It’s the only option if I want to give my dad some relief during the hardest time of the year. Not just any year. The tenth year.
“Will you try to make it work with himonemore time, Banana? For me?”
How can I say no?
14
After an unsettling conversation with my dad about resuscitating my dead relationship, Rich is the last person I want to see. But there he is when I leave Dad’s office, perched on the secretary’s desk, talking to her.
He looks up. “Should I go back in?”
I start for the elevator. “No.”
“What happened?” he asks, catching up with me as the doors open.
I wait until we’re alone to speak. “You and I are getting back together—”
“We are?” Rich raises his eyebrows. “Talk about finding the right approach. Your dad’s even smoother than I thought.”
“It’s only as far as my dad knows.”
“What?”
“We’re notreallygetting back together. This is an awful time of year for my dad and me. I don’t have to tell you that. My dad feels better when you’re looking after me, so we’re going to let him believe you are.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
The elevator stops on our floor. “It’s not up for negotiation.”
“Why can’t I just take care of you for real? Have I not done a good job of that?”
“You have,” I say, “but I—I want more. I want to . . .”
“What?” he asks.
Saying what I want aloud isn’t easy. It’s not only hurtful to Rich, but it’s embarrassing to admit, even though I doubt he’d mock me. The doors close. “I want to be in love.”
He frowns but takes my hand. “I know we don’t have the most affectionate relationship, but I thought that worked for us.”
“It does. Itdid.”
“I’ll try harder to show I care.”
I shake my head. “I want to feel more than just contentment about my life. This works out for both of us, Rich.” I hit the button for our floor to get the doors to open again. “I get to keep my dad happy through the holidays, and you remain in good standing with him. I suggest you use this time to make yourself indispensable—some other way than through me.”
“So that’s it?” The doors start to close, but he catches them. A few people in the office look up. Rich lowers his voice. “I don’t want to lie to him.”
“You will if you want all three of us to get through—” Pain shoots through my head. I grab the rail as sudden pressure weighs on the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?” Rich asks.
I swallow a few times, and the stabbing pain subsides, disappearing as quickly as it came on. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
I’d read that there’d be some physical side effects to lowering my dosage. I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off, though. Ten years is coming up soon, and I can’t be a person who’s been medicated an entire decade. At this rate, I can ring in the new year feeling like a new person.
I push past Rich and get off the damn elevator. My temples throb with the start of a headache, so I go to my office and shut the door. I turn out the glaring lights and open the blinds instead.
