“God, I hate this,” I mutter to myself. I’m half tempted to pull my phone out and message Colson again. He’d know what to say at a moment like this, but then the sliding door behind me opens and the opportunity passes.
I inhale a sharp breath as my dad’s voice falls down over my back. “Violet, let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s a lot to talk about, and considering you won’t answer a single message or phone call from me, I think now is as good a time as any.”
Of course, he would think that.
“No.”
This is the worst time to discuss this.
“What’s your plan? Huh? To ignore it?” He lowers his voice, so it doesn’t carry, reminding me of all the times we’d share secrets when I was a little girl. Stupid stuff. Like how I always thought his waffles were better than Mom’s and how Saturday cartoons with him were my favorite. “What happened…”
He can’t finish his sentence.
Typical.
You know what, maybe itistime I stop ignoring the inevitable. We’re both here. We’re both uncomfortable. How much worse can it get?
If he wants to have this conversation now, then so be it. Whatever happens, happens.
“Whathappened, Dad?”
I want to hear it out of his mouth, want him to taste that bitter flavor of adultery on his tongue.
“You know what happened.”
“I want to hear you say it.” I ignore the knot that twists in my gut and the cramping that comes with it. “I want to hear you say that you’ve been cheating on Mom with your secretary. That even though you know it was a mistake, you did it anyway. I want you to admit you’ve told her and are working to repair the damage you’ve done.”
“What goes on with your mom and me is our business.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” I scoff.
Screw him. Screw him and his lies. Screw him and his cheating ways.
He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and hardens his gaze. It’s enough to move me to my feet in front of him. I want to look him in the eye when I tell him how I feel. “You’re unreal, you know that?”
“Have a little respect.”
“Don’t talk to me about respect. I wasn’t the one who was screwing my secretary on my daughter’s birthday instead of following through with the plans and promises I made her.” Emotions grab hold of my throat.
Squeezing.
Pinching.
Gripping.
“I’m not the one who’s been lying to my wife, who comes home and pretends like I wasn’t at work an hour ago appreciating some other woman’s body.” The emotion claws its way up my throat like a zombie digging its way out of a grave. Tiny pricks of pain nip my eyes.
“I’m your daughter. I’m not supposed to carry your mistakes, yet I have.” A choked sob of laughter rolls out of me when I palm the sides of my head. “I have all these months.” I shake my head. “I can’t sleep without seeing that moment over and over again. I want to hate you for what you’ve done. For puttingNinain front of us, for making your own flesh and blood carry the weight of a lie this monumental.”
The stoic expression on his paler than usual face finally budges. His guise falls like a stack of cards, tumbling down.
It only makes all this worse because I love him. He taught me how to ride a bike, sat with me when I cried about the first tooth I lost, and helped me figure out how to write my first check. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t feel so wrecked.
