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Make Believe by westernway
Number of reviews: 3
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Author's Notes: So I wrote this in about...maybe three hours or less. This was also written between the hours of 11 PM - 2 AM so forgive me if there are any mistakes or something like that. This piece just needed to be written now and I so I spat it out.
The inspiration for this story comes from the song 'Make Believe' by JJ Heller. Enjoy!
-Amanda
When I was a little girl my mother used to tell me stories about my father. Every night before I went to sleep, she would sit on the edge of my bed and hold onto my hand as she relapsed into the memories that made her fall in love with dad in the first place. At first she told stories about how my father couldn’t stay around because he was so busy with his job and he wanted to be with me but work wouldn’t allow him to be with me. I believed her when I was younger. I would make stories up about how my dad was a brave knight and he had to go off into battle to keep my mother and I safe. Or I would tell the other kids that my dad had to save the world and make it a better place for me to grow up in.
But as the years went on and I got older, I stopped believing in the fairy tales my mother would weave every night at my bedside. When I was ten years old, I finally asked her to stop telling me the run down story of how dad couldn’t be with us because of some unforeseen, evil force was keeping us from being a family. I saw the way the kids on the playground looked at me with pity when their fathers came to pick them from school. I had to sit in the back of the class while the rest of my peers presented their dads and what they did for a living for a class project. All I had to go on were the fantasies that my mom told me every single night and it was in that adolescent phase that I began to question what had really happened to my father.
She wouldn’t answer my questions at first because she knew that the truth would hurt me more than it would help me. She had been living with the awful reality of what my father had done to us, and the longer she kept it from me, the longer I could live in my false sense of reality. But my questions wouldn’t stop coming and finally, she told me what really happened.
Her story started out simple enough. My mother had been like any other teenage girl and had fallen in love with a great guy who had a promising future and would stop at nothing to give her the whole world. She wanted the moon; he would get her the whole solar system. Their love knew no bounds except for one little mistake: me.
They were both seventeen when my mother found out I was on the way. She was scared senseless and had no idea what to do. After all, she was still a little girl in so many ways and he had sheltered her from the world he belonged in, a world where you’d be torn to pieces if you made one little mistake. Unfortunately I wasn’t a small mistake; I was the mistake to end all other mistakes. She told him after one of his shows and he stopped talking to her. I guess he was afraid of being a father at such a young age. Or maybe he was terrified of what I would do to his career should people find out he was going to be a father. I don’t blame him, when you’re the heartthrob to thousands of teenaged girls the world over; the last thing you want is a baby to damage your image.
Mom told me that he was there when I was born. He said it was the best moment of his life and yet he still walked out on us. I bet he didn’t have complete control over the situation, as I’m sure the people who were running his band at the time didn’t want baggage around, ruining their chances at musical domination. But he could have come back for us when all was said and done.
That was the last night she sat at the edge of my bed to tell me a story, the true story. Because after the truth was out, I couldn’t stomach the phony fairy-tales about my father that had been a complete lie.
I was unwanted by the hero I had thought him to be. Mom would tell me over and over again when I was a little kid that he wanted to be with me and thought I was the greatest gift he could ever ask for, but now I see that she was trying to protect me from the awful truth that ate me up inside throughout my early teen years. To know that you were unwanted by someone who you had thought could do no wrong was a devastating blow to a ten year old who thought her father would come back and make everything okay.
But my mother still lied to me. She told me my father was a musician but she never told me who he really was. I don’t know how she was able to keep herself from dying from a broken heart when she started to hear about him and his high profile relationships with Hollywood starlets and European super models while we were stuck in a dumpy neighborhood in Florida. My mother is stronger than I give her credit for and I should have idolized her more than my never there father.
The funny thing was even though I knew the truth; I still wanted to believe my father could do no wrong. After my mother told me the shocking actuality of my origin, I found myself dreaming that he would sing my praises and tell me I was the only good thing to come out of his long and wearisome life. One of my favorite fantasies was when I would come home from school one day and he’d be there waiting for me. And then he’d whisk my mother and I away and we’d live happily ever after. But the one that took the cake was the one where I would make believe that I was straight out of a fairy-tale like Cinderella. I would walk down the stairs in an amazing dress and he’d be waiting at the bottom to see me out the door. He acted like a perfect gentleman. He would take my hand and kiss it, telling me how beautiful I was and how much he loved me before he would walk me to the door and see me off to the ball, reminding me that he would stay up while he waited for me to come home.
Of course that never came true but I would never stop believing that the pipe dreams were true no matter how ugly the truth was.
I was seventeen; the same age my mom and dad were when I was brought into the world, when I decided I wanted to find my father. I was graduating from high school that year and the questions were there swarming my thoughts more than ever. I’d thought about hunting my father down before then and I knew my mother wouldn’t be able to answer the questions that were spinning through my head.
