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Instead, when the doors opened, I got out and followed him to his waiting SUV.
“Parker’s for dinner, sir?” Todd, the driver, asked as my father approached.
“Yes,” my father responded.
He got into the car, and I got in after, making sure to keep my purse, briefcase, and lunch bag on my lap.
My father hated an untidy car, and I knew he wouldn’t appreciate my things being strewn about.
I could practically conjure the image of him saying much the same thing throughout my childhood.
Still, despite how much I tried, my inclination was toward the messy.
Another thing it seemed I couldn’t fix.
His eyes were glued to his phone, probably checking the never-ending string of business emails.
After that would come a perusal of the business pages.
“Our stock is down three percent,” he said two minutes later.
I wasn’t sure if that was really directed at me or him thinking aloud, but I took a chance and spoke.
“Yes, but apparently that’s just some industry jitters about fuel prices. It has nothing to do with us specifically.”
“You think I don’t know that, Amy?” he asked, leveling a cool glare at me.
“Of course, you know it, sir!”
“So, you’re telling me something that I already know for what reason? To make yourself look better or something?”
“No, sir,” I said, trying to smile and ignore the jabs that he was throwing my way.
“Well, if you don’t have something valuable to contribute to the conversation—”
“Then don’t contribute at all,” I finished, the phrase a common refrain from my childhood.
My father nodded. “That’s correct. And don’t interrupt me.”
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
I felt that familiar churning start in my gut, one that would soon morph into an ache in my chest, and if I got lucky, it would stop there.
But I would be strong and not let my emotions get the best of me.
Instead, I looked out of the car window, reminding myself that my father was always under a lot of stress, but that despite that, he loved me. He often told me that I was the only family he had left, and I knew that meant something to him.
Even if he had a hard time showing it.
When we reached the restaurant, my father got out of the car.
“Todd, do you mind if I leave these things here?” I asked.
“Sure! No problem, Amy,” he said, giving me a friendly nod.
“Thanks,” I responded, giving him a genuine smile.
I got out of the car and followed my father into the restaurant.
