We’ve never been anything but awkward. I tried most of my young life to find common ground with him, and the Beatles were all I could ever come up with. I have a long memory, andnow that I’m no longer in a constant state of fight or flight, I can clearly see the damage he inflicted on our family.
I helped mom with newborns when he was nowhere to be found and no help even when he was home. It’s only recently that I’ve not jumped to my feet when I hear a key unlock a door. I had to get the other kids fed, quiet, and out of sight as quickly as possible. We never knew what kind of mood he’d be in. Avoiding conflict was the best defense whenever he got home before Mom.
My last memory of childhood was the exhaustion of working for him every night of my senior year when I should have been doing homework or going to prom.
I’m bitter. Can’t deny it. I’ve built an internal dialogue of scathing responses for years. There’s no reason to censor myself now, but I still do. Special thanks to Jace for sharpening my skills, but a chilling fear can still come out of nowhere, falling through my chest and landing hard in my stomach like a skydiver with no parachute. Logically, I know there’s no reason to be afraid of him, but my body’s still reviewing the paperwork.
After story time, we browsed the menu. Dad extolled the virtues of his carb-free diet while I stared longingly at loaded french fries.
“You’ll need to watch your carbs and even be careful with cheese if you want to avoid high blood pressure and type 2 diabetes. It runs in the family, Lucy, and you’ve got the Brooks body type. I’ve lost about fifty pounds. Establish good habits before things get out of control.”
“Yeah. You look great,” I told him.Once again.
I appreciate how hard that must be, but he’s lost the same fifty pounds repeatedly my whole life, and part of his dietary regimen was to restrict everyone else.
When I’m home, I eat healthier. Mostly. But when I’m out, I eat a small portion of whatever the heck I want, and I’m sick of him having an opinion about it.
“Lucy can’t afford to lose any weight or I’d lose her between the couch cushions. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Jude interjected.
Dad knew better than to argue, so he redirected his judgment to my siblings under the guise of concern.
I was satisfied with my Cobb salad order, but Jude blatantly added loaded fries to his, bringing my hand to his lips without taking his eyes off my dad, as if daring him to comment. Dad gave the server his order, complaining about the lack of healthy salad dressing options before inching toward subtle condescension and questioning my judgment throughout lunch.
“How long have you two been together?” he asked, suddenly realizing we’re more than friends.
Jude spoke up. “We’ve been friends for a year. Now we’re closer friends.”
He considers Jude but comes back to me. “I thought you were engaged.”
“Temporary lapse in judgment,” I responded dryly.
“And the country singer?” His inflection shifted to a familiar sort of amused dismissal that I can never quite explain. It makes me feel like I need to defend myself for no reason—against accusations he didn’t quite make.
“Well, I’m not married, Dad. I can sing with whoever I want.”
Jude squeezed my leg, soothing my nerves with contact through the hole in my jeans.
“Lu’s everyone’s favorite duet partner. But when the show’s over, she leaves with me.”
He popped a cheese fry in my mouth to punctuate his alpha declaration, and it took everything in me not to throw cash on the table and drag him outside to kiss his face off.
But the tense dynamic with my dad obviously bothered him.
He lost a man who by all accounts loved being a dad, while I have a perfectly able-bodied father who treats his family like an inconvenient drain on his resources.
I’d feel guilty if I didn’t try to see my dad while I still can, but maybe I’m looking at it all wrong.
Late that night, once we were back in separate zip codes, my annoyance was neatly compartmentalized, but Jude’s irritation had continued to simmer, and he didn’t hold back his opinion when we talked.
“You don’t have to keep putting yourself through that, Lu. You called, you made plans, you drove to him, and he had the nerve to ask if you were making progress in school or still trying to be a backup singer. The semester’s barely begun, and you’re already helping Sam while you write papers and work nights. Your dad knows nothing about you,” Jude said, still affected by our interaction.
“I can’t believe you said I’m a highly sought-after collaborator and you know several artists who want to share the stage with me.” I laughed. “Liar.”
“Youcollaboratedwith Sam. You collaborate with Jace sometimes. I collaborate with you every chance I get,” he said without the humor I’d expect. “I don’t lie. I just said it … pretty.”
“You say a lot of thingspretty. You said that like a warning.”
“Because it was.” Some agitation crept into his voice, and I didn’t know how to fix it over the phone.
