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Have to give the kid credit, he doesn’t argue. Just gives me a polite nod after placing Julia’s luggage inside the door. “Good night, Julia. Mr. Kramar.”
Maybe I can grow to like him but not while my daughter lives with him. If he’s worth a damn, he’ll give Julia some space to realize moving in with a boy she barely knows is a terrible idea.
“I can’t believe this.” Julia marches into the apartment with her phone in her hand. Pacing the bank of windows along the back wall, she puts the phone to her ear.
“Can you please tell Dad he’s overreacting?”
There’s a long pause. Then, a yes here. A no there.
“He didn’t even talk to him,” Julia shouts into the phone.
After another pause, Julia whines, “Mom…” Another break. “But—” And when the tears start, I feel like shit. I hate seeing her cry. Always have. And those tears are all my fault.
The louder she sniffles, the louder the little voice in the back of my head begs me to take it all back. Let her have her way just to make her happy.
But I can’t. That’s what her mother would do if she was here but because she isn’t she’s putting it all on me. I have to stay strong. Stick to my guns and be the father she needs me to be, not the father she wants me to be.
After another long pause on Julia’s end, she throws the phone on the couch as she lets out a high-pitched grunt bordering on a scream.
She could leave. After all, she is an adult. Instead, Julia plunks herself on the couch and flips on the television.
My chest shakes with the deep breath fighting to make it into my lungs.
This is not the way I wanted our reunion to go but at least the worst of it is over.
“You hungry? I made gumbo.”
“Smells like you burnt it.”
“I fixed it.” Or rather, Riley fixed it. But after everything we just went through, there’s no way I’m telling Julia about the bad decision I’m desperately trying not to make.
Julia rubs her hand across her stomach. Something she’s done since she was a toddler when she’s hungry.
“Come on. While it’s still hot.”
Julia clicks the remote killing the picture. I turn and fill a bowl for each of us before taking them to the table where Julia sits waiting with her phone in front of her face. Her thumbs tapping the screen at lightning speed.
She can ignore me all she wants. I’m just glad she’s here. Safe. Not with some stranger who could have told her a thousand lies to convince her to move in with him.
I put the bowl down between her elbows propped on the table. After placing my bowl on the table across from her, I sit and ask, “How was your flight?”
“Fine.” She lowers the phone but doesn’t take her eyes off of it even as she dips her spoon into her bowl.
I do the same but don’t take a bite until Julia does.
In unison, as our eyes meet, wide with surprise, we say together, “wow!”
“Youmade this?” she sticks me with a sideways stare.
“I did.”
“All on your own?” Her tone is more than a little accusatory.
I don’t defend myself. Instead, I take another bite.
“Last I knew,” she continues, “you could barely make microwave mac and cheese.”
“What can I say? Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
