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But the reward of his attention was enough that it kept me hungry to learn everything I could about sports. And then when I was ten, my dad married someone—not my mom, the woman he got pregnant in college and never bothered trying to deserve. Someone with a daughter of her own that he seemed to completely trade me and my mom for.
But I let go of that anger toward him a long time ago, because ifanything, I can thank my dear ole dad for instilling in me a passion and a dream. I rarely talk to him these days, but somewhere along the line of trying to impress him, I truly fell in love with sports. I’ll always feel thankful to him for that at least.
I drop my spoon into my quickly melting bowl of ice cream and set it aside. “Of course he is! He probably heard I haven’t had a good excuse to wear my wedding cocktail dress in a while,” I say with a fake laugh that I really hope is convincing.
“That’s your dad, always so conscious of your closet!”
We chuckle. Both of us knowing the other is full of shit.
My smile falls. “You know, I wouldn’t care that it’s his third marriage if I felt like he was going to put some effort into this one. But he’s not—we both know it. It feels like he’ll never grow up. Never put anyone before himself.”
I dread the uncomfortable phone call on my horizon where he expects me to be happy for him and his new soon-to-be wife. I dream of not answering and letting it go to voicemail. But in the back of my head, I know I never will. Because no matter how hard I try to resist it, I’ll always be the girl hoping this is the time he decides to stick around in my life instead of trading me out for a new family—only circling back around again when the other one fizzles out.
My chest constricts with a memory of the last time I put misplaced faith in my dad, only for him to stand me up at dinner. The night before the college exam I failed. The exam I put off studying for so I could go on a vacation with Derek to visit his parents—and then should have spent the night I was home cramming for the test instead of agreeing to meet my dad for dinner an hour and a half away from school because hemissed me so much and wanted to see me.Only to sit at that damn restaurant for an hour before finally leaving without so much as a returned text or call from my dad. As I found out later, he was swept up in the moment and decided to propose tohis girlfriend that very night—which is why he forgot about our dinner. I failed the test and a few days later I broke up with my boyfriend.
That was the day I realized no one would care about me as much as I cared about myself—and I needed to fight for my dreams because no one else would.
“I agree,” my mom says. “And…I’m sorry he’s your dad, Nora. I’m sorry you don’t have someone who invests in your life and stays put like you deserve.”
My mom has always partly blamed herself for conceiving me with my dad. Which is infuriating because she’s been present in my life enough for a mom and a dad.
“I’m not sorry one bit. He ignited my love of sports and gave me my fabulous auburn hair. Just imagine how weird I would have turned out as a blonde or something. I love you, Mom, and you continue to reign supreme in my life. Just under Dolly Parton.”
“It’s because of her bedazzled outfits, isn’t it?”
“Her boobs actually. I’d give anything to have a pair of glorious melons like hers.”
My mom laughs. “Maybe one day after you make tons of money from endorsement deals with your ex-boyfriend-slash-client.”
After a few more unholy conversational turns, we hang up so my mom can return to her class. I go settle onto my couch and turn onThe Great British Bake Offfor background noise while I review Derek’s contracts and deals because I don’t like to be alone with my thoughts and therapy is too expensive. British people kindly competing in a low-stakes baking competition to win a plate is the next best thing. I just need something to drown out the thought of my dad getting married again. And that’s why I’m a little too excited when I hear my phone ringing.
“Hello?” I ask even though I don’t recognize the number. It mightbe a telemarketer, but honestly, I’m ready to talk about my car’s extended warranty if it means I don’t have to sit here and think about the sadness creeping into my chest after that conversation with my mom.
“Nora, it’s me.”
There’s only one man who still calls me by that name, and I was not expecting to hear from him so quickly. Unjustified butterflies surge at the sound of his rumbly voice on the other end of my phone, and I don’t quite know what to make of that. Shouldn’t I hate the sound of his voice after everything? Must be muscle memory.
“Hi, me. It’s nice to meet you.” I hop up from the couch and run back to my room so I can dig through my dirty clothes and find my pants again. Probably ridiculous, but somehow, I feel like he’ll hear it in my voice that I’m mostly naked and then claim I’m breaking a rule.
“That was a terrible dad joke.”
“No such thing.” I shimmy into my jeans and pull up the zipper.
“Did I give you enough time to get your pants back on before asking if you’re wearing any?” His tone is not teasing or playful. It’s smug.
My jaw drops but I’m careful not to make any sounds that indicate my surprise. “We can file that one under inappropriate questions. And I’ve had my pants on the whole time, thank you very much,” I lie through my teeth.
“I heard the zipper.”
Damn.
“What can I do you for, client of mine?” I ask extra chipper, more than ready to change the subject.
His voice is low and muffled when he speaks, sounding like he’s lying down. “You can start by being fifty percent less happy all the time.”
“Got it. Writing it down. Fifty percent…less…happy,” I say like I’m taking studious notes. “And now I’m wadding it up and throwing it in the garbage where it belongs. Anything actually productive I can help you with?”
He sighs deeply on the other end and for some reason, that has me grinning. “Well…I was calling because…I need you.”
