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He gives me a look I can’t interpret, switching positions so he’s back in the Mustang and I’m in the Hellcat.
Though it’s only been a week since I saw my dad, the scent of his car and even his surly scowl puts an ache in my chest. Why does home pull me and repel me with equal strength? Why is everything a battle? I wish I could choose like everyone else, and be happy in my choice.
My father drives away from the house once more, but not far. We pull into the parking lot of a seaside café, the shop long shuttered, only a few scattered napkins blowing across the pavement like ghostly tumbleweeds.
Dad lets the engine run so the car will stay warm. He can see that I’m stiff with nerves. My arms are crossed over my chest, angry and defensive.
I thought he’d respond with anger himself—or at the very least, irritation.
Instead when he turns, I see fear in his eyes.
“Sabrina, you are so like me. I worry what that will mean for you.”
This hurts and also reminds me that I came from this man, born of his flesh like Adam’s rib. You can’t forget your parents, any more than they can forget you.
I pretend not to understand him.
“Why worry? You’re happy enough.”
He looks both older and younger in the dim light of the car—his face smooth, his eyes ancient.
“You can’t imagine the darkness I lived in before I met your mother. I was cruel and violent. I hurt everyone around me. I had no control. I would have torn myself to pieces until there was nothing left.”
My father has always been my mirror, and me his. When we look at each other, we don’t like what we see.
Stubbornly I retort, “Maybe Adrik is my Camille.”
“Don’t insult your mother. Adrik is another Nero, not a Camille.”
This isn’t about Adrik. My father wishesIwas more like my mother. But I’m not. Not even a little bit.
Fiercely I say, “I like what I am. I’m not afraid to be more.”
“You should be. You think restraint is the greatest evil—while you cut every rope that ties you to life.”
I hate being lectured. Especially by him.
“You would never have taken advice at my age! You always took what you wanted.”
“I want you to be better than me.”
“Maybe I already am.”
He shakes his head. “That’s exactly what I would have said—when I was my most arrogant and foolish. Your mother changed me. She made me better. What will Adrik make you?”
I can’t answer that. My father is the only person who can silence me, his arguments even quicker than mine.
All I can tell him is the truth. “I want to find out.”
I’ve been angry, I’ve been frustrated—he stays as calm as the night around us. He looks in my eyes, steady and sad. “You won’t survive every lesson.”
He’s not here out of pride or hatred of the Russians, I know that. He’s here for my sake, not threatening but trying to reason with me.
I attempt to meet him on the same ground.
“Dad, I’m not exactly like you. We’re similar, it’s true—I struggle to be happy, really happy. You can understand that. You needed a Camille—maybe I need someone more like me. Adrik sees me how I see myself. He’s not another Nero. He’s not my mother either, but he’s not dark, he’s not isolated. He commands friendship and loyalty. He grounds me more than you think.”
This is the first time I’ve told anyone how I feel about Adrik. I haven’t said it to Adrik, or admitted it to myself.
