Yesterday | Seth Clearwater

Chapter 7

And if you're hurting, love yourself with my heart.

~ BROCKHAMPTON "VICTOR ROBERTS"

Brooklyn tried calling Seth the day that his father died, he hadn't picked up. She didn't really blame him though. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain that he was feeling, he needed time to heal. But it had been almost a week since she left the first message, so she had left another one three days after the first. He hadn't responded to either. And he hadn't been at school this week. She was starting to worry about him, but she didn't want to smother him. She thought that maybe he needed some space to process and deal with his emotions. She just wished she knew what to do... or that he would at least talk to her.

Plus she had been a bit preoccupied herself. She had been feeling nauseous a lot since the day that Harry died, but she had only thrown up a couple of times, so she shrugged it off. Brooklyn assumed it was stress related; things had been pretty bad lately. And she was still exhausted-- she was falling behind on her school work because she just didn't have the energy to do it anymore. She had even considered quitting the soccer team, but she quickly decided not to. She hoped that soccer, along with her many high level academic courses, would allow her to get a scholarship when she went to college. It was the only way she would be able to go, and she couldn't throw it all away because she felt a little ill for a couple of weeks.

Brooklyn entered the house, she had just come from soccer practice and she was dreading the mountain of homework that she had yet to start. Just as she was about to enter her room, her mother called out to her.

"Brooke."

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Your father called. He said he had been trying to reach you for a few days, but you weren't answering the phone," her mom said.

"Oh. Yeah, I kinda figured he butt-dialed me or something... four times," she deadpanned.

"Apparently he's in Seattle for a conference," her mom continued. "He wants to get dinner with you before he goes back to California."

"Do I have to?" Brooklyn pouted. She hated spending time with her father— he didn't really know how to talk to her. He always asked the same generic questions that adults asked kids all the time. She didn't really feel like talking about school or her plans for college for an entire dinner. 

"I think it could be good for you," her mom said. "You haven't really been yourself lately. A change of scenery might be nice. Besides, you know he's going to take you to a fancy restaurant."

"Fine," Brooklyn agreed. "I'll call him."

That's how Brooklyn ended up spending her Friday night at an awkward dinner with her father at one of Port Angeles's finest restaurants. Her father had driven three and a half hours to La Push to pick her up from Seattle.

"So, how is school," he said awkwardly.

"Uh... it's fine I guess," she answered. 

There was an awkward pause. She continued to eat the chicken that was on her plate.

"So, Kathy and I talked about it, and we would like if you came and stayed with us this summer," her father said. "You've never actually visited us, and your sisters would like to meet you."

"Half-sisters," Brooklyn corrected. She hadn't even met them, there was no way she was going to call them her siblings. Her father and Kathy hadn't had any children when Brooklyn's mother had given birth to her. Then, when she was three, Kathy had given birth to the older of her two half-sisters, Katie. Her second half-sister was only seven years old, and her name was Olivia. Not to sound rude, but Brooklyn had never had any desire to meet them. 

Brooklyn looked a lot more like her mother than she looked like her father. While her complexion was a bit fairer than her mother, she was quite a bit more tan than her father. She also shared her mother's straight dark hair, and warm brown eyes. Her father, on the other hand, was fair-skinned, and had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she suspected that his children with Kathy shared those traits— at least to a higher degree than she did. 

If she visited her father this summer, then she would look as out of place as she felt. 

"I don't know," Brooklyn finally said. "Can I think about it, and get back to you?"

"Of course," he smiled. It was weird, he had never tried this hard before to spend more time with her.

The more they talked, the less awkward dinner began to feel. Still, Brooklyn wasn't ready to forget the years of neglect she had endured at the hands of her father. One good conversation couldn't erase their complicated family history, but she was willing to make an effort if he was.

After dinner, her father drove her back home.

"If you need anything, call me. I know I live pretty far away, but I want to be more present in your life," her father told her. She couldn't help but wonder why he was making an effort now, but she didn't want to offend him by asking.

"Okay," she agreed. They said their goodbyes, and parted ways.

She greeted her mother as she walked into the house.

"How was dinner?" her mom asked.

"It was surprisingly nice," Brooklyn confessed. "It was kind of weird though. Dad said he wants me to spend the summer with him. He seems like he's really making an effort this time."

Her mom smiled sheepishly, "That might have had something to do with me. When he called me, after you ignored all of his calls, I told him that you had a lot going on right now. He seemed really sad that he didn't know what was going on in his own kid's life."

"Oh," Brooklyn said. She wasn't sure how she felt about her mother revealing so much about her life to her father, but she was hopeful that their relationship would improve. "I have to do homework. Goodnight, Mom, love you."

"I love you too, sweetie. Goodnight," her mother replied as she placed a kiss on Brooklyn's head. 

Brooklyn was awoken around three in the morning by an especially harsh wave of nausea. She barely made it to the bathroom before emptying her stomach into the toilet. She leaned her head against the cool porcelain for a few minutes while she caught her breath. One she was sure she wouldn't vomit again, she brushed her teeth, and got back in bed. She was unable to fall back asleep— the thoughts swarming in her mind kept her awake.

"Maybe it's not stress," she murmured to herself. A sense of dread settled over her, as she tossed and turned, and eventually fell into a restless slumber.