"Is she Dad's girlfriend or something?"

I'm not sure Ben hears me over the bustle of the diner. It's surprisingly busy for a Friday morning, with most of the booths already occupied, plus half of the grimy old bar. The place hasn't changed much since I spent afternoons here with Mark, doing homework and calling him over for refills on fries. An anxious buzzing crawls up my back, making me feel on edge. Most likely because it's my first time being here since learning about his death.

"What? No, she's not Dad's—" he catches himself, looks furtively over at Dad standing just ahead of us, then lowers his voice. "Doesn't she, I don't know, look familiar or something?"

I look over at them, too. Callie's back is to us as she leans over the hostess stand, messing with the menus. Dad stands slightly apart from her, staring pointedly at the floor as he waits for our table. I know I'm supposed to focus on Callie, but I can't tear my eyes away from him. He just seems so...old.

I never thought much about my parents getting older. Even though he looks mostly the same, I can't ignore the deep lines etched into his skin. There's a weird energy around him. He said nothing when Ben and I got in the car, and the whole ride here was awkward as hell. The only sound was Callie humming in the passenger seat, but she didn't acknowledge us either.

"Her name sounds a little familiar but... God, I don't know, Ben. How about we skip the riddles and you just tell me so this breakfast can be normal?"

Ben lowers his voice even more. "I can't, she—"

"Let's go, team!" Callie interrupts. We both look up again and find her waving us over before following a perky waitress to the table. Dad isn't far behind, but he keeps his head down as he shuffles along. It's amazing he even knows where they're going.

Ben and I hang back, taking our time to get to the booth.

"They both know about your memory loss, so don't worry about having to explain it all. And, uh, just a heads up," Ben adds, keeping his eyes forward. "Callie, well, she's a little... off."

"Off? Off how?"

"I mean, you'll see for yourself, but she's just a bit all over the place. Sometimes it's hard to follow where she's going, but I wouldn't worry too much." He forces a smile as we come up to the table. "You guys normally get along okay."

Before I can ask what that means, Ben ushers me into the booth, then slides in next to me. Dad hangs off the edge of the other aisle seat and keeps his eyes glued to the menu.

Callie occupies the final seat across from me, and I finally get a good look at her. It's hard to get past the hue of her lime green sweater that's blinding under the fluorescent lighting. But her head of braids is pulled up in a thick bun, which helps me see her face clearly. Immediately, I get why Ben asked the question. It's subtle, but there's something that makes me feel like I know her.

She stares back with an amused smile. "You see it, don't you."

"See what?"

"I think it's the cheekbones," she goes on as if I've said nothing. "I mean, of course it's the eyes, but I still say it's the cheekbones." She picks up the salt shaker and pours it out on the table in a small pile. "Maybe the nose a little, too."

I glance over at Ben. He gives me a look that says I told you so.

"So." Callie pinches the fine grains between her fingers, then throws the salt over her shoulder, hitting the people at the table behind us. She doesn't notice. "What's first? Birthday celebrations or storytime?"

Before anyone can answer, another waitress comes to take our order. My appetite has left me at this point, so I just go for a coffee and hand her my menu. Dad does the same, then drops his gaze back down to the linoleum table. Against my will, a lump forms in my throat. He's never treated me like this before, not even when I get into it with Mom.

Once Callie places the final order, she gestures with her hands. "So, what's it gonna be?"

"Let's just get the hard stuff over with. No point dragging it out, right?" Ben thankfully answers.

"Right indeed, Benny boy." Callie wags a finger at him. "Not afraid to deal with the hard things in life, this one. Maybe you aren't your mother's child after all."

"You know Mom?" Shock unglues my tongue from the roof of my mouth. She must be a newer friend; besides Julia, Mom doesn't have many.

Callie snorts. "Too well for my liking, if I'm honest." Plopping her elbow on the table, she uses her arm to prop her head up. "But I guess that's always the case with sisters, right?"

I take a peek at Ben from the corner of my eye, but he doesn't look surprised in the slightest. Even Dad doesn't flinch; he just keeps staring at the damn table. Feeling me tense beside him, Ben wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Mom doesn't have a sister." I state the obvious, then fix Callie with a suspicious look. "So why don't you tell me how you really know her."

