I was born on January 31st, 2003. From what I’ve been told, there was a terrible snow storm that day, and my mother was scared to drive me home in those conditions. But she did, of course. My mother was eighteen when she became pregnant with me. In fact, she had just turned eighteen. She always says how nice of a birthday present I was, but I know she’s lying. What eighteen year old wants a kid? Her name is Andrea, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s strong and intelligent, but also very caring and loving. My father, on the other hand, was the definition of human scum. His name is James. He got mom pregnant, then left Erie, Pennsylvania, where the both of them grew up. Apparently, he went to New York City. Mom tells me this is what he said before he left: 

“Andrea, I just...can’t take care of this baby. I have to go to college. I have to get a job.”

Mom says she cried for days after he said that, and she even considered abortion. That was in April of 2002. Then, that January, I came along. Grandma, grandpa, and aunt Jenny were the only ones there. 

Mom wrestled with what to name me for a few days. She wanted something unique, something different. One day, her and grandma were taking me on a walk. Mom noticed tree ferns scattered around on the ground, and she stopped in her tracks. 

“Fern,” she said to grandma. “Her name will be Fern.” She says that grandma beamed and looked down at me. I had a huge smile on my face, my big, green eyes wide open. 

“Fern...I like that name,” grandma said. So that was it. My name would be Fern Delilah Eversteen. Delilah was mom’s grandma’s name. Eversteen was mom’s old last name. It’s different now. 

A couple months after my first birthday, mom decided to up and move us out of Erie. She wanted a fresh start, just the two of us. She had been keeping a waitressing job for about a year, and saved every penny. She wanted a new life for us, but there was a big reason why. Being only nineteen with a baby didn’t sit well with some of the residents of Erie. So she packed our things, strapped me in my car seat, and drove off. I have a faint memory of that day, it’s one of my first. Mom, driving with both hands on the wheel, the windshield wipers moving back and forth to block the rain. She looked at me in the rearview mirror, wondering how this would work. Her saving wouldn’t last forever. But it’s not for me, she thought. Anything and everything for Fern. Mom moved us from Erie to Angola, New York. About an hour away from her hometown, she would still be able to be somewhat near her parents. 

I remember pulling up to the house with almost nothing to our name. Mom had just a couple thousand dollars left. Just a few shirts, pants, shorts, pajamas. Some diapers, baby food, baby clothes, my necessities. Mom only brought what could fit in her tiny Ford Taurus. She was starting completely new, and wanted to start right away. Back in Erie, she found a very small one bed, one bath house in Angola that was cheap. Grandma and grandpa helped her pay most of it so we wouldn’t be completely broke. When we moved into our new house, mom put my crib in her room. Somehow, it was still spacious. There was a small closet for coats, and mom put our clothes in bins. When we first started, we didn’t have any furniture. No dresser. No changing table. No bed. No couch. Almost nothing. Mom had to sleep on an air mattress. But, we had heat, water, air conditioning, some money, and each other. Mom was perfectly content with this. That was March of 2004. 

The months and years went by in Angola. Mom and I would visit grandma and grandpa back in Erie for holidays and birthdays. Mom picked up another waitressing job in Angola in April 2004. As the years went on, she was able to buy a bed, a couch, and a changing table. One day, grandma and grandpa drove up to surprise mom with a new dresser, and me, a bed. I was three. Mom cried that day. 

“She’s just growing up so fast,” she said, behind watery eyes. That was June of 2006. 

Mom had also started sending me to preschool when I was three. She wasn’t sure she could do it. I was all she had in Angola, and she didn’t want to leave me for three hours a day, but she had to. I enjoyed preschool. Mom had a stable job that paid the bills. I had friends and my teacher loved me. Everything was going so great. 

And life only got better. In February of 2007, mom met a guy named Ryan. Ryan Nelson. He came into the restaurant that she worked at, and they clicked instantly. He even asked her on a date. That day, mom came home and I heard her talking to her friend Rebecca about Ryan. 

“Yeah, he asked me out. No, he doesn’t know about Fern yet, but I’ll tell him on the date.” 

