I love you, Dad.
Yes, he dictated stage directions. If Father could somehow inhabit my body to deliver the speech himself, he would.
Robert scurries toward me, an excited look plastered on his face that almost hides the anxiety beneath it. “Alright. You’re on!”
I make jazz hands and say, “Time to razzle dazzle,” and he looks like he wants to choke me.
He doesn’t.I could take him, anyway.
Instead, he strides to the entryway of the ballroom, with me right behind him. The door swings open, and I see my father standing before a group of people awaiting my arrival. Father motions to me with his hand, like the grand unveiling of a wedding cake, and says, “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he pauses, his face morphing into a look of tearful pride, “my son.”
Damn, he’s good.I almost believed him.
I walk to where he stands, he hugs me (gross), and then sits down next to Mrs. Ellison, leaving me alone to give this heinous speech.
Ornate chairs form a semi-circle in the space, with me at the center. The lights above are a thousand degrees, and beads of sweat pour down my forehead. The audience before me sits quietly, waiting for me to begin.
“Thank you so much, Father, and thank you, Mrs. Ellison, for hosting this event in your immaculate home. It’s a privilege to stand before you this evening to discuss one of my heroes…”
The speech drags on, and I mentally pat myself on the back for having the stomach to utter some of these sentences. I reach the moment when I need to dramatically turn to him and say, “I love you, Dad.”
Mind you, I’ve never called him “dad” in my entire life, so the word already feels awkward in my mouth.
“He’s been by my side through thick and thin, and I wouldn’t be where I am without him.”
Dramatic turn.
“I—”
The words get caught in my throat, and a sudden choking fit comes on.
I slap my chest, trying my best not to hack up a lung, but the coughing continues. Like, really continues.
Alarmingly so.
What in the hell am I even choking on? Saliva?
Lies, you fool.
Oh. Right.
Not a word can get past, and soon, my eyes start to tear up. Robert comes to my side and slaps me on the back, but that only makes it worse.
The coughing morphs into something that sounds closer to a wheeze, and someone else hurries over with a glass of water. I take a sip andthen—
Oh. My. God.
Everything I ate that day lands on the floor, and the people watching gasp. Ladies shriek, men groan, and Mrs. Ellison rises to her feet and begins calling for her servants to clean up the mess.
I look around at the catastrophe I’ve created, completely frozen where I stand. I begin apologizing, over and over. Mrs. Ellison just waves her hand, dismissing me. I don’t dare to look at my father because I can’t even imagine what his face looks like.
I run back to the room I was waiting in, shutting the door behind me, and amble to the couch. Tears fall down my cheeks as I rub my head, trying to understand what in the holy hell just happened to me.
My cheeks are inflamed. I just vomited in front of a room full of people.
The door slams open, shaking me to my core, and there’s Father, red-faced and shaking with rage.
“I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know—”
