The Conditions of Will

by Jessa Hastings

You can tell yourself you don’t even really want to be wanted by people like them anyway, but it isn’t true because the same way parents are supposed to want their kids, kids have a genetic predisposition to want to be wanted by them.

I mightn’t like my parents, I mightn’t like what they stand for or what they’ve done or how they’ve behaved, but they’re my parents and they sent us both away because we weren’t like them. That pulls a number on your psyche when you’re growing.

I hope the universes freezes and I’m forever stuck in the arms of the world’s hottest alcoholic, dancing on the grave of a bigot.

He drops his head as he laughs, then looks back up at me and the light from the sun makes his eyes look like little stars—or maybe the light’s just coming from inside of him?

“You don’t know whether you were addicted to her or the drugs.”

And I think to myself, wouldn’t it be so lovely if we viewed ourselves through the same lens as the people who love us?

“Georgia, I don’t think he was leaving you the empty plot.” He gives me a cautious look. “I think he was leaving you Alexis.” My head pulls back and my heart skips this strange, hopeful beat. “What?” “I think he knew you’d figure it out.” Sam shrugs. “And maybe—I don’t know, maybe I’m reaching or hoping or loving you has turned me to fucking mush or something, but I think maybe he knew Alexis could be something to you that your dad could never figure out how to be for you himself.”