I wait for them to tell me the rest, but they just stare at me as David watches the scene unfold before him like he’s not sure he belongs. They all blink at me, exchanging glances as if they’re the ones waiting for something. But for what? My mom, my dad, and Sammy all watch me carefully, warily.
“Well, what else?” I finally force out. “What aren’t you telling me?” I steel myself for the answer.
Bemusement furrows all three sets of brows as they continue to stare, still glancing at one another, still waiting for something.
And it’s then that I realize there is nothing else.
They’re not waiting to divulge some final, devastating piece of information…they’re waiting for me to shatter.
And, ironically, that’s what fucking does it.
Not my father’s ancient scandal, or our family’s impending disgrace, but this. The way they’re looking at me right now. Like I’m fragile—damaged. Even though this hasn’t even got anything to do with me—even though it’s my mom we should all be concerned for right now, it’s me they expect to break.
After three years of therapy, despite the responsibility I’ve shown with my medication, with my life—good grades, volunteer work, all of it…All they see when they look at me is a fifteen-year-old girl in a hospital bed, small and pale, stomach pumped, whose biggest regret was waking up at all. Except my father, of course, who couldn’t be bothered to visit his suicidal daughter in the hospital. After all, that was almost a year before he came back into our lives. Resentment flares in my chest, and my chair scrapes loudly against the floor as I back it away from the table to stand.
“Is this why we’re here right now?” I demand to no one in particular. “You think what? I’m going to freak out or something? That the news of your old affair would send me into some kind of tailspin?” Vaguely I notice Sammy and my mom peek over at David, wondering if he knows even more about my history than they realized, but David gives nothing away.
“I’m nineteen. I manage to live my life every day without your help.” I’m careful to meet each of their gazes—other than David’s, anyway. “Did you even know I’m dancing again?” I point the question at my father. “And I volunteer at the student chatline helping other students who need it—”
“Actually the chatline was her idea in the first place,” David interjects, and we all stare at him. “Just saying,” he adds, shrugging like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“It was,” I confirm. “My idea. And it’s helping people—I’m helping people. And you guys…You interrupt my school week to tell me something you could have told me on the phone.”
“Bits—” my mom starts.
“No! You had me thinking something was wrong with Grandma Mimi,” I remind them. “I thought something terrible had happened.”
“We were just worried, Bitsy girl,” my dad defends, and I square off to face him head-on. Ever since he came back into our lives, he has done nothing but treat me like I might crumble at any moment. And pitiful me, I was so grateful to have him back that I accepted whatever I could get from him. But as I look at the man before me, in his designer suit and silk tie—a man I know truly does love me—I decide that it isn’t enough. My father owed me more than just love. He owes me more.
“You have no right to suddenly play the role of overprotective dad after you took a five-fucking-year hiatus.” He tries to cut me off, but I don’t let him. “No. You were sober for most of that time, and definitely when I was in the hospital—when I could have used an overprotective dad,” I remind him.
His jaw snaps shut.
“You know, through all your success and professional accolades, all I ever wanted was for you to just fucking be there. That’s what being a man is, Dad. It’s sticking the fuck around.” My gaze can’t help but detour to David—David, who has always been there.
I glance between my brother and mother. It’s them I’m most disappointed in—they should know me better than that after all this time. “You really thought this was necessary?” But my voice isn’t just hurt, it’s strong. Because they can underestimate me all they want. It changes nothing.
I take a step back, and Sammy stands. But so does David, and I barely hear him tell Sammy, “She’s got this,” as I walk out.
I don’t know how David stops any of them from chasing after me as if I were a wayward child or something, but he does, and I make my way to where we parked on Sixty-Third and Madison. The fall evening air chills my skin, and I rub my arms, wondering when I dropped my scarf.
But David rounds the corner minutes later, with my coat, purse, and, of course, my scarf, and he doesn’t say a word as he wraps it around my shoulders and unlocks the car door.
The ride home from the city is as quiet as the ride in, but when David glances at me, he doesn’t look like he’s waiting for me to break. He looks like he’s trying to figure me out or something. Or maybe like he’s trying to figure us out.
But the evening has left me exhausted and drained, and we walk morosely into the apartment, leaving our coats slung over one of the breakfast bar stools. I go straight to the bedroom and flop back onto my pillow, and David follows close behind, pausing in the doorway to stare at me.
“It’s going to be okay, Bea,” David promises, and I nod. I know it is. I don’t know how, but I know it is.
Sammy is still coming this weekend, figuring it best to be out of the city when the story breaks, and even if I’m still annoyed with him about tonight, I’m glad. But I can’t help but think about my conversation with David before my family’s interruption this evening.
The truth is I want to see David put his money where his mouth is, and risk it, as he put it. But Sammy is coming in two days, and as David continues to stare at me from too far away, I wonder where we will be come Monday. And I dread it.
Chapter Twenty-six
David
I’m not bugging out. I’m not.
