I'm so fucking hype for Texas then GMForgiveness b y e

ps ty v much to Lily for proofreading s/o to her ok

You know how this is supposed to work.

You've been in this routine for years being Riley's best friend; a new lesson each week, an obstacle that involves executing said lesson, and a resolution that showcases the heartfelt happy ending.

Your lives magically revolve around your best friend's father's curriculum, so- how ironic!- the week that your own dad decides to pop back into your life happens to be the week that Matthews wants to lecture your friends on accepting apologies.

"In your lives, you are going to be wronged. It's not a question of if it'll happen, just when and how." He turns his body around to face the board, the chalk gliding across the surface to script your routine until the next adolescent crisis rolls along.

"The Forgiveness Project?" You read aloud, the eyes of your friends suddenly on you.

"That's right, Maya. Our latest assignment. For, you see, the questions of when and how apply to the actual process of you being hurt and your response to it. When you react, will it be negatively? How will your decision and behavior affect your own life and the relationships with those in it?"

You know where he's getting at this. You'd told the Matthews on Saturday after your father knocked on your apartment door that he had sauntered back into town.

"He's asking me for forgiveness," you explain to Riley. Your hands fidget with the loose thread at the corner of the throw pillow you're clutching for comfort. "My mom was at work, and he just showed up and wanted to see us. I told him to leave and he gave me his phone number. He said he's in town and to give it to my mom so we can all talk. I don't even know if I want to give it to her. I don't even know if I should forgive him."

"Maya! Of course you should forgive him," Riley grins, shaking her head as if it's that easy. She tells you that he's reaching out, making an effort. He's finally trying. "Isn't that what you've wanted all this time?"

You still don't know if it is what you've wanted. Even if it was, what if you don't want it now that it's happening?

After Shawn came into the picture, your bond with your mother grew and you found yourself hoping and hoping and hoping, a rare occurrence. You deserved to hope and hope and hope. You still do. If your father could run off and find a new wife and have new kids, there wasn't any reason your own family couldn't expand with joy and love. He has his own life, so why would he want to impose in on yours?

Still, sitting at her kitchen table two days prior, Riley persisted on you meeting with him.

You want to give in to her. You're supposed to, aren't you? At the end of this week, you're supposed to have a deadbeat father earning back redemption with your arms open. That's how this plot works out.

With those words on the board and that determined purse in your best friends lips, you're not allowed to reject him- so you don't. Because you can't.

You call him on Monday. He offers to take you to dinner, and you accept. You have to accept. The lesson is forgiveness, and at the end of the week you need your happy ending, so you agree to a dinner at a little Italian place a few blocks from your apartment and to a fresh start between the two of you.

He's late, but that's okay. You forgive him. That's what's written in the stars for you this week, isn't it? You waited for an hour sipping water and nibbling on bread sticks, but that doesn't matter. He's late, but he's here.

You spend forty minutes with dulled eyes and a forced smile before he drops you off at Riley's.

"Oh, Peaches, how was it? Isn't it great to have your dad back? Now we can do double Daddy-Daughter dates! Aren't you so excited?"

She asks you as if you have a choice, the three words plastered on your classroom's board firmly planted in the back of your head. She asks you as if you can look into her eyes and tell her that you truthfully would be okay never speaking to him again. She asks you as if succumbing to the guilt of resenting him is actually possibly able to overpower the fate of your life as her best friend. You don't, you can't, and it isn't.

On Tuesday, he takes you to a park. He buys you a pretzel, and you ask him what he wants you to call him. He wants you to be comfortable, so you laugh and call him 'Kermie' and he talks about how much you sound like your mom. He tells you that he wants to catch up on all that you've missed in each other's lives.

Every time he mentions his new family, your stomach is tied in knots and your lungs constrict. He shows you perfect chocolate ringlets and perfect hazel eyes on perfect little girls that he's spent the past perfect eleven years raising with his perfect wife in their perfect home in their perfect suburb in Ohio. He shows you his puppy playing in his lively backyard with his daughters swimming with their mother in his pool.

