“Avery.” It’s him. It’s his voice. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s on the phone, and it’s more high-pitched than usual, on the verge of breaking, like mine—but it’s him.
Two tidal waves collapse against each other within me; I don’t know what I feel, but I feel it all. The dams break. I didn’t know I still had any tears remaining in my body, but here they come, and I’m bawling like I’ve never bawled before.
I’m a child again; I’ve just clipped myself with a fishing lure, and it hurts, and he’s there with me, hugging me tight, telling me I’m going to be okay. I’m five years old and crying against the airport window, happy tears warming my cheeks as I’m waving to Dad, who’s getting out of the plane and coming home, he’s coming home, he’s …
HOME.
He’s here.
He is here.
I can hear him on the other line. His short, heavy breaths, the sniffling, the sighs … and I know he’s crying too. And for a moment, that’s all we do. There are no words to be said. We simply sit here and listen to each other cry.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel so many things at once. This makes panic attacks look like a cakewalk. I’m angry, relieved, melancholic, overjoyed, confused … Everything in my body burns. I yearn to scream at him and hug him through the phone and tell him I love him and tell him I hate him.
When I finally manage to speak, only two words make sense for me to say. “Why now?”
On the other end of the line, I can hear him taking a deep breath and trying to get a hold of himself. “Your mom called Andrea. Said to tell me that if I didn’t call my daughter right this moment and make things right, she was buying a plane ticket to Colombia to kick my ass.”
I laugh through the tears. Yet what he’s just told me makes me feel even worse. “Why?” I repeat. And this time, I’m not asking why he’s called me just now. He knows exactly what I’m asking.
He takes a deep sigh, and I hear him swallow back a sob. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, Avery. I just … I don’t know. I can’t … I went off the deep end. I can’t even begin to explain. Nothing would make this okay. I …” While he pauses, I close my eyes, letting more tears flutter down. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I fucked up, and I’m fucked up, and I don’t know what happened, I just … fuck …”
“I needed you,” I manage to say through my tears. “You don’t know how much. You weren’t there.”
“I know,” he replies. I can hear all the pain in his voice. I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse because I’m feeling it all at once. “I know that, and I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life. Please believe me when I say that.”
There’s more silence as we each sit here on our own side of the planet, processing the last few minutes. So few words have been exchanged so far, but to me, it feels like everything. It feels like a ton of bricks, and it feels like salvation at the same time.
“All I know is, I haven’t been well, and no matter how many times I willed myself to call back, to even send you a single text, or to even read anything you sent to me or Andrea, I … I couldn’t. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you—the very last thing.”
“But you did,” I whisper. I can’t get any anger to come out, though. I’m just deeply, deeply sad.
“I know. Oh, how I know, honey. And I never wanted you to see me like this. I never wanted you to have to see me brought down to this level. This is all me, Avery. It has nothing to do with you … I didn’t want this for you … it’s all me.”
Now, I’m able to muster some anger. “But why?” I’m reminded of every time Dad was ever sick or unwell. Whenever it happened, I could barely catch a glimpse of him. He would hide out in his room, away from our prying eyes. And the one time I tried to make him chicken soup from scratch to help him feel better, he got upset. Said he didn’t want me to have to care for him.
So I know that’s how he is. I’ve known for a long time. And it hits me that this may be why he left us.
But it doesn’t mean I accept it. “Why won’t you let me in? Why won’t you let me help?”
“It’s not your responsibility,” he says in a tired voice. “It never was. I’m your father. I never wanted you to have to endure me at my worst … or worse, have to take care of me. That should be my job, not yours.”
“Dad,” I say, swallowing back tears. “I’d rather endure you at your worst than not see you at all.”
He stifles back a sob. “But this is what you do, my strong girl. You take in the worst of people onto yourself. And I can’t let you do that. Not for me. I don’t deserve it. I cannot watch you pour so much of yourself into helping me. I’ve watched you do it over and over again, and every time, you come back wounded. I can’t be the cause of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“You give too much of yourself to those who don’t deserve it. That man, Jasper … he never deserved everything you poured into him. You run yourself ragged trying to fix people, Avery. And I know you know this by now, but it only results in pain.”
I take a moment to feel this deep within myself. A thousand stab wounds are ripping me apart from the inside.
“I just wanted to be worthy of him,” I cry out. “Worthy of you.”
“Oh, my strong girl,” he says, sighing. “I’ve done you so wrong. You’ve always been more than worthy. You can’t believe how proud I am of you. How much I love you. You do your best in everything, and I am so incredibly proud to be your father.”
I need another break to let more tears out. I feel like the entire ocean is flooding out of me, like there will never be an end to this.