"Ah, you got me. I never can get anything past you, Amber." The smile she gives me is almost a proud one. "In reality, Emmie and I just share a mom, so I guess we're not full sisters. But, I did always find the distinction between half siblings so offensive. Granted, Emmie did too, which was why she always made it."

I feel the spins coming on, the ones triggered by the panic of not knowing what's going on. Keeping my breaths even, I rein it in the best I can, reminding myself that whatever this is, I can get through it. If the last week has proven anything, it's that I can handle more than I think.

Taking a final deep breath, I decide to believe her. It's not totally out of character for my mom to be secretive. "So, you're Mom's sister. Cool. Why are you here and not her?"

"And that leads us right into storytime." Callie shifts so she's leaning across the table, her face inches from mine. "The question is, do we start from the beginning or the end?"

Ben wasn't kidding — this lady is whacked. I'm starting to see why Mom kept her a secret.

We're interrupted by the arrival of breakfast. Ben and Callie were the only two who ordered food, so it isn't long before the waitress leaves us again in our own little bubble of bizarreness. Callie loads her double stack of pancakes with dollops of syrup, then cuts them into bite size pieces. She stuffs a forkful in her mouth and hums along quietly to the diner's updated jukebox, seeming to forget we were talking.

I clear my throat. "Umm, is it still story—"

"I guess I'll keep it simple and start from the top." She swallows and stares at me over her breakfast. "Even though it's not as fun. But the last thing I want is you getting confused, especially with all the shit I know you've been dealing with. The shit these two got no idea about."

I sit up straighter at that. "What do you mean?"

"Emmie and I were never like you and Benny boy. Close." Callie ignores my question completely, turning her attention back to her food. "I mean, not from lack of trying on my part. It wasn't my fault Mama decided to remarry and have me, but you would've thought I'd done it intentionally to hurt Emmie. Mama always said she was a Daddy's girl — just, not my daddy's girl."

As anxious as I am, I'm also intrigued. I've never known my mom's side of the family, so to hear about it now seems like too good an opportunity to waste. Besides, Callie doesn't strike me as the type to be talked over or ignored.

"Plus, she's seven years older than me. You name me a fourteen year old who wants to hang out with a second grader. I get that, you know? But damn, Emmie knew how to make you feel like you were the smallest person in the world. Like you were nothing." She takes a pause to swallow again, then nods towards me. "You get it."

"Callie." I'm startled when Dad speaks up. His voice is raspier than I remember, like he hasn't used it in years. "Please, don't drag this out."

"Umm, who's in charge of storytime here? A raise of hands?" Hers shoots up, then she examines the rest of the table. "There you go. I think the leader of storytime knows what she's doing."

His eyes flicker over to me, and in them I find a horrible sadness, worse than I've ever seen from him. I wouldn't categorize Dad as a generally happy person, but this is something else. This is different. His eyes are back on the table before I can figure it out.

"So, like I was saying, Emmie and I didn't get along. But Daddy died when I was young, and Mama got headaches, real real bad ones, so Emmie was in charge of me. Guess she like, resented me for it or something? I dunno. You'd think if she hated me that much, she would've stayed away when she went off to school. But nope, she was back right after graduation just to keep me under her thumb. Then again, I wasn't totally innocent. I've been called difficult on more than one occasion."

"You don't say," I deadpan.

"I do say." She points her fork at me for emphasis. "And so did Mama and Emmie. I was a terror back in high school — hell, it's probably why I don't remember most of it. But I remember being eighteen." Her face sobers up, her voice going quiet. "I could never forget the year I turned eighteen."

She stares at me expectantly. I don't know what she wants me to say, so I wing it. "What happened when you were eighteen?"

"I am so glad you asked." Her face brightens again as she nudges Dad in the side. "Well, for starters, Emmie and Dan here got hitched and moved on to their own little happily ever after. Wouldn't you know, my wedding invitation somehow got lost in the mail. Must've been the damn postal service again..."

"What else happened when you were eighteen?" Ben asks through gritted teeth.

Callie's smile falters as she turns her attention to him, then disappears altogether when her eyes lock onto mine. Absently, she fiddles with her silverware, scraping the metal against her mostly empty plate.

