“Yes, you will, or I will revoke your access to this house,” she says.
“I thought I could only do that,” my dad says, walking into the room more put together.
Charlie instantly stops touching me, like we’re in high school. Clearly, having overheard the conversation, my dad still looks less than impressed.
“I’m going to go get that cheesecake and hot wings,” Farrah says, standing. She motions with two fingers between her eyes and Charlie’s, making me laugh.
After giving me a kiss on the forehead, my dad leaves us alone again.
“What was that?” Charlie asks.
“What was what?” I ask, sitting up a little.
“What did you tell Farrah?”
“The truth.”
This seems to get him going, and I wonder why he is only showing this side now that they both are gone.
“And what’sthe truth?”
“I feel like you, and almost everyone else, are taking this harder than I am, and I’m tired of it.”
I turn and sit up, my stitches instantly protesting. Apparently this surgery is similar to the aftercare of giving birth. Ironic, since I never will.
I decide to walk around during this conversation to avoid blood clots and keep myself sane.
“What is so wrong with us being upset? We love you and are worried.”
“Be worried by yourself. Be funny with me. Be light. Be something other than devastated about something that isn’t happening to you.” I make a circle around the room, trying not to keel over from what feels like cramps.
“Are you saying this to your dad?”
“You’re not my dad, Charlie. This is different.”
He sighs and rests his head against the couch.
“Monty, I’m sorry.”
“You’re always sorry. Try being something else.” Deciding that’s good enough, I sit back in the chair.
“Okay, I will be. I promise.”
My shoulders ease, and my chest rises as I feel like I have finally gained some control.
“I’m going to eat and go to bed. I’ll talk to you later. Okay?”
He gets up and kisses me on the forehead before leaving. I sink into the relief that having him gone brings me.
“Want to talk about it?” My dad comes back into the room, and I know from experience that he listened to all of it. I feel like that conversation proved him right about Charlie not being a good fit for me. I mean, I can’t even argue with him about it right now.
“No, it doesn’t matter.” In the grand scale of things, what we are is the least important thing I have going on right now, and that probably won’t change anytime soon.
“Okay,” he says in a way that means it’s definitely not.
I slap away his judgment and take the drink he offers.
For once, allowing me to tell him something when I’m ready, I decide to ignore it and pick up my phone.
