I am really mad at my dad. I can’t let this slide.
He kisses my forehead. “I have to go. See you later.”
I nod. Throat clamped, I am incapable of forming words.
Alone, I pick up my phone with trembling hands.
Dad answers on the second ring.
“Hi, baby girl.”
Inhaling and exhaling in a soothing rhythm, I say, “Dad, stop punishing Ian. It was my fault he was late yesterday. My bathroom got flooded.”
“So, you thought you’d rather have a stranger help you than call your father,” he mumbles.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, calling for patience. “I’m old enough. And he’s not a stranger.”
The tension stretches on the line causing me to suck in a breath.
“He should have known better.”
I sigh, emotions thick in my voice. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I won’t discuss my coaching decision with you. Is everything fixed?”
“It’ll be another day or so till it’s ready,” I say wearily. It feels like I give in to his silent demand.
His inflexibility frustrates me to no end, and I could scream.
“Where are you staying? You can stay at my place,” he offers.
I can’t change him, but I am done following his rules. It’s my life, and I will live in alignment with my heart’s wishes and goals.
Something stirs in me. Something akin to resolve. Squaring my shoulders, I say, “I’m at Ian’s.”
The silence on the other end sounds like a hammer striking a church bell—deafening.
I feel like I am seventeen again and begging him to let me stay out longer than my curfew. Parents have the uncanny ability to make you revert to being a child, even by saying nothing, but you feel their disapproval just by their breathing.
“You must be some hell of good friends to have sleepovers.”
“Dad, please.” I don’t even know why I insist at this point, but I also don’t want to fight with my father.
“I see you’re stubborn enough to continue this entanglement, even if I don’t support it.”
I scoff at the entanglement part. He’s so obstinate.
“I understand your concerns, but I won’t give up on Ian because?—”
He cuts me off, his patience with me wavering. “Because he’s my player. Because he helps my daughter out instead of being on time for practice. I have to shout at my quarterback because he has feelings for you that go beyond friendship. You can’t be that naïve. I forbid you to be with him as long as he is on my team. I won’t stand by and watch you becoming a player’s something.”
He hangs up, and I stare at my phone for long minutes in total disbelief. My dad and I have had disagreements over the years, but nothing as significant as this.
I guess he made his point clear and so have I. What Ian and I have is nothing dirty or illicit. Our love deserves to shine, not be pointed at with an accusatory finger. We did nothing wrong. We just fell in love, damn it!
There’s a poisonous concoction of guilt and anger swirling in my blood. With every heartbeat, it pumps stronger through my veins, making it harder to remind myself that his intentions come from a good place.
My parents’ separation did a number on him. My father didn’t remarry. I never met any of the women he has been seeing. But he can’t dictate my life even though he kind of does.