That night, Rebecca came and babysat me while mom went on her date. When she came back, Ryan came with her. I was in my room coloring. 

“Fern,” I heard mom say. “I want you to meet someone.” 

Being only four years old, I didn’t know what was going to be out in that living room. I dropped my crayon and slowly made my way into the living room. Rebecca sat on the recliner to my right, mom sat on the left side of the couch, and a man, whom I had never met before, sat next to her. Everyone had a nervous look on their face. 

“Fern…” mom said gently, while referring to Ryan. “This is Ryan. He would like to meet you,” she said with a smile. 

I became shy. And I wasn’t that shy of a kid. I stared at him. He smiled, dimples forming at the sides of his mouth. His teeth were perfectly white. His eyes were blue, shimmering under his dark brown hair. He was definitely handsome. 

“Hi Fern, how are you?” He asked with a warm smile. 

“Good,” I replied, looking down at my feet. 

Ryan paused for a moment, and spoke again. 

“Hey, Fern. Watch this.” 

He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. He put it in his palm and waved his hands back and forth. I followed the quarter closely. But within an instant, it vanished right before my eyes. My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped. The room erupted with laughter. Then, he pulled the quarter from my ear. I was so shocked. I gaped at mom, who was laughing and lightly hitting Ryan’s shoulder. 

Mom said that after that night, she knew that Ryan was the one for her. He accepted me. He accepted the fact that he would be a step dad. He loved mom, and she loved him. In August of 2007, after dating for seven months, Ryan moved in with us. A few months prior, he graduated college at Fredonia University with a degree in business. And that August, mom proposed the idea of Ryan moving in this us. But, the house was too small for the three of us. So, the two of them pooled their money and we moved into a three bedroom, two bathroom house. In the new house, I had my own room, and Ryan and mom bought me a desk so I could have a place to color. We had an extra bedroom that was for storage. We could pay the bills. We could have cable TV. We had food and water. Everything was great. 

Then January 31st came around, and I turned five years old. And when February came, something huge happened. Ryan took mom and I by Lake Erie. Angola is right next to the lake which makes for a nice exploration spot. Anyways, on February 21st, Ryan took mom and I to the lake.

“Andrea, come on, I have to show you something,” he said before we left. 

“Ryan, honey, it’s going to be freezing and Fern is so little. Can it wait? Just tell me.”

“It’s...really cool! And special. Come on, please.” Mom rolled her eyes at him. 

“Fine.” 

Mom bundled me up in a big winter coat, a hat, gloves, boots, fuzzy socks, a scarf and mittens, and the three of us piled into the car. Ryan smiled at mom, and there was a sparkle in his eyes. 

He pulled into a small rest area overlooking the lake. The day was cold, a mere twenty degrees out. Mom and Ryan got out, and she pulled me out of my car seat. Snow covered the deck that the rest area was at. 

“Okay,” Ryan said nervously. “So you’re wondering why I brought you here.”

“Well, yeah.” Ryan took her hand. 

“Andrea, I just want you to know how much I love you. This past year has been the best I’ve ever had. You’ve taught me to be a better person. You’ve taught me how to be a father. Hell, we even bought a house together!” 

“Honey, that’s very sweet and all but it’s freezing-”

“Yes, yes the cold! Okay, okay. Andrea, I want to spend so many more years with you.” He took my hand. “I want to be there for Fern every day. I just-love the both of you so much. So I was wondering…” he trailed off. 

Ryan got down on his right knee, the snow making his jeans wet. 

“Andrea...will you marry me?” 

Mom’s jaw dropped and she covered her mouth with her hand. She laughed and smiled, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Yes!” she exclaimed loudly. 

Ryan placed the ring on her left hand, and engulfed the both of us in a hug. 

The wedding was very small, as one would expect when two twenty-two-year-olds are getting married. It was held in the Angola courtroom. Grandma and grandpa were there, and Ryan’s parents were, too. They had only met mom and I a handful of times, but they supported the marriage. Some cousins from both families were there, too. I got to be the flower girl. I wore a light pink dress and white shoes. Grandma curled my hair. Everyone wanted me to feel special. After the wedding, Marcus, Ryan’s cousin who’s also a professional photographer, took a picture of Ryan, mom, and I together. And just like that, we were a family. We were the Nelson’s. 

