“Listen,” she says, drawing back. “I’m - I’m sorry, Jacob.”
“For what?” I’m genuinely baffled.
“For…” She wipes her face again. “For not being there. For assuming you were… well, notlikeDad, I knew that, but that you were on his side. That you’d chosen him over us.”
“That’s understandable,” I say. “You could hardly be blamed for thinking that.”
“You’re being generous, but it wasn’t OK to judge you without trying to talk to you. I just assumed and…” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“I could have made more effort, too. So please, don’t worry.” I manage a small smile. “Besides, I like getting to know you now. You’re much more predictable and a lot less terrifying now you - what?”
She’s laughing. “Nothing. Just… glad you’re you.”
I frown. “Who else would I be?”
She rolls her eyes and strips off her gloves. “You’ll need to keep it moisturised. Don’t scratch it, no matter how much it itches.”
That seems to be the end of that conversation. I think there was more she wanted to say, but I’m often wrong about these things, so I don’t pursue it. “No problem.”
“And, hey…” She shifts, looking uncomfortable again. “Be careful.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll keep it covered, and I won’t pick -”
“No, I meant…” She chews her lip. “Just…”
And it hits me.
She means Tippi.
“Once again,” I say gently, “Iaman adult. I can handle myself.”
She gives me a small, resigned smile and lets it go.
Tippi slips her hand into my back pocket as we walk to my car. It feels strange, but oddly endearing. I’m certainly not going to complain about any form of touching from her.
She’s been chattering nonstop since we left: her new mandala segment, what she wants next, whether I’ve ‘caught the bug’. I make noncommittal noises, but my attention keeps drifting back to the text I received from Dad while I was waiting for them to finish.
Dad:
I have had enough of your inexcusable rudeness in ignoring my recent messages. Come to see me tomorrow at 6pm sharp or I may have to reconsider my Will.
Ihavebeen dodging his messages, and apparently he’s noticed. I’m not worried about being cut out of his Will, as I don’t want anything from him; but Iamtired of the constant drip of unpleasantness. Something has to give. I refuse to spend the rest of his life receiving messages like that.
I can’t imagine he wants anything other than leverage, to remind us he’s our father and we owe him. To force some kind of connection on his terms. But why be so insistent on seeing children who only ever seem to disappoint him?
I’ve finally joined Tim and Sadie in that category by not dancing attendance the second he deigns to summon me. I don’t want to be his golden boy again. I couldn’t bear to go back, especially now everyone else has put distance between themselves and him. I don’t want to betray them, and definitely not just to suit his own wants.
But then again -
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you?” Tippi’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I jerk my head towards her. Thankfully, she looks amused rather than hurt.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly. “I got a message from my father and it’s… playing on my mind.”
“Oh.” Her expression softens immediately. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I admit. I am not spending a second of my limited, precious time with Tippi Mills talking about my cantankerous sire and his unreasonable, insufferable rudeness.