"I made a mistake. Didn't think much of it. Then, I got sick every morning before school, as soon as the smell of breakfast hit my nose. Even then, the dots didn't connect. What senior is thinking about pregnancy when finals and graduation are right around the corner?" She points at herself, shaking her head. "Me. I should've been thinking about it."

"I'm sorry, what does any of this have to do with why you're here?" I interrupt. "As interesting as the story is, I don't get why I'm listening to it."

She studies me for some time, her breakfast forgotten.

"When I was eighteen, I had a baby girl," she says softly. "And I loved that little girl so much it used to suffocate me. Like, it literally hurt — they aren't making that shit up for the movies. But when I was eighteen, I also lost my baby, and that hurt a shit ton more. In the end, she just wasn't mine to keep."

The look in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. Immediately, I feel like an ass for snapping at her. Clearly she just needs someone to listen, and it's not like I have anything better to do.

"Never even got to name her. I just couldn't make up my mind before it was too late. What if I chose wrong and she was forever stuck with something she couldn't live up to? I must've run through a thousand of them, trying to find the one that suited her best." She laughs, loud and brash. "How ironic that Amber never made that list?"

It takes me way too long to catch her meaning. The air around the table goes static as the seconds tick by, each one dragging me closer to understanding. And when it all clicks, it's like snapping a bone back into the socket, one I didn't know was broken in the first place.

My head whips around to Ben, but the look in his eyes tells me I'm understanding Callie loud and clear. A new memory bubbles back to the surface, something I should've remembered the minute I heard her name. The night before school started, when Mom and I argued about Chloe driving me instead of Carter, we got a phone call. A call she was definitely not expecting.

"It's for you," Ben had said, "Some lady named Callie."

And the message on my phone, the one I listened to in Charlie's car — that was her, too. It was cryptic as hell, but thinking back on it now, all I can remember is the voice. Her voice. And when I turn back to Callie, I come face to face with my reflection. The cheekbones, the eyes, even her nose. It's all right there in front of me, just like she said.

"You're," I trail off, then try again, "You're saying you're my mom?"

"Technically, you're the one saying it," Callie corrects. She reaches for her glass of milk, then before taking a swig, adds, "But yes, it's what I'm implying."

"Dad?" It's the first time I've addressed him directly, and based on his reaction, it's exactly what he's been dreading. His eyes fall closed at the sound of my voice, like it physically pains him to hear it. I try again, anyway. "Daddy, please, can't you at least look at me?"

I haven't called him that since I was little, but it works. With a sigh, he finally lifts his head and lets his gaze meet mine. I'm hoping to find a glimmer of doubt, some sort of sign that this could all be a big joke, but I can tell it's brutally real; I don't think I've seen my father on the brink of tears before in my life.

"Dad, it's ok, just talk to her," Ben coaxes, rubbing my shoulder comfortingly. "That's why we're here, right? To fix things."

"I—," Dad stammers out, his eyes shifting around the room. "I'm sorry, I just need a minute."

He stands abruptly and makes a beeline for the bathroom without another word. Tears well up behind my eyes as the men's room door closes behind him.

"Don't think the worst, Amber." Ben leans down close to my ear, his tone soothing. "This is just the first time he's seen you in years. He knows this is his only chance to make things right, but he's scared of messing up again. Just, let me go talk to him. I'll get him to come back."

I don't trust myself to talk without crying, so I only nod. Ben slides out of the booth and goes after our dad, leaving Callie and I on our own. We stare at each other wordlessly: me, because I genuinely don't know what to say; her, because she's still guzzling down the milk.

Once there isn't a drop left, she leans back in the booth and eyes me humorously. "I gotta say, this is actually going much better than the first time. A lot less yelling. Granted, my timing is better now, too. Back then, it was right before that party where—"

"Yeah, I know what party." I cut in, my voice steely. "Why tell me then, or at all, honestly. Actually, let's cut the bullshit and start with why you abandoned me in the first place."

Callie rips a loose hangnail off with her teeth, then spits it across the floor. "Sure you're ready for that answer? It's gonna fill in a lot of blanks for you, so I recommend bracing yourself."

My temper flares. "Will you just answer—"

"Tell me, Amber, have you had any dreams recently?"

