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“She's really good for you, isn't she?” A faint smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “She's changed you.”
“I’ve had to make myself change for her, not in a bad way, and not because I don’t want to. It’s just hard, but I'm sure it'll be worth it.”
“I love you.” And all at once, she's a little girl again, throwing her arms around my neck and squeezing like her life depends on it. It's the most life she's shown in far too long, so I won’t ask her to let go. I would rather soak this in for as long as possible.
If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s how suddenly everything can change. How fast you can go from holding someone tightly to fearing they might be dead.
BIANCA
Ifeel like a stalker, sitting in my car, parked a few houses down from my father's. There aren't many cars parked on the street this early on a weekday afternoon with everybody at work, yet I still feel like I should hang back. His car is parked on the street, meaning he's home, though I didn't want him to see me. I'm not even sure why.
We haven't spoken since that day at the house. It's driving me crazy not knowing how he has been handling life since our argument. I figured Ken would contact me if there was an emergency. Otherwise, I waited about as long as I could before curiosity forced me to come up with a reason to show up here.
Maybe some people can deal with being shut out, but not me. He's still in too dangerous of a place to leave him on his own. Add to that a grandchild I would like him to meet someday, and I didn't see how this could continue. Waiting for him to come around and get in touch with me didn't work, so I resorted to a peace offering by grabbing groceries in case the kitchen's in shambles again.
All that's left is getting out of the damn car. Taking a breath, I open the door and pull the two brimful bags from the back seat.What am I going to find?I shudder to think about it. He could have spiraled worse than ever after that fight or taken it as a sign that he needed to turn things around. I know better than to assume the latter, but I can still hope, right?
As I approach the house, I can tell the front porch has been swept recently—a good sign. I press my finger to the bell and squint, trying to see through the curtain hanging in front of the glass cut-out. There's movement on the other side, and before I can step back, the lock clicks and the door opens. I hold my breath. Waiting. Hoping.
On the other side, I find my father. He's showered, shaved, and dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans. His eyes are clear rather than bloodshot and glassy when they travel over me from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”
At least his snappy question crushes the emotion swelling in my chest, or else I may have burst into tears of relief at finding him looking better than he has in weeks. “I'm going door-to-door with bags of groceries, seeing if anybody wants to take them.”
“I really don't need the sarcasm.”
“Dad, obviously, I'm bringing groceries to ensure you have what you need.”
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know, but I want to.”
“When did you get it into your head that I need you to take care of me? No, don't answer that.” He shakes his head, scowling. “Is this really what you think I am? Some hopeless loser who needs his daughter to bring food to him?”
“You're putting words in my mouth that weren't there, Dad.” I make a big deal of craning my neck to look over his shoulder. “And unless I'm interrupting something, maybe I could come inside and unload some of this food? I got your favorite ice cream and those frozen waffles you like. They're thawing out as we speak.”
“I'm a sucker for rocky road.” He steps aside to let me in. It's a relief to find the house looking good, neat, and clean without so much as a beer bottle in sight. I didn't tell him I was on my way, so it's not like he tidied up for my sake.
Could he have turned a corner?
One thing I can't do is make a big deal out of it. I pretend not to notice, heading straight for the kitchen. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”
“I have a more important question for you.” He makes a big deal of checking his watch, and right away, I know what's coming. Just need to brace myself for it.
“Okay, alright, I know what you're going to say. Why am I not at work at one o'clock in the afternoon.”
“That is roughly what I was concerned with, yes.” He leans against the counter, his arms folded, while I continue to put away the groceries. “I'm waiting.”
“I am not working there anymore.”
“Knew they would have a problem with all these absences. Not that I'm saying it's your fault.”
“Honestly, no. That's not what happened.” With the freezer door open between us, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. After closing it, I force myself to look him in the eye. “I quit. I walked away.”
“You what?” His wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression is pretty close to what I expected. The cherry on top is the way his face begins to flush. He brings to mind one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons where a character's good and mad—and once the color reaches the top of their head, their hat flies off or something like that. He's not wearing a hat. I hope his head doesn't explode.
“Let me explain, at least?”
“What is there to explain? You're throwing your entire future away a little bit at a time. One poor decision after another.”