I’m sure every single unwanted or adopted child went through that phase. They want to meet their parents, to see what they’re really like. They want to make that connection with their origins before striking out into the real world. I don’t blame them; I wanted answers too. I knew who he was; I knew that his name was Justin and he was filthy rich and he married some wonderfully beautiful woman who was just as famous and wealthy as him. I knew that they had two beautiful kids who are perfect in every single way and could do no wrong. I wanted to know why he was able to move on and have two kids when I was still in Florida, waiting for him to take me away to his castle on the west coast.
Mom was against me going out to see him from the start. She didn’t want me to get hurt, she didn’t want me to meet the man who managed to evade every single attempt to see me through all those years, but most of all she didn’t want the preconceived notions I had about Justin to be crushed into a million pieces. Mom didn’t want the dreams I had configured in my head to come falling down into shambles at my feet. I thought she was overreacting because in my heart of hearts I knew all the dreams I had about my father being a kind, caring, and zealous man couldn’t possibly be true. How could he be those things when he turned his back on what he said were the two most important things in his entire life? And how could he keep ignoring them almost two decades later?
Sure I wanted questions answered, yes I wanted to know why he was never there when I needed a male figure in my life, but I wanted to see if he ever thought I was a gift from heaven or if he ever considered coming back for me and claiming me as his first child. I mean I spent the majority of my teenage years watching old video footage of him from MTV and wondering if he was truly like the carefree and oh-so-cool individual that he portrayed on award shows and interviews. I wanted to know if he had been truly hurt by what Britney had done to him even though he had hurt someone else years and years before she came into his life. I wanted to see if he was like the man I imagined him to be and I could only get those answers if I went out to see him.
I knew it was going to be hard. I’m sure the last thing he wanted was an illegitimate child showing up on his doorstep and ruining the perfect life he always dreamed of. But I had to do it. Call it closure or call me crazy, but I had to do it for me. I didn’t need to stay long, just one afternoon. That as all I wanted.
My first month on the west coast had been hell. I had no idea where to start my search and it had definitely been a challenge trying to catch the attention of my superstar father. But thank God for his best friend, Trace.
I had been walking down Hollywood Boulevard, ready to give up the search for my father. It had been a lot harder to track him down than I had thought. Everyone thought I was either some insane fan who wanted to get close to him or they thought I was some sick teenager trying to play a joke on one of the Entertainment Industry’s most loved wonders.
That night I had been standing on the side of the red carpet, on the other side of the barricades, watching the celebrities make their way towards the theatre. I was ripping at the seams with jealousy as I watched him walk down the carpet, arm in arm with his beautiful wife, his two young kids in tow looking perfect as always. I called out his name, and held up a picture of my mother but he ignored me completely as he continued his stroll down the carpet I should have been on.
It was then that I knew he didn’t want anything to do with me. He broke the mold I had cast for him when I was younger and it broke my heart to know that he wasn’t the man I had dreamed about my entire life. He was just like the rest of the Hollywood crew, shallow and afraid of a scandal that would be damaging to his career in the long run.
I had decided then and there that I would go back to Florida and go to college. If my father wasn’t missing me then why should I miss him? Why should I keep focusing on that empty void inside of me that could only be filled with a father’s love if he wasn’t willing to help me seal it? I left the premiere totally oblivious to the fact that I had caught someone’s eye that night.
They say all you need in Hollywood is a lucky break and I got one that night as Trace Ayala went running after me down the Boulevard. He grabbed onto my arm and snatched the photo of my mother out of my trembling hands.
“You’re Tiffany’s kid?” he asked out of breath and I nodded silently, the tears of joy threatening to fall as I stood in the middle of the sidewalk feeling like a complete idiot. He looked up at me and shook his head in disbelief.
“Shit,” he stated, “You look just like him. What’s your name?”
“Mal,” I stammered before I mentally kicked myself, “Uh…that’s short for Mallory.” He grinned widely and grabbed my hand before he started to pull me back towards the bright lights of the theatre and the red carpet.
“What are you doing?” I asked him feeling a wave of panic washed over me. He might have been small, but he was pretty strong and I guess when Trace is on a mission, its best not to get in his way.
“What do you think I’m doing? Taking you to see your father.” I dug my feet into the ground and held fast.
“You can’t do that now. He’s got that movie thing going on and I doubt he wants the random appearance of his daughter to ruin everything!” I hissed at him and he stopped his incessant pulling and turned to look at me.
“Fine, but I’m taking you home.”
And a year later it’s still home. Trace had been true to his word and he skipped out on the premiere and took me to my father’s enormous house in the Hills. Even now I’m still shocked by the amount of splendor he allowed himself to live in. But now I realize that it’s only the best for Justin Timberlake and apparently in the beginning my mother and I weren’t the best.
It had been an interesting evening when father and family came home to find an unwanted houseguest sleeping on their couch. Trace managed to explain everything, and while father had been upset, he slowly got over the immediate surprise of finding his seventeen year old mistake passed out on his eight hundred dollar couch.
I can’t even begin to describe the unexplainable joy I felt when I woke up to his face the next morning. At that moment, all the questions I had for him were thrown out the window and all I could do was stare at him and cry as he sat on the coffee table and looked at me for the second time in his life.