Mom and Ryan went to New York City for their short honeymoon directly after the wedding. Grandma and grandpa stayed with me in Angola and watched the house. Mom and Ryan loved New York City. 

“It’s simply amazing,” mom said. 

The months to come went by swimmingly. Ryan picked up an accounting job in Buffalo a couple months after he and mom started dating, and he was keeping that up nicely, and was making good money. So good that mom was able to quit her waitressing job and became a full time stay-at-home mom. 

Then, in May of 2008, mom and Ryan announced that I would have a sister in December. Mom said that I was so happy about that. Almost every day, I drew pictures for the new baby’s room. As December rolled around, mom and Ryan converted the extra room into a room for the baby. They decided that her name would be Amelia. 

When mom’s due date, December 15th, came close, grandma and grandpa drove up to Angola and stayed with us. And on December 14th, mom’s water broke at 1 am, and her and Ryan went to the hospital, while grandma, grandpa, and I met them there around ten that morning. When we got to the hospital, we found their room, and I ran up to mom and touched her big stomach. 

“Are you ready to meet Amelia, Fern?” 

I smiled and nodded. 

The next day, December 15th, we went back to the hospital around noon. Ryan’s family was there too, and some of mom’s cousins. The families chatted, each taking turns talking to me, mom, and Ryan. And at 6:04 pm, December 15th, 2008, baby Amelia was born. Just like the day I was born, there was a bad snowstorm. Again, mom had a fear of driving home. 

“We drove here, Andrea. We’ll make it home,” Ryan said to her. 

I was sitting in the waiting room with aunt Jenny when I was called into the hospital room to meet my sister. 

“Come here Fern,” mom said gently. “Come meet her.” 

I walked up to the side of the hospital bed, and mom leaned down to show me the tiny lump in her arms. There she was, my little sister, sleeping ever so peacefully. I reached over and touched her cheek. She opened her eyes, revealing two brilliant blue orbs. Ryan’s eyes. I looked up at mom and smiled. 

“Amelia Rose Nelson is her name,” mom said. 

The years went on, and we lived as a happy family. I graduated from preschool, kindergarten, first grade, second, third, fourth, and fifth. Amelia went to preschool and was in kindergarten by the time I was in fifth grade. But then, something terrible happened. Grandpa died. 

“He had a stroke in his sleep,” the doctor said. Mom was devastated. I was devastated. Grandma was devastated. It was a bad time. We all went back to Erie for his funeral in July. A couple months after that, grandma couldn’t live on her own, and mom admitted her to a nursing home. This was the first real sorrow I experienced in my life. That was 2013. But, life went on. The family recovered. I recovered. Amelia and I grew. Through family outings, sleepovers, TV, books, and drawing, we grew.  

And that brings me to the present. I’m Fern Nelson, and I’m seventeen years old. Amelia is twelve. Mom is still stay-at-home, and Ryan still works as an accountant in Buffalo. Life is good. 

I walk downstairs and find mom and Amelia sitting on the couch. Just as I’m about to open my mouth to say something, Ryan comes bursting through the door. Red in the face and distraught, he slams the door shut and walks into the house. 

“Ryan, what’s wrong?” mom asks. 

“The company. It’s going under,” he replies, angrily. Mom covers her mouth with her hand. 

“Oh my gosh. That’s terrible.” 

“Yeah, Andrea, it is. And all the other accounting jobs are going with it. I’m out of a job.”

Mom shoos Amelia and I upstairs. Her face says let me deal with this. We run upstairs into my room. 

“Fern, what’s going on?” Amelia asks. 

“Ryan’s company is going out of business. He doesn’t have a job anymore.”

“So no more money?” 

“Well, yes, but not every week. Until he gets a new job or mom gets a job.” 

“Oh,” she replies, somberly. 

We sit in my room for an hour listening to them talk. Ryan yells, mom tells him to quiet down. I’ve never seen Ryan like this. He’s never been someone who yells. Someone who raises their voice, yes. But not someone who yells. It’s like a whole different side to him. 

