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Icross my arms, eyes scanning the grooved exterior of the office building that houses the law firm my dad has worked at for as long as I can remember.
I’ve always known his job was stressful and important. Time with him growing up always felt finite. In high school, I’d wake up extra early some mornings just so that I could see him before he left for work. Part of that was driven by guilt—basketball was a passion we shared until I dropped it at the start of high school. My father agreed with my excuse—I should focus all my attention on academics so I could get into a good college and then vet school—but I never admitted the real reason to him. And I could tell he was disappointed by my decision, even if he never said so.
Maybe I was so wrapped up in my own drama then, the same way I was all summer, that I missed noticing all the cracks appear. That I ignored all the warning signs.
Another person passes by, giving me a curious glance before entering the building.
I’ve been standing out here for ten minutes, just staring. It probably looks like I’m casing the place for a planned robbery.
I’m not sure if I should do this.
When I called my mom to let her know I was coming back to Pembrooke for the weekend, she was excited. Once I’m on campus, I usually only come back on school breaks. I didn’t ask her about the divorce and she didn’t bring the subject up. I’m not sure what to make of that.
What I do know is that I haven’t spoken to my dad in weeks.
Despite his busy schedule and missing some moments, I never felt like he was absent. I always felt like I had the whole family that I’m mourning the loss of. And I’m not sure when that shift happened.
It’s probably why I asked Holden for a break this summer. Because I’ve spent years—my entire life—not as a priority. I know my parents love me, just like they love their five other kids.
But I’ve never been the main focus. I was the easy kid who got good grades and wasn’t out late enough to need a curfew. My behavior was taken for granted, the same way it started to feel like Holden took me for granted. Like he could show up whenever it worked for him, and I’d be accommodating.
I needed to know I was still a priority to him and felt like I needed to shock that into happening by having him confront the possibility of losing me. I’m not sure if that was the right way to handle things. I feel silly for doubting him as thoroughly as I did, looking from the place where we are now. But I’m also unsure we’d be in this place if I hadn’t asked for a break.
And now I feel like I need to give my dad a similar ultimatum. To let him know I’m upset my parents are getting a divorce, but that what scares me the most is it feels like I’m losing my father. He should have been there to tell me about the divorce too. To reassure me—and my mom—that it was a change they’d handle together. That it would be okay.
Instead, I haven’t heard a word from him.
It feels like an in-person conversation, not a phone call.
But I’m nervous too. I might be twenty-one and a legal adult, but he’s my dad. My hero, for a long time. Maybe he still is. And he’s supposed to be the parent. The one insisting on the tough conversations, not me.
I sigh and push away from the door of the sedan, straightening.
Holden and I left for Pembrooke around lunchtime. I drove my car since it was raining and we each had a couple of bags that wouldn’t fit as easily in the small back of his truck. Dropped him off at the condo and, instead of driving to my house, I came here to sit and stare at the place where my dad spends most of his time.
I remember coming here to visit him at work when I was little, getting a lollipop from the secretary at the front desk. Picking out a pen from the huge closet that stored all the office supplies.
That was a long, long time ago.
I glance at my dad’s car, parked in a prominent spot in the first row. Then sigh and start walking forward, passing the huge metal sculpture with water tricking down the sides right in front of the main entrance. Step inside the revolving door and push at the gold bar until the pane of glass starts to move.
The lobby inside is nicer than I remember. The last time I was here, I was probably five, maybe six. It makes sense that they’ve redecorated since.
My sneakers tread silently on the polished marble floor, passing leather couches and potted plants. Glossy magazines are spread on coffee tables, the covers shiny and noticeable under the modern-looking lights.
The receptionist behind the desk that looks like a giant cement block is a young woman I doubt is that much older than me. It’s strange—maybe since I’ve always known I planned on another four years of school after graduating college—that thiswill be most of the people in my classes next year. Working a nine-to-five with a salary and benefits and a retirement fund.
She eyes me skeptically when I give her my dad’s name and tell her I’m here to see him.
“One minute,” she tells me, then picks up the phone. I assume she’s calling my dad.
But another woman appears instead, silently gesturing for me to follow her. I thank the receptionist, offering her a smile she doesn’t reciprocate before turning back to her computer.
The hallway is nondescript, cream carpeting running the length. The walls are white too, occasionally decorated by abstract art. Each dark brown door has a shiny gold nameplate next to it. Most of the doors are shut. We pass a kitchen, then an open space that houses a maze of cubicles, then end up at the end of the hall in one corner of the building.
There’s a middle-aged woman standing in the hallway just outside it, flipping through papers. She’s about my dad’s age. My mom’s age.
She glances up as we approach, her smile friendly and polite. “Hello.”