We both cried and I felt closer to him in that moment than all the fake fathers I spent years perfecting in my head. He told me he never meant to leave my mother and I but he got caught up in the life of a high profile celebrity and the thought of his first love and child escaped to the outer limits of his mind. He was too occupied making a name for himself and trying to be the best he could be that he forgot that the two people who loved him no matter what he had accomplished or would accomplish had been waiting in Florida all along.
I can’t even begin to count the number of times he apologized to me or how many phone calls he made to my mother over the first few weeks of my arrival. I was slowly being integrated into his family and his life. I met my four ‘uncles’ for the first time other than watching them joke around with my father in interviews and performances. I was growing to like Cameron rather than resenting her for taking my father’s love away from my mother and I found a certain bond with my two stepsiblings, Hannah and Cole.
Yes I’ve been living in the Timberlake household for over a year and I feel like I’ve been here my whole life rather than just fourteen months. I’m finally feeling comfortable in a place I thought I would never be able to adjust to. I thought I wouldn’t adapt to the high-end life of a Celebrity’s child but all the comforts of home are here. The only thing I’m missing is that bond a daughter is supposed to have with her father.
I don’t think I’ll ever be a Daddy’s Girl; six-year-old Hannah has embodied that title. Sure dad tried to incorporate me into every single thing he was involved when I first came here, but now I’ve grown tired of him feeling guilty about never being there. It’s nice that he’s trying to care and he’s trying to make up for seventeen years of my life that he wasn’t there for but it’s grown old. All I want is for him to be there for me now and not three years ago.
Mom decided it was best for me to stay out in California while I got back in touch with father. I transferred to a private college on the West Coast and I’m enjoying my time as a full time college student. I live at home, I manage to keep my grades up, and I have a great set of friends. They accept me for who I am and not for who my father is which is a nice change from the people who tried to befriend me at the beginning of the year who were only interested in the size of my father’s bank account and what award shows he could get them into.
My best friend, Jennifer, informed me earlier today that we were going out to one of the clubs tonight. I’m truly my father’s daughter because if there’s one thing I love to do, it’s to go out and dance up a storm with my favorite people. It’s always nice to get dressed up and spend an evening with people you’re comfortable with, even if it’s spending it on a dance floor with hundreds of other people.
I stop to look at myself in the mirror. Trace had been right when he said I look just like my father. The same curly, dirty blonde hair that fell just past my shoulders and the almost identical cerulean blue eyes that were currently highlighted with eyeliner and mascara. I was blessed with my mother’s petite nose but I had his mouth that was usually pulled back into a goofy grin that mirrored my father’s. ‘Uncle’ Chris had gone so far to say that I had the same number of pores on my face but then again, Uncle Chris had always been the overly eccentric one.
“Mallory!” he calls from the bottom floor of the house, “Jen’s here!” I check the mirror once more to make sure everything’s in place before I leave my room, grabbing my purse and turning off the lights before I shut the door behind me. It’s another normal Saturday night. Cameron’s reading a bedtime story to Cole and Hannah although it isn’t like the ones my mother used to tell me. Once the kids fall asleep, Cameron and dad will more than likely settle in to watch a movie downstairs or invite some friends over for a rousing game of poker or some cocktails. On a more hectic night there will be a premiere or some sort of party for them to make an appearance at and that’s when I’m thrown on baby-sitting detail. But I don’t mind, I’ve grown attached to my stepsiblings.
I thunder down the stairs, stopping just shy of the last step when I realize dad is standing at the foot of the steps, a smile identical to my own tugging on his lips. My vans clad feet stop at the last step and I look at him with a shy smile, as I’m finally eye level with him.
Without a word he picks up my left hand and brings it up to his mouth, lettings his lips brush over my skin. His eyes are shining with pride and I can feel the heat rush up into my cheeks as he squeezes my hand before letting it fall back to my side.
“You look beautiful tonight, Mallory,” he whispers softly and I mutter a stammered thank you before he grabs onto a lock of my curly hair, “I hope you know that I love you with all my heart and even though I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, I’ll never go anywhere without you ever again. I just wanted to make sure you know that.”
“I do, Dad,” I whisper and he leans forward and kisses me on the forehead.
“Good, now you go and have fun tonight, and I’ll be waiting up for you when you get home,” he added as he takes my hand and walks me towards the front door. I notice Jennifer is sitting in her car and checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror. He squeezes my hand once more and lets go as I walk down the front steps and onto the driveway.
“Love you,” he says as if it’s the last time he’ll say it. I turn around and wave at him.
“Love you too, Dad.” He turns around and walks back inside, closing the front door behind him. I stand there for a moment and watch through the windows as he bounds up the stairs towards Cameron, Hannah, and Cole. He doesn’t know it, but that simple moment we just shared managed to confirm the thoughts that were starting to formulate in my mind.
I don’t have to make believe anymore.
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