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Chapter 1
Darya
My finger slid down the building directory in search of the hellish financial aid office— appropriately located underground. It only made sense that the place was void of sunlight, where there was no cellphone service and everyone kept their eyes trained to the floor. After too many calls to mention and a long chain of emails back and forth that was wholly a waste of time, I readjusted my bag on my shoulder and headed for the stairway in the hopes that there was some way I could settle my outstanding tuition bill.
Someway that didn’t include him.
After tapping my feet in the waiting room for approximately seventeen minutes, a pleasant Ms. Wolff ushered me to her office. It was only my sophomore year but today marked the fourth time for this semi-annual song and dance. Each time I would scrimp and scrounge until I pulled together the funds at the last possible second— late, in fact, that Ms. Wolff would have to go in and reinstate my classes only days before they were due to start. This time, after clacking against the keys her features lit up.
“It seems your tuition has already been taken care of, my dear.” Her fingers braided in front of her in a lazy show, as if she was holding back her annoyance at my wasting her time.
I shook my head, “There must be some mistake. I was kicked from the registrar for my outstanding balance and I came to work out a payment plan.”
She nodded along with my words before checking the screen once more. “That won’t be necessary. You have already been reinstated and your balance is at zero.”
The air rushed from my lungs. The heat rising to my cheeks was a product of what I already knew, he paid it. I didn’t have to ask her to know whose credit card was charged. Even still, I couldn’t stop the question as it passed through my tight lips. “May I ask who paid the bill?”
Ms. Wolff clicked around her screen before tilting her head to read above her thick glasses. “A Mr. Jameson Clark.” Another wide smile.
Of course, she was content. One less broke college student begging for assistance in her office— or rather, one less round of excepting a myriad of different credit cards and finding a place for pounds of loose change. I couldn’t fault her. She had no idea just how little I wanted to do with Mr. Jameson Clark.
Squeezing my eyes shut and sucking in a deep breath, I forced a cordial smile and thanked her for her time, rushing up the stairs and out of the stuffy building as fast as possible. My phone burned against my skin in my pocket, but this warranted an in-person visit, even if I didn’t have the money for an Uber.
Across town, I trudged up the steps to City Hall— a building that left much to be desired. Beige brick rose over the flat horizon, tapered off by a pop of color from the terra cotta tiles baked under the sun. Every step was echoed by the distinct clanking and whipping of the flagpole, the Texas flag the largest on display. The city of McAllen wasn’t tiny, by any means, but it still had the small-town charm that Austin and Houston lacked. An hour from the beach and thirty minutes from the border, it was a melting pot of people— many, like myself, just trying to get by. The local government worked tirelessly to boost the local job market to bring down the unemployment rate, or so they claimed. Or so he claimed.
I imagined him sitting in his ergonomic chair, pouring over some frivolous document. His phone probably sat face up, just in case Cheryl called to update him on anything to do with his two perfect sons. A secretary waiting at his beck and call whose face will drop the moment she sees me walk through his glass office doors. I’ve been there a few times before, none of those visits for pleasant reasons.
Just as I suspected, the withered woman scowled as I pushed open the door. “Darya!” Her voice rose as she did, jumping into action before her day was ruined further. “He’s busy right now and can’t see…” she trailed off after I rolled my eyes.
It didn’t matter if Mr. Jameson Clark was able to see visitors or not, he would be making time for his daughter today.
The humid, too-small office always smelled of tobacco. The slight aroma came from the pack stuffed in the bottom drawer and from the quick pick-me-up he snuck after lunch. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, a little paler with salt and pepper runners trailing up his perfectly groomed beard. But as usual, his blue eyes lit up when he saw me, sending a twinge of pain straight through my gut.
“I just had a very interesting conversation at the financial aid office,” I began, clutching my bag against my chest and settling into the chair he didn’t offer me. He clasped his hands in front of him diplomatically, a sign that I had his full attention for this moment. “I told you I didn’t want your money.”
His lips twitched into a hint of a smile, “isn’t that what all proud children say?”
How would you know?
He sighed when I didn’t answer. “College is expensive, let me help you out.”
The phone rang, jolting me until I loosened the death grip on the tattered straps of my school tote. Unsurprisingly, the moment of attention was over and he quickly lifted the phone off the receiver. I let his words pass in one ear and out the other, planning exactly what I wanted to say the moment he ended the call. It wasn’t enough to simply tell him I didn’t want his money, it wasn’t enough to simply cancel the bank account in my name, and simply ripping the checks that came in the mail didn’t seem to pass along the message either. I supposed I got my stubbornness from the man who sat across from me.
With a click, silence once again filled the room. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, the finality of my next words weighing more than I expected them to.
“I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you.” It was a chore keeping my voice even. I wanted him to see just how decided I was, he didn’t deserve to see the pain that simmered just below the surface.
“Darya, sweetie, listen…”
“No,” I cut him off. “You dropped us twelve years ago and your pity money isn’t going to smooth it over,” I stood, letting him sit in the pit of his own making. These were his decisions, his demons to face. I shouldn’t pull punches against the villain of my story, one of the skills he taught me so long ago. “My financial situation is none of your concern, please don’t contact me again.”
With a slight nod, I turned and left his office just as swiftly as I had entered. The phone already ringing once more before the elevator arrived.
Pulling out my phone, the sticky heat greeted me just outside the front doors. I swiped away the only pitiful tear I allowed spill and wandered around the corner of the building in desperate search of some shade. I scrunched my face waiting for my bank app to load, the measly amount appearing just to spite my own pride. I was certain about cutting ties with my father but fuck it was hard to get ahead.
Leaning against the rocky building, my bag sagged to my feet. She was halfway through her double shift at the diner, but I dialed her number anyways.
“Hello?”