She doesn't look up from her nails, like she knows exactly how the question will affect me. It's instantaneous, knocking the wind out of my lungs and taking any anger right along with it.

"What?" I whisper.

She glances up, then snorts. "Shit, well that answers my question. Of course, I already knew the answer, but how could I miss out on that face? Ok, tell me this, are they still only when you sleep? Cause just wait till those fuckers start hitting you in the middle of the afternoon. Talk about a day killer."

I throw myself over the table "You know about the visions?"

She raises a brow and couples it with a smirk. "Where do you think you got them from?"

I stare back, dumbfounded. Of course I've questioned how and why the day visions happen, but never once did I consider genetics as a possibility. Despite my apprehension about the direction we're headed in, my stomach flutters at the idea of not being in this alone.

"So you have the dreams too?"

"You got it right calling them visions, actually." Callie's face smooths over into an expression I can't read, her mood shifting faster than her change in conversations. "That's what we decided on when we first talked about them years ago. Before that, I considered them dreams, too. I've always had them, but it wasn't until I got pregnant with you that they got... dark. The further along I was, the harder it became to tell if I was asleep or awake. I imagine you know the feeling."

My eyes dart over to the men's room, pulse racing. I have no idea how long it's been since Ben went after Dad, but the last thing I want is them coming back and disrupting Callie's train of thought. Intrigued as I am to learn more about her experience with the visions, I don't have time now.

"Do you know what they mean? Or why we have them? And my memory loss, do you think it's somehow related?"

"Mmm? Oh, right. You don't remember," she smacks a hand against her forehead, "Duh. Well, I can only help you with one of those questions, and even then it's not a straightforward answer. You and I never found out why we're stuck with these things. Mama never mentioned having visions, but I still think they're something passed down through the family. That's not the one answer, though. Just a working theory of ours.

"And I don't know if this weird, black out, memory lapse thingy you're going through is somehow related, but again, my hypothesis would be yes. I've learned these things really have no limits. I've had glimmers of visions, like a slight change to my surroundings — other times, they've taken over my consciousness for hours." She shrugs. "It varies."

Brynn's eyes. It's the first thing that pops into my head at the mention of a glimmer. Now that I think about it, they were blue the day before the dreams left my subconscious, almost like the first break in reality. From there, they only got stronger.

"But they do mean something, right? That's the one answer?"

Callie puts a finger on her nose and points her other one at me. "Ding, ding, ding! Right on, babycakes. The visions always mean something. That's the one thing you and I have been able to figure out: nothing about them is random. But of course, the catch is trying to decipher what that meaning is. They never make it easy for us, do they?"

"No they do not," I grumble under my breath, slouching down against the table. This is the most I've understood about myself in days, yet it doesn't make me feel much better. Flipping through them quickly, my visions don't seem to have one clear message. More like the universe is just throwing shit at me and seeing what sticks.

"What did yours mean?" I ask quietly, glancing up at her. "The ones about me. Did you figure them out?"

"Oh, I got their message loud and clear," she says bluntly, pulling her phone out and tapping away at the screen. "She deserves better. That's what they would say in all the visions, right before — well, the dark stuff. I don't have to tell you how convincing those fuckers can be, so I did what I thought they wanted. As always, they were right... you deserved better than me. Leaving you on Emmie's front step was the best thing I could've done for you."

Bitterness creeps in at the end of her rant, but she stops short, her gaze flickering over to the bathrooms before locking onto me. "You asked why I chose that day to come back and tell you. Let's just say, the visions wanted me to deliver the message then. They're never random, Amber. Never."

"Never what?"

Ben's voice nearly sends me flying out of the seat. I was so engrossed in Callie, I didn't notice them walking back.

"Never you mind, Benny boy. Girl talk." Just like that, Callie's light demeanor is back. She gives me a subtle wink, then scoots out of the booth before Dad can sit down. "Hold up there Dan, my Uber has just arrived. Thanks for breakfast, it was— pretty depressing, actually. Good pancakes though."

"Wait, you're leaving?" My heart sinks. "You can't yet, there's still things I need to ask you. We've barely even covered anything!"

"I've got no other answers for you today, Amber," she says simply. "But don't you worry, I'm never gone long. Our dreams let us know when to get back in touch. Until then!"