Later, I sit on the couch and watch TV. It’s about 11 pm. I hear the front door open, and Ryan comes walking in with a case of beer. We look at each other, and he sighs. He’s never been a drinker. He goes down to the basement with the alcohol. The next day, Saturday, I talk to mom. 

“Did you know Ryan brought home beer last night?” I ask. 

“He did?” I nod. 

“That’s...that’s not like him.”

“I know.” 

“He’s dealing with something huge right now, Fern. He needs to blow off some steam. Actually, he didn’t even come to bed last night, come to think of it.”

Directly after she says that, Ryan stumbles up from the basement stairs. Mom’s jaw drops. 

“Ryan?” mo asks. He slowly turns his head to us. 

“What do you want?” he slurs. 

“You’re drunk,” I say. He squints his eyes. 

“Why do you care? You’re not even my daughter,” he responds. I feel a pain in my chest. He’s never said anything like this to me. 

“Ryan!” mom snaps. 

“What? She’s not.” Mom scoffs and shakes her head. 

“Don’t listen to him, Fern. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

I nod, feeling the tears build from behind my eyes. I run to my room and contemplate the incident all day. How could he say that? I wonder. What a cruel thing to say. This interaction with Ryan gets me thinking about my biological father. The person who should mean so much to me, but doesn’t. The person I’ve never met. 

I grab my laptop and go to Google. What was his name? Mom has said it so many times before. Think, think, think. James Sanders! I type his name into the search bar, and tons of lifestyle articles pop up. Confused, I click on one titled, Why You Need Soul Cycle. I scroll through the article, eventually coming across its writer. James Sanders, for New York Post. I study his other articles carefully. This is why he left mom and I. He wanted to be a writer more than a father. I click more links and explore more Google pages. And somehow, I come across his address on a shady website. If it’s the real James Sanders, then I know where my real dad lives. Apartment 26L, between West 66th Street and West 70th street in the Upper West Side, New York. A scary thought comes into my head. I could go see him, if it even is him. I brush the idea away. I would never get to do that. 

In Angola, the winter comes and goes. As soon as June hits, the weather gets nicer, and everything is good. Except for my current family situation. Ryan has only gotten worse with alcohol, and has become more verbally abusive to me, and only me. I think mom is afraid to speak up to him, leaving me to suffer. He’s made no effort to get another job, forcing mom to go back to waitressing, having no college education. 

“It’s only temporary, Fern. He’ll snap out of it and get back on his feet,” she says. 

“Mom, its been four months. I’m scared.” 

“Don’t worry, Fern. We’ll be okay. Now I have to go to work, I’ll see you later.” 

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and walks out. Don’t leave me here with him. I think. Just as she shuts the door, Ryan stumbles into the kitchen, where I am. 

“Fern,” he grumbles. “You know I can hear everything you say, right? You think I’m some kind of f***ing dead beat, don’t you?” 

“N-no, of course not. It’s just-” I stammer. 

“Speak clearly,” he says, slamming his drink on the counter. I suck in a breath. 

“When you got fired, you turned to alcohol and verbal abuse against me. I mean, look at you. Mom is a waitress making almost nothing, and all you do is spend your money on beer and get wasted. You have a family! You have two kids!” I yell at him. 

“You’re not my f***ing daughter, Fern! And you never will be!” 

“How can you say that?” I scream, tears running down my face. “You’ve been here since I was a kid. I loved you. I had no real father figure, but that was you! And now look how you treat me. You hate me for now reason at all!” Ryan is quiet. 

“Go to your goddamn room, Fern,” he says coldly. 

“So that’s all I get? After all that-”

“I said go to your f***ing room!” he screams. 

I run upstairs into my room. I start stuffing clothes into a backpack. I’m going to New York City. I’m going to find my dad. I’m getting away from Angola and Ryan. I can’t stay here anymore. Amelia walks in. 

“Fern, where are you going?” she asks. 

“I’m taking a short trip.” I hug her tightly. “I’m sorry to leave you here like this. But you’re old enough and strong enough, and I’m a terrible sister. I’ll just be going for the weekend.” That last part was a lie. I don’t know when I’ll be coming back. 