He shows you a life that you used to crave at his youngest daughter's age.

It makes you feel sick.

You want to leave, but you don't. You can't. If you leave, your big final scene won't happen. He won't hug you and spit some bullshit line about new beginnings before you all go to bed in preparation for next week's issue, and that is not how this is supposed to work, so you stay and you smile and you politely correct him when he doesn't use the right names while asking about your best friends.

Matthews uses you as an example on Wednesday.

"Take Maya, for example. Though she's been wronged by her father, she's risen above that and forgiven him to seek a relationship. She's being the bigger person by showing understanding."

Lucas's hand glides down your arm resting on his desk as your body tenses. He squeezes your bicep and you can almost feel the frown on his face at your movement.

"How do you feel now that you finally have your dad back, Maya?" Sarah asks from your left.

"However the script says I should." You try to smile, but it turns out a broken chuckle. "Just kidding. It's great, of course."

Looking at him makes your heart ache with a need to be torn from your body to end your insufferable depression that he's caused you since he walked out, but who are you to question kismet?

By Thursday night, you're crying on Lucas's shoulder in your bedroom.

You invited your dad to Topanga's nearly half an hour before. The question of his abandonment haunted you throughout the night, and you wanted to forgive him- truly forgive him- but you needed to know.

"Why did you leave us?"

You expected a heartfelt answer. That's what was called for in order for it to make it to tomorrow with flying colors. He needed to tell you that he left because he was drinking or smoking or not in the right place. He needed to have a rightful excuse for missing out on practically your entire life. He had to. It's how it played out. It's how this was supposed to work. He had to admit some dark past that solidified his pending role in your life.

The thing is that he didn't. He told you with a clear conscience that he left because he didn't want to be a father or husband anymore. He told you that he left because he didn't want you or your mother, and Lucas walked into the door for a snack just quick enough to pull you away in the midst of tears as you spit on the scum on Earth that Kermit Clutterbucket truly is through gritted teeth.

Your fists ball up as you even begin to think about that asshole again. "Do you know what he said to me? He left because he didn't want us. He didn't want to be a father or a husband." You stare into green eyes with the broken expression that you'd hoped had long faded. "He married his wife two months after leaving New York. He had his first daughter within a year. He didn't want to be a father to me, but he can go knock up the woman that he left my mother for and raise those little girls like they're worth more than I am."

"Maya..."

"I used to cry myself to sleep. I was four, five, six years old, crying myself to sleep because my daddy didn't want me. I had to grow up watching the Matthews household, praying that they were something I could one day achieve. I prayed that one day, someone would want me."

Lucas stares silently at you from your bed. You're not sure when you stood up to scream and bawl your frustrations to an oblivion, but he's just watching as you do with a face free of judgment that you appreciate more than life itself at this point.

"Where was he for my Daddy-Daughter dances? My first days of school? My birthdays? Plays and showcases and art shows? Where was he when my name was in the paper for my piece in my elementary school's fire safety poster contest? Where was he when I had no help on my homework because his reckless decision left my mom to work constantly to make ends meet?"

You're body feels like it's vibrating, your sobs ripping through your words harshly. You've never been this mad, not in your entire life. You're so angry that your blood feels like it's bursting from your veins while you grind your teeth and violently throw your arms around.

"I'm worth just as much as his other kids. I'm worth just as much as any little girl that he actually took the time to raise. Who does he think that he is? I'm worth more than his bullshit. I'm worth more than nothing. I'm worth more than leaving."

You want your words to come off strong. You want to show that you're above feeling sorry for yourself. You're above not being good enough. You're above questioning why you were who he didn't stay with. You want to prove that you're above it all, but if you are then why did your voice get higher and why did your sobs come harder?

Lucas slowly rises, testing the waters of your crumbling disposition.

"I just... why wasn't I good enough for him, Lucas?" You stare up at him, almost hoping that he knows the answer, but he doesn't. You know that he doesn't which makes it hurt that much more when all he can do is wrap his arms around you while you stain his shirt with running mascara.

"It's okay. You don't have to ever see him again. I'll make sure you never see him again."

