A/N: This is the first time I have actually had a very difficult experience with writer's block while doing this story. I'm really, really sorry this chapter was delayed, but the last few scenes took me the longest time to write. Well, enjoy! The next few chapters should appear consecutively over the next couple of days, I've gotten some strength back. Review? -love- Desireé

Chapter Sixteen, Confessional

And maybe someday we will meet

And maybe talk and not just speak

Don't buy the promises 'cause

There are no promises I keep

-'Same Mistake', James Blunt

TYWY

"Please, I know this is hard to hear, but I need you to just listen to me. I'm… I'm not your mother. Just Harris'—but not yours."

There are some things in life you wish you never said, because they make sense at first when they are tucked away in your head; but then, you utter their harsh significance in a bitter, awful way, and suddenly their danger is evident and you want nothing more than to take it all back. Gabriella stood up straightly after she spoke to Arielle, hesitant about what she had just revealed. Once in a while, she could think that being honest wasn't the best thing ever. Troy was immobile, as if his too-young-for-him-but-then-again-he's-Troy-Bolton sneakers were welded to the concrete-like floor, his face a shade of melancholy. Harris, beside his father, was immensely pale and for once took on a more Bolton appearance, as opposed to the Montez genes in him that he had just now realized were his and only his.

Later, when the happy endings had come and things would be better and the world wouldn't seem so capricious, Troy and Gabriella—once known as the populars, the mainstreams, the vogues— would remember this day as the time of a turning point. Later, they would realize it was the first experience they had together, as parents, as a mother and a father. She could feel the tension attempting to swallow her; he tried to speak but second-guessed himself. After a moment, Arielle asked softly, "You mean to say, all this time, I've been chasing someone else's dream?" Her voice was so eerily muted, like a pillow was being pressed into her face and cutting off her oxygen supply. Like she wanted to die.

A chill flew down her spine as Gabriella thought of this; she screwed up her face in agony, parted her lips. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to have you find out this way, and neither did your father. I didn't even know if you wanted to find out, but now you have, and it's really a terrible way to apprehend your fate," she said delicately, clasping her hands over her stomach. "You're so wonderful and smart and funny and lovely and these past few days I've began to understand what it's like to have a daughter, even thought we still barely know one another. You've proved to me how much these past thirteen years have been so empty, and it's made me miss the old things I had."

Now crying in silence, Arielle glared conspicuously at her father and the woman she had thought was her mother. There was a long pause before she sneered to no one and everyone in the room, "Don't talk to me; don't read me the Riot Act; don't even try to fix things because they can't be fixed because you ruined them and now my life is over!" She turned away and, like a ghost, was gone. A door upstairs slammed obnoxiously; Harris, still transfixed in the corner, exhaled.

He glanced at both of the adults in the room. "Care to explain?" he inquired carefully, feeling the pulse in his wrists that screamed over and over with questions.

"Not exactly," Troy mumbled, shuffling his feet.

Gabriella narrowed her eyes and shoved him slightly, her hard curling around his arm. Physical contact startled them both; she withdrew. "We will, we promise, but first I think that your father and I need to finish some fragmentary conversations." Leave the room was written across her face. Harris, of course, got the message and excused himself, flickering his eyes at both of them briefly as he closed the door.

They were alone now. Gabriella coughed slightly; she really needed some therapy, right now. I left my boyfriend and baby son while another woman was pregnant with his second child. She gulped and smoothed out her shirt, trying to appear calm. This could be worse, she thought. This could be much, much worse. They could have been on one of those "Survivor" type shows that try to reunite ex couples and then tear them apart over something trivial like a lone fish in the water or leftover firewood.

Yes, it could have been much worse.

And so as she rummaged through her mind for something to start the awkward exchange, she decided there were plenty of possible greetings she could say to Troy; however, in the end, all she could render was, "Hi there."

He stared at her for a moment, and she looked away, self-conscious; he was searching for her flaws, she could tell. He was seeking out imperfections that he could always hold against her. But, to her simultaneous surprise and relief, there were no harsh comments to follow up, only, "Hey."

In a nutshell, she was panicking. To elaborate, she was getting extremely worried about the not-so-dead feelings stirring inside her, purposefully scorching all the right places (mainly her heart) as punishment for being responsible for their current state of personal affairs—talking to Troy; they were the feelings that she had to carry every day, constantly reminding herself that he was married. "So." (Awkward pause.) "How did you get here?"

