Page 74 of House of Bass

I spot the car sitting just outside the campus area, nearly ripping the handle off from opening its door, the temperature drop hits me as soon as I step inside. My father continues typing on his phone without acknowledging me (incredibly rude, might I had), whatever he is busy tapping about seemingly more important.

The car is extremely spacious so we don’t have to sit too close to one another and yet it still feels cramped.

“Proserpina, Henry. I'd like to speak to my daughter alone,” my father says, they both nod and step outside without another word. He scans my face quickly, I wonder if he could see it, how tired I am.

“How is she?” he asks.

“Perhaps if you attempted a conversation with her you’d know,” I mutter, to which he just raises an eyebrow and I concede almost immediately. “She’s fine.”

He nods mostly to himself, like he’s heard all he needed to. “Your grandparents are visiting next weekend, you must be there. Neglecting family is unacceptable.”

The audacity of things to speak about what is or isn't acceptable, it is laughable.

I scoff, “Similar to breaking your marriage vows and spawning a child with some whore, I suppose.” The words tumble out of my mouth sharply.

“The world isn't so black and white, Annabel.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, “Because that isn't what people will say when this inevitably gets out.”

He rolled his eyes, “The situation is being handled, don’t worry about it.”

I scoff, again. This time I truly look at him, he has aged since the last time I saw him two months ago. The wrinkles on his face seem deeper now, the shadows under his eyes heavier, and there isn’t even the faintest tug of a smile left on his typically laughing lips.

When I was younger, I used to be so proud of how much I looked like him– the same blonde hair, the same button nose, high cheekbones, and that single dimple we both shared: his on the left, mine on the right. But not the green eyes, those I’m aware he’d given to his other daughter.

I turn away from him and stare out the window, “You can’t just pretend she doesn’t exist nor is she something to ‘handle’. She has been there for me even when I didn’t deserve any grace or kindness from her. You always told me a Bass takes responsibility for their actions no matter what.”

He starts to speak but I raise my hand to stop him and this shocks him more, “The echoes of your past will always ripple through, especially since there’s living proof of your indiscretions to show for it. Be the person you always told me to be.” There is something so intricate about the relationship between a father and daughter. You can do everything in the world to please them; when it comes to matters about school or life, you go to them because you respect their way of handling challenges, never scream at them the way you would your mother. But in the end it’ll never be enough. In the end you’re sitting in front of them not recognising the person they are and realising they are just as flawed as the rest of us and not the god you made up in your head. You notice the wrinkles on the face, the greying on the hair and how it is slightly thinning. You notice that they step out on their marriage and expect forgiveness without working for it. Understanding, at the end of the day, that becoming an adult is the worst thing in the world because your hero is no longer your hero.

The tension that sits with us in the car vibrates so viscerally it makes it uncomfortable to withstand. This is the second time I have yelled at him and in a way I am proud of myself for speaking up when I maybe won’t have before.

I open the door and just as I’m about to leave, he speaks.

“Annabel?”

I halt, wondering if he will apologise for the pain he has caused not just in the last few months but for my entire life. “Bring the girl this weekend.”

Of course not.

Sitting on a bench, I pull out an emergency cigarette that I stashed in my purse, located in the unanimously coined smoking area of Thorne. That conversation with my father left me so rattled, I am smoking. I don't smoke, at least not anymore, it's disgusting. And yet, I light the stick and inhale deeply, hoping it’ll solve all my problems.

The cig has almost run out when I see the duo of two girls with swinging hands held and talking energetically to one another. They don’t take their eyes off each other the whole time, those two are so in love it is mindblowing that they are yet to realise it.

Harley and Scarlett near, the former noticing me as I dropped my cigarette butt to the ground. Her brow furrowing which leads to the latter finally taking in my presence. “You don’t smoke.”

I do just about everything else, so what is one more thing to add.

Without even gracing me with pleasantries, Scarlett tells Harley that she’ll see her later, easily putting the pieces together that this is a discussion that I won’t want an audience for. This is the first time Harley is speaking to me in weeks and I have her to thank it seems.

“I see the two of you have worked things out,” I say, sidestepping her observation, my hands stuffed into my coat pocket. A small smile teases her lips as she looks in the direction that Scarlett’s silhouette fades off into, but it's short lived as her smile leaves her as she turns her attention back to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” My eyes wander everywhere but in her direction, I knew the second I did, the tears would start and be uncontrollable.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Father,” I confess, blowing out a heavy cold breath. “He wanted to talk after the seminar, we have both been summoned to Bass Mansion for the weekend.”