That sounds absolutely perfect right up until you realize the fact that it's Lucas comforting you right now and not your dad, which is not how this week's episode plays out.

Fuck.

You really shouldn't be here. You need to go back. You need to tell your father that it doesn't matter what happened, he's here now.

The Forgiveness Project, you remind yourself. Your mom would be yelling at your father right now. Riley would be leading you back to the bakery. Mr. Matthews wouldn't have even let you leave.

God, what are you doing here? What if he left? What if he's already gone? What if he's back in Ohio with his wife and his kids and his perfect life without you? How are you supposed to fulfill your prophecy of a completed biological family without a biological father?

"Oh my god, I need to call him." Your hands frantically shove him away from you and pat on your pockets in search of your phone. All of your despair is immediately replaced with crippling anxiety. You need to make sure he doesn't leave and that you apologize because that's what you're supposed to do.

"Maya... why would you do that?" Lucas's question makes you scoff because how could he be so clueless? He hasn't been around as long as you have, but he knows the pattern by now, doesn't he?

"Because I can't fail."

His entire face scrunches at your response. "You can't fail what?"

"The lesson this week."

More confusion.

"Jesus, Huckleberry, do I have to explain everything to you? The lesson this week! I know that you haven't been with the Matthews for too long, but I have to forgive my father. I have to put everything behind me. I need my heartfelt moment tomorrow. That's how this works. It's the forgiveness project, remember?"

"Maya, you don't have to forgive him," he deadpans. Is he not listening to you? Is every word you say going right over his head?

"Of course I do," you push, finding a glimpse of your cell peaking from the bed. You step for it, but something stops you. "Ranger Rick, move your arm."

He offers a deep sigh, lightly pushing you back to place his body between your own and your device. "I just need you to answer a question for me. Honestly. And then I'll let you right by."

You roll your eyes at him. He's fucking ridiculous. He's absolutely fucking ridiculous. "Whatever, Huckleberry. Just ask so that I can get there before he leaves again."

"How does he make you feel? How does he make you feel when you spend time with him or hold an actual conversation with him?"

"Great." Your answer is a reflex. It's supposed to be great. You're spending time with your dad. He wants you again. It's a miracle. You're supposed to be ecstatic.

"Honestly."

But you're not. You're nowhere near ecstatic. God, you hate spending time with him. He destroyed your mother and the relationship you could've had with her all of these years. He left your family to immediately start another. He called Riley 'Rebecca' six times on Tuesday. Lucas can see right through you. He can tell that you're ready to hand your father his ticket home with no regrets.

Truthfully, he's the one that's made you feel broken your entire life. When you're with him, you feel small. You feel angry. You feel worthless. He makes you feel every terrible thought that you've tried to overcome since the day that he left, and you're still trying to force yourself to forgive him.

"Maya, you should be doing this for yourself."

You're not. You can't even attempt to dance around that one. You're doing this for Riley. You're doing this for the smile on her face at your success tomorrow and for the double Daddy-Daughter dates that she wants. You're doing it because that's your role; the best friend whose love for the quirky brunette exceeds bitter judgments and broken relationships.

And you love your role. It's great being Riley's best friend, really! It's just... exhausting sometimes. You can never get sick because your ray of sunshine is sometimes just too sweet on her own. She's constantly making jabs to remind you that your life isn't anywhere near perfect compared to hers. She's so brilliant, yet so naive to the tricks around each corner. You know that she doesn't stress your life intentionally and you'd truly never trade it, but standing here being stared down by a determined Huckleberry is really making you realize just how tired you are after the week you've had. He's helping you realize how tired you are after every week you've ever had in this routine.

"I... I don't forgive him." It takes everything in you, but you actually get the words out and you can finally feel the pressure of his existence wearing off.

You need to do this for yourself. This is your life. These are your relationships among people. You love Riley to no end, but you can't do this. You can't just let the man that left you shattered to pieces before you could even properly speak just waltz in like he didn't turn your family to dust.

"I don't forgive him."

