I cross my arms over my chest. Is this what our little lunch date was for? For him to just educate me on my rights and wrongs? For him to judge my relationship with Mom, even though he has yet to witness just how cruel she can be? I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, I understand,” I say, hoping it ends this topic.
“Good. I arranged for the two of you to have a girls’ spa day tomorrow.”
“What?” I nearly shout.
“Can you at least pretend to be thrilled about it?”
“I’m sorry if I’m not bursting at the seams with excitement at this very moment. But I’m not ready to face a woman who told me I shouldn’t blame others for my failures during one of my episodes,” I blurt out. My father’s twisted expression immediately has me feeling guilty for not thinking before I spoke.
“She said that to you?” he asks, his tone low, his eyes darkening in distress. Not toward me—he’s disappointed in my mother. And I know I shouldn’t care if he is or isn’t, but when it comes to my mother and me, my father has a very soft spot. When he looks at her as if she’s let him down, I can feel exactly how she feels. The burning whole within your chest. The shame of knowing that you’ve disappointed a loved one. It’s how I feel every time she looks at me.
My mother, when she gets one of those stares from my father, does everything and anything to win back his affection. She would be nothing without my father. If she had to, she’d crawl through a pile of nails, walk through fire, and swim through a tank of sharks to win back his love. Because that’s what you do for people you love, right? And she loves him. Truly loves him. And she knows if he ever left her, she’d have no one. She’d always be alone.
Maybe she’s more fucked-up than I am.
Sometimes I wonder if she would be better off alone. Other times, I wonder why I feel bad for her in the first place. Is it because deep down she’s still my mother and I’m still waiting for her validation? No matter what has happened between us, if she were ever to change, if she were to ever tell me she was truly, sincerely sorry and wanted to work on our relationship, I’d do anything to win that from her, to win the affection of my mother’s love. But we’ve gone through this for so many years now, and she’s always been the same with me. I’ve gone bitter. And my mother? Well, she has too much pride to ever ask to rebuild what’s been damaged between us.
“Yes,” I confess quietly, averting my eyes in shame. I lower my head and stare at my hands as I press my palms together, trying to absorb the dampness.
“I see,” he says. “I wasn’t aware—”
“You’re not aware of a lot. You’re hardly around anymore. So, yeah.”
Silence.
I don’t dare look up at him, though I can feel his stare burning into me. It’s not normal for me to lash out at my father, or even talk back. I respect him far too much to treat him like I treat my mother. So, of course, the guilt sets in.
His phone buzzes against the table. I peek up as he reaches for it, hesitates, then swipes the screen and lifts the cell to his ear. “Honey,” he answers, his voice calm and monotone, “I’m having lunch with our daughter.” I swallow a large lump wedged in my throat. Dad keeps his eyes on me but continues on with Mom, “Yeah. We have a lot to talk about when I get home tonight.” Oh shit. He’s going to tell her about what I said. No. I can’t deal with the aftermath. She’ll be angry, she’ll take it out on me by saying things, hurtful things. I can’t handle this right now.
My leg begins to shake. Tugging on the skin of my lip, my eyes shift his way as I hear him go on, “I’m not discussing this with you right now; I want to enjoy lunch with my daughter. No. Tonight, Laura… Hold on.” He pulls the phone away, glares at the screen, and then brings it back to his ear. “I have to take this call. I’ll see you tonight.” He swipes the phone, dismissing my mother, and goes on to the next call. “This better be good, Stanley—” Dad stops to listen. It must be good news. His lips curl into a smile, and it’s as if my mother and I are no longer a concern. “That’s amazing. I want the contract drawn up immediately, before he changes his mind. Yes. While you’re preparing the contract, I’ll make the necessary phone calls. I should be back in the office within”—he glances at his watch—“fifteen minutes.”
Dad ends the call. He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a few hundred-dollar bills, and places them on the table. “Jenna, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s okay. I get it. No worries. You’re a busy man.”
His smile is gentle. “I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”
A promise he’ll never be able to keep, but I go along with it anyway. “I know.”
Before I know it, he’s up and out of sight.
Lips trembling, I bite down to focus on the physical pain rather than the emotional. There’s an ache in my chest that I’m not sure how to soothe. Brooke would’ve known what to do; she would have made me laugh. I wish she were here.
I miss her.
I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. Reaching for my phone, I call the driver and ask to be picked up.
I wanted to keep going, to just drive and drive and never look back. But the driver was growing impatient, and I had no choice but to finally direct him home after four long hours.
We pull up in front of the house. I feel suffocated, stuck. I don’t want to get out. This backseat has become a protective bubble over the last few hours, but time’s run out and I have nowhere else to go. Charlie isn’t picking up my phone calls, so as the driver opens the back door and reaches in to give me his hand, I reluctantly take it. “Thank you,” I mumble as I step out.
“My pleasure, Ms. McDaniel.” Sure it is. He nods, shuts the door, and steps back to the driver side. My back faces my home. I breathe in, trying to soothe my nerves and muster enough courage to turn around and go inside. The car drives off, and my breath whooshes out as I turn around and see her. My mother. A knot twists painfully in the pit of my stomach. She’s standing with the door wide open at our front entrance. She must have heard the car and expected my father. From this distance I can’t see her features, but I can tell by her slumped shoulders that she’s disappointed. Then she lifts her head and straightens up, turns around swiftly, and slams the door closed. The resounding thump is so loud I can hear it clearly from where I stand.