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I face him. “You can pretend I’m not part of the family, Dad, but I’ll always be a part of it. Mom told me about her promotion. I know about Mandi and the issue with her art classes in the fall. I know about the pregnancy scare. I know about the gutter that’s leaking on Mom’s petunias. I know about the opossum that sniffs around the backyard for bugs every midnight. I might as well still live at home for all that I know about the goings-on.”
“You think that bothers me? Is this information supposed to bother me, Isaac?”
“For a man who wanted me to have nothing to do with his family—which I’m apparently not a part of—yes. Yes, I do think that ought to bother you.” I push away from the door and get in my dad’s face. “That despite your best efforts to get rid of me, I’m still very much there, in all of their lives. Mom’s. Darcey’s. Mandi’s. Candice’s. Maybe even yours.”
“For fuck’s sake, Isaac, I don’t want to be rid of you, and if you’d let me get a word in, that’s why I came all the way here to see you.” His eyes soften. “I want us to …” He clears his throat. “… to …”
Then he runs out of steam.
His eyes drop. He takes a step back.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my gray hoodie and wait for my dad to figure out what it is he has to say. My patience is hanging on threads.
Finally, his posture breaks. “Your mother.”
“What about her?”
“She said this would … be a good idea. To see you in person. To make amends. To come and see what’s become of you. She said it would be good for me, to ‘rebuild the bridge I burned’, as she put it. But …” His mouth tightens and he shakes his head. “No. I can see it now. No, this wasn’t a good idea. I’ve seen too much already.”
His words come as a surprise. And yet they’re completely expected somehow. “Oh? Too much?” I smirk. “I was wondering when exactly you came in. Was it before or after my latest routine? The one where I eye-fucked the front row in a thong?”
He knows I’m trying to antagonize him, just like I used to as a teen—giving him one last childish jab because I know he’s about to flee.
But he only looks at me, his eyes faraway, like he’s looking at a stranger. Even I’m convinced that I don’t know the man standing in front of me, the one who used to carry me on his shoulders, show me his woodworking in the garage, and change my fucking diapers.
He says, “I wish we could start over, Isaac.”
The fight in me leaves at once.
“Then maybe,” he says, “you’d see what I see.”
With that, he turns and leaves. I don’t even know if he’s staying in a hotel somewhere, or if he expected me to invite him to my place, or if he’s going to make the two-hour-long drive at this hour all the way back home.
I give the door another bang, angrier than before. After exactly three more seconds pass, I ditch the door and round the corner, spotting him still walking away. “Hey, Dad!”
He stops and turns.
The fight in me is right back. It comes out with a smirking curl of my lips. “I’m dating a fifty-two-year-old, by the way. His name is Richard. Captain of his own yacht. Owns thirty-six businesses. Filthy rich and loves me for who I am. We’re in love.”
I … don’t know why all of that came out.
It’s embarrassing. And sad. And desperate.
Most of it isn’t even true.
But for one glorious half of a second, it has the intended effect of making my dad’s heart stop. And I am able to enjoy it only for that split second, until his usual nonchalance takes over, and he looks like a stone wall that not even an earthquake could disturb. He turns away once more to leave, and this time, I say nothing to inspire him to turn back.
Only long after my father is out of sight, the back door swings open, and Mack steps out for a smoke. He gives me a look. “The fuck you doing out here? You looking to get robbed by a stalker?” He nods at the door. “Get your butt inside, man. Your solo is coming up. Larry’s looking for you.”
I give one last rueful look where my father left, then leave my spot with a frustrated huff, pushing past a confused Mack on my way in.
At the very end of my shift when all the dances have been danced and the dollars have been stuffed away, I sit alone in the dressing room, listening to the near-silent drone of the building. Far, far away, the clinking of glasses indicates the bartender closing up shop. Larry is in his office somewhere, counting cash. Mack is waiting for me out front, since we always head off together after a shift.