“How are you getting-”

“Car.” 

“Fern...why…”

“Everything will be okay, Amelia. I just need time to myself.” I hug her and run downstairs, she follows me. I hug her one last time, and grab Ryan’s keys off of the counter. I run outside to the car. 

“Fern!” Ryan yells. I jump inside and start it as fast as I can. Just as I do, I see Ryan appear in the doorway. He runs at me. I shift into reverse and get out of the driveway quickly, the tires screech on the pavement. I call mom, but it goes to voicemail, since she’s at work. 

“Hey, mom. Please don’t worry about me. This is a really scary thing I’m doing right now, but I’m going to find dad in the city. I’m so, so sorry I’m doing this. I can’t stay with Ryan anymore. I’ll text you to let you know I’m okay. I love you.”I hang up and start crying, hard.

 Through a scruffy voice I say into my phone, “Take me to West 66th Street and 70th Street, Upper West Side, New York.” The phone navigates. I’ll be arriving at 8 pm, with heavy traffic. 

After almost seven hours of driving, I arrive in New York City. I carefully listen to my directions to the Upper West Side. While in traffic, I research a picture of my dad. I notice that I look similar to him. We have the same nose and dimples. We have the same green eyes and messy brown hair. We have the same pale skin.

As I near his apartment complex, bad thoughts run through my head. What if it’s not him? If it is, what if he doesn’t accept me? Or love me? I remember I have a picture of mom in my wallet. I was still a newborn, and she was nineteen. 

I come to his apartment complex, and I park on the street. I put my head in my hands. What am I doing here? But I’ve come all this way. I might as well try to get an answer. I walk inside, no secretary to be found. She must have slipped away. I go to the elevator, and with a shaky hand, press the button for level twenty six. The elevator goes up for some time and dings. The door opens, and I’m greeted with apartment 26A. I can only go left. 26J, 26K, and finally, 26L, on my right hand side. I stare at the door and hesitate for a moment, but I knock. My heart pounds in my chest. Moments later, the door opens, revealing a woman, not my father. 

“Can I help you?” she asks. 

“I-I’m looking for James Sanders,” I stutter out. 

“Why?” 

“This m-may sound crazy, but I think he’s my dad. I’m Fern, his d-daughter.” Her eyes go wide. 

“You’re his daughter?” she whispers. I nod. 

“One sec.” 

She closes the door, and I stand there awkwardly. Then, about a minute later, the door handle jiggles, and opens again. This time, my father stands at the door. At first, we both say nothing. He looks just like the picture online. He looks distraught. 

“Dad?” I ask. I can barely get the word out. He just stands there, stunned. My shaking hands go to my wallet, and I take out the picture of mom and I. I give it to him. He takes it, studying it. 

“Andrea,” he whispers under his breath.

It’s him. He looks up at me and hugs me. And for some reason, I hug him back. He invites me inside. 

We talk for what seems like hours. He apologizes to me for everything, and how he wanted to come back, but his parents wouldn’t let him. I can’t tell if they’re lies or not. He also tells me, through many tears, that he loves mom and I, and that he feels terrible about what he did to us. He introduces the woman, Krista, a trusted friend and colleague. He tells me that he tired looking for us, but was never successful. That part I don’t believe, yet we both cry. 

“I love you, Fern,” he says. I shouldn’t love him back. But in this moment, I do. He hugs me again, and I cry into his shoulder. I tell him about Ryan, Amelia, more about mom, and the reason I’m there in the first place. 

“You can stay here for as long as you’d like, Fern,” he tells me. 

We cry some more, talk some more, and around 9:45, mom calls me. I pick up, knowing what’s coming. 

“Fern! What the f***-”

“Mom, I’m with dad,” I say, gently. She is quiet for a moment. 

“Fern I don’t know where you are or who you’re with but I’m coming to get you right-” I take the phone away from my ear and give it to my dad. 

“Andrea? It’s James…” he says. 

I sit on the couch as the two talk for several minutes. My eyes begin to grow heavy. I lay down and rest my head on the couch cushion. The sounds of New York City and voices reconnecting fills my head as I drift off to sleep.