“I wasn’t excited for Cam to have to meet Daddy,” I say.
“I don’t think you’ll have a choice in the matter,” Celie says.
I start sneezing again. It’s like I’ve become allergic to the ice.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them. “The ice has to be cleaned before the start of the game. I’m going to go to the restroom. Maybe the warm air will help me stop sneezing.”
I go use the bathroom, and as I step out, I hear—
“Savannah McMann. My favorite daughter!”
Of course, Daddy sees me before I see him.
I turn to my left.
My father’s even grayer than I originally thought and slightly balding. He steps closer, gives me a big hug and kiss, and then smiles broadly.
“Wow!” Daddy beams. “You’re all grown up!”
I just look at him. “You’ve been gone six years.”
He beams again. “Come to the concession stand with me. The game isn’t starting for another fifteen minutes. Let’s sit and catch up.”
“Um…” This isn’t going at all the way I planned, but nothing with my father ever does. He’s an expert at taking control. “Okay.”
At Daddy’s request, I grab us a table by the wall while he orders us some drinks. When he comes over, he’s carrying two vanilla milkshakes.
My heart lifts despite myself.
“You remembered.” I smile and take one of the milkshakes from him.
He sits down across from me. “Of course. You still like it.” Daddy watches me take a sip of my milkshake. “I know I do.”
I stare at his relaxed demeanor, unable to reconcile it with the man I knew.
“Daddy.” I pause to sneeze. “Are you…taking medication for anything?”
He startles. “Just some calming meds. Helps with all the chatter in my mind. How’d you know?”
“You seem calmer.”
“You always were the best at understanding me,” he says, sounding proud.
“Then how come you never answered any of my letters or emails?” I ask him, surprised I’m voicing my private thoughts but too upset to keep them to myself.
“I’m sure I answered at least a few of them,” he says, rubbing his jaw like he always does when he’s lying.
“Nope. I never received anything from you. Not in the six years since you left.” I hate the emotion filling my throat, and I force myself to remain calm.
My father’s face turns stony, and I recognize the familiar stubbornness. “I sat down to write you many times.”
“And?” Another sneeze, and I grab a napkin.
“And I got busy with something else, I guess.”
Now that, I can believe. My father’s attention span only ever stays focused when it comes to hockey.
“So why now?” I ask him. “Why did you reach out to me now?”