"I drove. A train ticket was rather expensive, so I figured it would be better if I just took thee Range Rover; it was pretty good with the snow. It's only the second replacement since the one I had in high school," he said softly, stifling a yawn. His eyes were sore from staring at the road for x amount of hours, and his shoulders ached at the thought of sleep. "Well, the town is really as small as you said it had been. When I got here, I just asked the post office guy if there was a Montez around and he said the next street over."

She forced a laugh, and he forced a laugh, and then they were both silent.

"You as nervous and freaked out as I am?" she asked suddenly, her insides squirming so much that she felt like throwing up. But given the fact she hadn't eaten all morning, she'd probably dry-heave.

"I would be lying if I told you no." Troy looked down, eyes focused on the floor. He bit his lower lip and eventually continued, "I've seen a lot of people from East High these last few days; Sharpay and Ryan—who's actually gay, did you know that?—and Chad and Taylor. There was sort of a private reunion at a restaurant the Evans had rented out. Martha got drunk and broke some wineglasses, and Kelsi probably ended up conceiving a child with Jason, since they were furiously canoodling in the elevator…" He paused and sighed. "I'm rambling. But I do have a point. The thing is, it was great to everyone: Zeke, the cheerleaders, the skater dudes; they're all great. But you weren't there. And that's why I didn't have a good time."

She sucked in her breath, blinking constantly in order to not seem like a completely emotional fruitcake that had manic depression. "The children," she said finally, running her fingers through her hair formally as she tried to conceal the jealousy within her that he was still in touch with everyone. "What do we tell them?"

"The truth," he murmured, somewhat irritated and almost hurt she hadn't said anything about him in return. "They have a right to know the truth, and we can't keep denying that."

Upstairs, Arielle is shut away in her bedroom and Harris is sitting on the couch.

"She's thoroughly pissed," the older teenager offered lazily when he saw the adults—his parents, he still couldn't get over that—appear on the upper landing. "I don't know what the song is, but she refuses to lighten up with the volume. I think she's trying to penalize you guys with the circa 2008 alternative music."

Both grown-ups exchanged a glance, and Troy shook off the shiver he got when Gabriella's eyes flashed. "Let's go," he said under his breath, and walked fearfully down the hallway. She followed, feeling like she did when she was eleven and everyone at her cousin's birthday party had food poisoning from the linguini. I'm going to be sick, I'm going to be sick, I'm going to be sick.

Troy reached the only door that was closed in the hall, balling his hand into a fist and knocking gently. Somehow, above the Fall Out Boy noise they could hear her respond with a muffled "Go away!" Gabriella reached past him and turned the knob, meeting a draft of their via the lyrics of 'Apologize'—which was just now beginning to play—by OneRepublic. Ironic.

"I said go away," Arielle insisted as she silenced the music, sitting up. Her face was streaked with tears, eyeliner a watery mess and mascara clumped beyond belief. For a thirteen-year-old, she looked absolutely awful. "Nothing you can say will make me feel any better than I do now, which is absolute disgust and depression. Leave me alone."

Neither of the adults could seem to make an argument with this. They had screwed up; they had been stubborn and indifferent and spiteful; they had done something that would inadvertently hurt another—someone they loved in their own separate ways. Troy began to step backwards, but Gabriella's hand instinctively grabbed him and she pulled him forward, before blushing and severing their second contact. "We can't leave, that's not fair to her," she whispered to him, seeing a similar color rise in his face. This made her smile inwardly, the slightest of dimples appearing on her cheeks.

"Arielle…" Troy began. "You know neither of us never meant for you to be so hurt. I know you asked me a lot about Gabriella, I should have told you the truth, but it's just so complicated—"

"What?" She sat up, livid. "What is so complicated, Dad? What would it take for you to just have turned around one day and mention that Gabriella was entirely out of my league of hope?" Now she was sobbing uncontrollably, feeling her body shake and her shoulders wrench like all her limbs were being pulled in opposite directions. "I don't see why the fuck adults have to make things so confusing and difficult."

Her father let the F-slip go. He sighed patiently, side-glancing at Gabriella who shook her head and slipped out of the room. A minute later, the bathwater was running in the next room. "Please," Troy begged quietly.

"Please what? Please forgive you? I can't! I can't forgive you!" She sunk her fist into his arm and burst into tears, rolling over beside him so he was staring at her back. For a moment, he contemplated being the one to bring up the matter of whom, but then decided it was better he go.

