“That’s great,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so. But the fact you texted her more after we left London than you did me, I already guessed that. I will add, however, that she’s concerned too, since those texts stopped, and we now know why.”
“I’ll be home. Soon. And you can see for yourself I’m fine.”
This meant I had to start eating (bluh). I was losing weight.
And I had to figure out how to start sleeping (yikes!), since I’d probably averaged around three hours a night since it happened.
On the bright side, I was a dab hand with concealer.
“Text with your flight details,” Dad ordered. “I’ll send a car.”
That meant he’d be in the car.
I made a mental note to put the concealer in my carry-on.
“Okay, Dad.”
“I love you, Blake. Very much. You understand that, don’t you?”
Who knew it was harder to be loved than to be a total waste of space and do all sorts of crap not to be loved because you’d learned that the person who was supposed to love you the most—namely, your mother—didn’t love all that great. So you did everything in your power to keep everyone who might hurt you far, far away.
And it sucked to say much the same about Dad, but until the Act of Chad, he’d left me to it.
So there was that.
God, I needed therapy.
Inpatient.
For about five years.
“I understand it, Dad. And I love you too.”
“I’m proud of you as well. You’re a good kid.”
Unexpectedly, the tears hit.
“Don’t make me cry,” I said throatily.
“Crying is good. Feel your emotions, darling. This family doesn’t bury them anymore. Now, I love you, I’m proud of you, and I’ll let you go.”
He suddenly sounded distracted.
“Okay, Daddy. Again, love you too. Bye.”
“Goodbye, my darling.”
I’d learn why he was distracted when I barely let the tears begin to fall, deciding feeling numb was a whole lot better than feeling this, and my phone was ringing again.
This time, Marlo.
I did the time zone calculations in my head, and surmised they were having breakfast or something before they took off for their days.
I sniffed hard to pull myself together and took the call.
I forced my tone to chipper. “Hey, Marlo.”
