“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Jo thought it was a good idea for me to—”
I roll my eyes and move around him.
“Wait, Rosie. Honey, wait. I’m not here because of Jo.”
I cross my arms.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
I shake my head and step back toward the studio door. “No, Dad.” I feel bad even saying the words, but I’m barely holding my shit together these days.
“I didn’t know how to reach out. After everything.” He scratches his neck again. “Jo just reminded me that things don’t fix themselves. That’s all I meant by bringing her up. I came because I need to do the hard thing.” He pauses. “You’ve always been mad at me, Rose.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
“You’ve never had time for me, so when could I be mad?”
“You were always so strong. You never seemed to need me. And when I try to help, you just get mad.”
“I was strong because I had to be.” I cross my arms tighter. “Especially after Mom died. You weren’t there. But you always made time for Pearl.”
His eyes go wet. It’s an uncomfortable thing, watching your father cry on a busy New York sidewalk. I should feel something softer. Instead, I feel like a little girl who’s angry at her dad. “When she died,” he says, “it was like losing my translator. I didn’t know how to talk to you. You were always so headstrong. And Pearl, she needed so much extra attention. I don’t think you know how bad things were with her mother. That’s no excuse, but it is the reason why.”
I look down at the pavement. He’s right that it isn’t an excuse. “It started before Mom died,” I say quietly, feeling my throat want to close. “You always treated us differently. Why do you think she never wanted to marry you?” Maybe that’s a cruel thing to say, but it’s true. She never said it outright, but I heard enough through closed doors to understand. She loved him—he was fun, adored her, and made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. But she could never get past how differently he treated me, how rigid he was toward me.
Dad looks like he’s losing Mom all over again. And I hate that I put that look there. I should backtrack, but I just… can’t.
“I wasn’t ever mad at you,” I say. “But you never supported me. Not really.”
“I just wanted great things for you. You could have been an incredible doctor, Rosie. You have so much potential.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I feel my voice go sharp. “I’m happy. I chose the path I wanted. You just saw it as taking the easy way out. Did it ever occur to you, I didn’t want to be a doctor? That your path isn’t the only valid one?”
“Of course it isn’t. But I thought you wanted medicine. I thought you didn’t go to med school because you were being—”
“Lazy?” I hiss. He’s thrown that word around so many times, it’s no wonder it’s exactly what Pearl thinks of me.
“Obstinate,” he corrects. We both know that’s shit.
“And what you said to Pearl? That I was dangerous?”
“That was a mistake. I didn’t—she was over one night, after you’d been by asking me about nurse practitioner scope of practice. You’d just finished the business plan. It made me nervous, I’ll be honest.”
The accusation is like a stab. “Youactuallythought I’d pretend to be—”
“No, sweetheart, I know. It was you talking about the blood panels, the tox screens. I didn’t think you knew how to—”
“I know how to read them. I went to school for this. You don’t listen. You don’tcareenough to listen.”
He looks down. “I didn’t realize. And I do care, sweetie. Of course, I do.”
It’s hard to believe him. We stand there. Then he says, “Pearl overheard me say some things. She asked me about it, and I had some wine and was a little loose-lipped. I should have shut it down then, especially knowing your rivalry.”
“I have no rivalry with Pearl.”
“Don’t you? Wasn’t it you who dumped glitter in her bed when you were a teenager—”