"Wait." Troy stopped, turned back to Arielle. She sniffled. "Who's my mother?"

"Cassandra," he said softly. And then he left, wincing at the sound of grief-stricken hiccups following him into the bathroom next door.

TYWY

Love is the triumph over hate. Love is the feeling someone feels stirring inside them when they think about a significant other. Love is admitting you are wrong, and that you are sorry.

"Troy!" Gabriella had been lying in the four-legged bathtub, adorned in bubbles, with her eyes closed before she heard the door open. Now she sat up, arms over her chest despite the fact that white suds were mounted upon her torso, her hair half-wet and her face shocked. "What happened?"

"Don't freak, I'm not going to look." He sat on the floor rug. "She asked who her mother is."

Gabriella leaned back, letting a little water splash onto the floor as her shoulder blades brushed the white porcelain. "Oh. Well. Did you tell her?"

"Yes, I did. And now I feel shitty."

"That's normal, I think, for a parent."

"Yeah, but about not letting the kid go to a party, or have friends over because of their test grade. Not about telling them who their biological mother is."

Love is delicate and strong, well mannered and cheeky, dependable and unreliable, wild and tame. Gabriella rested her cheek on the edge of the tub, feeling the cool ceramic feeling against her hot face. "She still loves you," she said.

"I don't think so," he replied dismally. Gabriella noticed he did not ask if she was referring to Cassandra or Arielle, and then considered if it really mattered.

"You're being dramatic."

He stared at her. "I don't think I am."

She stared back. "But I'm a girl, and we know drama. So if I say you're being dramatic, then trust me when I say so."

"I've missed this," Troy said, waving his hand at the air as if their memories floated between them so, so easily.

There was no reply, but he didn't really need one. Love was also unrelenting and tenacious, above everything else. Gabriella sighed peacefully, and squinted at the dim lamp light in the corner. "What's your favorite memory of us?"

The question was ridiculous, casual, even haphazard, and yet it made the most sense Troy had heard in a long time. "Albuquerque, toward the end of senior year," he said thoughtfully, looking at the lamp as well, perhaps trying to see what she was seeing. "Chad worked as a bag boy at his dad's market, the family deli one near the Vista Theater, and it was a 24-hour market. One Saturday night, you and I were there around one in the morning, and Chad was the only guy working besides one cash register lady. So the three of us had shopping cart races through the aisles, and then you were laughing so hard when you came in third through the beverages section that you rolled right into a pyramid of Sprite boxes and then there was soda everywhere." He paused with a smile. "Chad had to clean it up the next day, while you and I shared a chocolate shake from Dairy Queen and watched."

Now, opposed to Harris' shock and Arielle's weeping and Troy's guilt, Gabriella was laughing. She quivered in the tub silently at first, before her entire body was shaking and she let out loud, embarrassing whoops of amusement. It seemed to be contagious, as Troy joined in and soon he was on his back, kicking the floor and misty-eyed from cracking up so much. They both looked at one another, getting into another fit of chuckling, before he was panting and looking up at the ceiling. "What's yours?"

She had to ponder this. "It was a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant. You and I were having a fight, but we still had to go to the benefit my boss was having at a little speech hall on Long Island. The party was boring, the food sucked, and I was having the weirdest time with nausea. Once in a while you'd ask me if I had forgiven you yet, and the answer would always be no. An hour and a half into it, the fire sprinklers were set off because one of my co-worker's kids set a drape on fire. We both got soaked and tried to get outside, but the main exits were both packed with the crowd trying to leave, so you picked me up off my feet and I started crying because you were too sweet and I realized how stupid it was to be mad at you because I loved you so much. We laid out on the grass for another two hours, drenched to the bone while saying favorites and playing Rhyming Words."

"Pickle," he said automatically.

"Fickle."

"Nickel."

"Sickle."

"Tickle."

She tilted her head back and laughed wholehearted, feeling the cold air embrace her wet skin. Troy smiled at his lap and said, "I wish we could have fixed this."

She stopped smiling and looked at him, and then at the water around her. The bubbles had dispersed; the fun had gone away. "I know, I do, too."

TYWY

Love is wishing, wanting, hoping, healing. Love is the desire to make your puzzle piece fit with someone else's, in spite of their flaws. Love is being honest in the end, usually because you've never been honest with yourself.

Look at the stars

Look at the stars, falling down,

And I wonder where, did I go wrong.