Sometimes I forget that I'm adopted. Like this kid, Phuong, in one of my classes—he told me once that sometimes he forgets he's Asian. I found it so funny when he said it, but now—I kind of understood it. 

I wonder if Megan ever forgot who she was before she became who she is. I wonder if she knew what was happening to her, as it was happening, or if one day she just woke up and she didn't know who she was anymore. There's a part of me that feels for her. She was this sad and pathetic little girl that didn't get what she wanted, so she stole it. Maybe she needed that attention, craved it in a way. Maybe it was because she didn't have that family-ness at home, like Amanda said. Maybe she did something that was supposed to just be some innocent prank because she was a bitter bitch, and it ended in the worst form of tragedy. Maybe I just feel bad for her because of what happened to her afterwards. Because even though we don't know each other at all, and even though the worst type of circumstance leads us to kind of knowing each other—maybe I don't want another human being to die in the hands of fucking drugged up assholes. Maybe this is my way of paying back what my dad did for me. Maybe I want to help her. Maybe I need to help her.

I told all of this to Dad while Amanda was at the store buying stuff to make dinner. He just shook his head and said, "Maybe she needs you to help her."

So that was that.

***

Amanda arrived not long after the conversation, grocery bags in tow. I'm pretty sure the last time the kitchen was used by anyone other than the housekeeper was when Micky was here.

I washed my hands and pushed my sleeves up. "What can I do to help?"

She laughed the same time Dad did.

We'd moved to the kitchen and she was unpacking while Dad sat at the counter.

"What's funny?" I asked them.

Dad answered, "I don't think I've ever seen you do anything cooking related."

Amanda laughed again. "Ever?" she asked him.

"Ever," he confirmed.

Assholes. Both of them.

She opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, she handed one to Dad and started to give me the other, before she hesitated and pulled it away. Her eyes went huge, realizing what she'd just done.

My dad chuckled. "Sweetheart, he's been drinking openly since he was sixteen, it's fine." He gave her a reassuring smile.

I saw her body relax as she handed it to me.

When I was sixteen, Dad noticed the amount of parties I started going to. It was before I got my license so we walked almost everywhere. When I got my permit, he sat me down and told me he was fine with me drinking, that he knew I was going to do it, so he wanted me to be prepared about the consequences of alcohol. He went through the entire medical side of things, and how often he saw kids having to get their stomach pumped and shit like that. Then he told me about Tina. Tina was his high school sweetheart. They'd dated since freshman year and all through college. He told her he'd propose to her the day he graduated. And he planned too. The night of graduation, she was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the road to get to the hotel room he had booked. The room he littered with candles and roses and where he waited on bended knee for her to open the door. He said he could still hear the sound a car makes when it impacts with a human body. He even showed me the ring he still held on to. He said that he believed in one true love, and that she was it for him.

She was his person.

***

"Holy shit, what is this?" Dad and I both said during our first mouthful of whatever Amanda made. I swear I saw Dad's eyes roll back in satisfaction.

Amanda laughed. "Good, huh?"

"Sweetheart," Dad cooed. "This is better than good."

"It's Taco casserole."

"It's amazing is what it is," I told her.

We moved to the living room after dinner to watch TV. She lay down with her head on my lap and was out within five minutes. I could see Dad watching us while I stroked her hair. "She asleep?" he asked.

I nodded, looking down at her. "Yeah. She's always so overtired. She works way too much."

"Does she need to work that much?"

"I offered to pay more rent, she won't let me."

Then it was quiet for a moment, while I continued to watch her sleep.

"She makes you happy, son?" he asked quietly.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "She makes me whole."

I had to wake her to move us to the pool house for the night, by the time we said goodnight and left the main house, she was wide-awake.

"It's such a nice night out," she said, her head tilted, looking up at the sky.

I agreed.

"Let's just stay out here for a bit."

So we did.

I walked us over to the day bed near the pool and laid us down. She put her head on the crook of my arm and her leg over me.

"So I've made a decision," I told her.

She looked up at me. "Yeah?"

"I think I want to go see her."

"With Micky?"

"I guess."

"Good for you, babe."

There was also something else I wanted to tell her, or ask her actually, but I didn't know how. So I just came out and said it. "What are your plans after college? I mean, are you planning on hanging around here?"

She sat up and little and eyed me curiously. "Not sure," she shrugged. "Why?"

I cleared my throat and faked confidence, locking my fingers behind my head. My heart pounded against my chest. I didn't know how she'd react to me asking but I kind of needed to know. "Just—I mean—when I choose med schools to apply for, I kind of need to know where you'll be, or what your plans are, you know?" I rushed out my words in one long breath.