You're almost in high school. You've been following this template of life for practically ten years. You need to write your own story. You need to find your own fate. Mr. Matthews won't be waiting around the corner with a new life lesson for the rest of time.

"I don't forgive him at all."

You're not going to do this for your mom or Mr. Matthews or even Riley.

"I don't accept his apology."

You're going to do this for yourself.

"I don't want him in my life."

Lucas nods, relief evident as he moves to free your path. You catch his body before he's out of reach and pull him into a tight hug.

"Thanks, Billy Bob."

On Friday, you come clean to your father and the Matthews and your mom and yourself. You stand in front of them in your favorite little bakery and you stare the man that abandoned you right in the eyes when you tell him that you don't want any part of him in your life.

"You left me before I even started school. This all started before I was even in kindergarten," you begin, anger rattling through your limbs as you glower down at his seated figure. "My mother raised me to think that it was her fault that you were gone, to think highly of you. She put all of her sacrifices in the dirt so that I would miss you at night, and even after finding out, I tried. I really tried. I tried to shove aside feeling useless. I tried to shove down the despicable burden of knowing that you could go years without trying to know who I've become. I tried to avoid looking you up to find pictures of the perfect little family that we couldn't be for you."

"Maya, I don't think that's fai-"

"You don't think that's fair? Do you know what's not fair, dad? Growing up without anyone at home because my parent had to work three jobs to pay our bills. Writing 'broken' across my forehead because how could I not be when my own father doesn't want me? Being eleven and crying myself to sleep because I was supposed to be alright with my mom's boyfriend treating us like that. Sure, the one before him was at least sober enough daily that mom didn't have to install extra locks on my bedroom door, but at least this one was staying."

Bitter chuckles slip from your lips at the silence that washes over him.

"How did I lose my first tooth? How old was I when I caught the chickenpox? What's my favorite dinner? But wait, that's not fair, is it? Let me ask some questions you can answer. Has your oldest daughter at home had her first date yet? I have. It didn't exactly count, but mom took pictures anyways. Which year was your favorite year to take them to that annual Daddy-Daughter dance? Mr. Matthews usually tag teams between me and Riley, not Rebecca. I feel like fifth grade was a really fun year for us. What does your youngest daughter want to be? When I was her age, I really liked skaters. I was determined to go pro until I broke my arm and gave up on that dream. Hope is for suckers, y'know? That's probably the most valuable piece of advice you've taught me, have you taught them that yet? Do you send them off to school full of fear that you won't be there when they get home?"

He's not talking. He's focused on the ground, a frown indented into his face while you scold him. You don't even want to look up to imagine the look of horror on everyone else's faces. There goes your good grade, you guess.

"I don't want anything to do with you. I don't want you here anymore. I want you to leave us alone."

"That's..uh, wow. You're just as much of a firecracker as Katy was when we met... You really are your mother's daughter."

His response almost makes you grin. You are. You're proud to be. You're all Hart.

"Just...Go find your daughters and hold them close and tell them how valuable they are to you and to this world. Show them how beautiful they are and how much you care. Go home. Go be a father."

Everyone else takes turns giving you sad smiles as he rises and takes a step towards the exit. He awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck before smiling at your mom "You've done a great job with her, Kates."

She moves closer to you and kisses the top of your head, agreeing and telling him that he doesn't need to tell her twice.

You take a second to fully recognize the man walking away from you. You have his eyes, the shape of his nose. He gave you the dimples that sometimes pop up when you smile so wide that your mom claims your joy is putting stars in the cry. His fair skin covers your body, your dorky little snort is something you've seen in videos from his high school days, and that devious little smirk you get? He claims to have invented it. He's a part of you as you're a part of him, so it's supposed to hurt watching him walk away.

It doesn't, and you don't really know how it's supposed to be anymore.

He's supposed to hurt you, you're supposed to want him to stay, and there's supposed to be a heartfelt moment of redemption that bonds your parents and you forever.

"Goodbye, Maya."

Hell, you don't even know who decides how things are supposed to be.

"Goodbye, Kermie."

Who says that it can't be you?