last night.
“I’m off to run with the frat boy,” she smiles mischievously and leaves me with my thoughts.
OWEN I SAY in my head, imagining what he may look like. Stop, my voice of reason-my inner voice-chimes in, stop right now. This is weird. You are supremely creepy right now and Kyra is your friend. Your only friend for that matter.
I am hoping my own harsh self-talk reels in my desire for this man and his thick voice. My nipples harden at the memory of it and I shake my head, hoping that these strange desires somehow become dislodged from my brain and fall free.
I will devote my time here to my studies, I tell myself. Kyra is a tremendous person and wonderful friend. My cheeks warm realizing just how lucky I am that the university has paired me with her.
The memory of his voice drops away, falling free from my mind. I am lucky to have Kyra. Focus on that and not some idealistic fantasy.