She strides away from the table without another word, not even a Happy Birthday to Ben.

"I did try warning you," he laughs awkwardly. "I don't know what she's talking about half the time, but you always seem to get her. How'd it go while we were gone?"

It's an impossible question to answer. Callie made it pretty clear that whatever the visions are, no one else knows we have them, and when I think about trying to explain it all, I get why. Other than the fact that she's my mom, Ben and Dad don't need to know the rest.

"What about you?" I blurt out instead, looking up at Ben's face. Now that I've spent more time with the mature version, I see the bits of the young boy I remember mixed with subtle hints of our dad — his dad. "Who's your mom?"

He sighs, halfway between a laugh and scoff. "No secret moms for me. I'm stuck with the woman who raised us."

"Then I don't understand. Why would she have a second kid when she didn't want me to begin with?" I say it as a fact and nothing more. If there's one thing that hasn't shocked me today, it's the confirmation that I was an unwanted child.

"That would be because of me," Dad says quietly, looking at me straight on for the first time all morning. His hands are tucked deep in the pockets of his jacket, but he doesn't look like he's ready to bolt like before. With his eyes finally meeting mine, I can make out what's in them. It's not sadness like I'd thought before.

It's remorse.

"Surprise, I was an accident. Guess we're both similar in that regard." Ben's trying to make a joke about it, but his tone isn't very convincing.

"You were both blessings," Dad interrupts, clearing his throat. "To me, anyway. Your mother, er, Emily... it's true she never wanted children. That's something I knew going into the marriage, and I thought I made my peace with it. But then, Callie left you at our door. Emily spent weeks trying to track your mom down, but I secretly prayed we'd never find her. I knew if we didn't, we would keep you. If there's one thing Emily never did, it was turn her back on responsibility. As angry as she was, I knew she'd never abandon you. Not back then."

"That doesn't excuse lying to me for years about it. How can you justify keeping this from me?" It comes out harsher than I mean it to, and Dad visibly flinches.

"He's getting there," Ben insists, laying a hand on my knee.

Dad's eyes flicker over to him, his face falling even more. "When Emily told me she was pregnant with Ben, I knew what she wanted to do. It wasn't a question in her mind, but it was a huge one in mine. I got a taste of fatherhood with you, Amber, and I just... I guess I wanted more. It's the worst fight we ever had, and the damage it did to our marriage never went away. I knew what I was losing if I fought for Ben... but I also knew what I was losing if I didn't."

For the first time, I let the tears fall. The thought of my life without Ben in it is the final blow to the dam. Gingerly, Dad hands me a tissue, and I take it without hesitation. It seems to make him relax a little more; I'm guessing this conversation is going better than last time, too.

"I'm why he didn't tell you," Ben speaks up, deciding to help him out. "It's the leverage she used to stop him from telling you about Callie. She would keep me as long as Dad kept her secret."

It feels like I'm a broken record, but I repeat the same question I've had all morning. "But why not just tell me?"

Dad's shrug is almost imperceivable. "That, I never found out. But I kept her secret because I'd taken her choice away once before. I couldn't bring myself to do it again."

I shake my head, fighting off the heat creeping into my cheeks. I don't want to be mad at him, but every memory of Mom taking out her frustrations on me comes rushing back. "Just like you couldn't bring yourself to defend me, right? You knew why she resented me, yet you let her treat me like shit anyway. Was that part of her deal, too?"

Dad's eyes close in defeat. "No. That was my own guilt."

We all fall silent after that, our little family of three. Callie's empty seat is a glaring reminder that one member of our makeshift household is still missing. It's unfair that she's absent for this and doesn't have to face me head on. I deserve the chance to look in her eyes as the lies she told me come crashing down around us.

"Well," I sigh. "Where is she now?"

Neither of them answers me until the silence is almost painful.

"Gone," Ben says stoically. "Where exactly? Who cares."

"Are we all set here guys, or were you lot interested in dessert?" Our waitress's bubbly disposition is a stark contrast to the energy of the table. She must feel it, because her sunniness seems to dim slightly.

"Yeah. A birthday cake." I don't look at her, my eyes still stuck on the spot Callie left behind. "Storytime is officially over."