Gainesville is three hours away. Far enough that my mom won’t be dropping in unannounced, if she even comes at all. I wonder if she’ll forget all about me when I move away. Will it be an out of sight, out of mind type of situation? Will Chad distract her every time my name comes up? If that’s the case, it won’t matter if I move three hours or thirty hours away.
But that’s not my only hesitation. My reputation following me to college still worries me. There are a dozen kids from Citrus Prep going to UF in the fall. That’s twelve people who know my past. I know it’s unlikely that I’ll bump into them very much around campus—it’s huge after all—but what if they think it’s a fun fact to share with their roommates, and they share with their classmates, and they share with their boyfriend or girlfriend, and they share with…
I shake my head.
Nobody at UF cares about my dad or what he did. There will be thousands of other students with thousands of other problems. Isn’t the great thing about going to college having the opportunity to reinvent yourself? To leave some of those problems in the past and start over?
Then why is this so hard?
I think it’s because I’ve carried the burden of these things for so many years they’ve become a part of me. If I really want to move on, I need to address them head-on. I decided to start by sending a letter to my dad. It’s been years since I’ve talked to him. I don’t answer his phone calls except at Christmas, and have never written him a letter. I’ve been too hurt. But maybe I’m not the only one grieving the break in our relationship. I decide it’s time to tell him how I feel but also to forgive him.
I pull out a piece of lined notebook paper and start writing.
Dear Mr. Adams,
I cross it out. That feels way too formal.
Dear Dad,
No, that doesn't feel right either. Obviously, he is my dad, but I haven’t talked to him in so long. That name feels much more personal than our current relationship. I cross that out too and tap my pen against my desk. Then, I pull out a fresh piece of paper.
Hello,
That might be as good as it gets.
I sigh and then pour my heart out on the page.
Connor is staringoff in space when I get to the restaurant that night. Usually, he picks me up for our dates, but we each had so many things to do today, we thought it would be best to meet up instead. That sounded like a great idea earlier today, but the expression—or rather, the lack of expression—on his face makes my stomach twist into knots. We’ve avoided talking about graduationand college for the last couple of weeks. I don’t think we can put it off any longer. Maybe tonight is the night we lay it all out there, but the idea of actually discussing these things makes me nervous.
I run my hands along the front of the pale yellow dress I wore tonight, another item from Lily’s closet. She insisted I wear something fancy since Connor chose Antonio’s, an upscale Italian restaurant, for our date tonight. They have real tablecloths, fresh flowers, and a burning candle on each table. My usual thrift store dresses just don’t cut it for a place like this.
I’m glad to be wearing this dress. If we’re going to have all the hard conversations, at least I’ll look good for them. I take a steadying breath as I walk past the host stand to where Connor sits. There are already two goblets of water and a basket of bread waiting for me when I get there. Connor doesn't notice me until I pull out the chair opposite him.
“Hey.” I sit down.
Connor perks up and plasters on a smile. “Hey.”
The upward curve of his mouth looks forced, and my stomach does another somersault. I do my best to make my smile look genuine. “How was your day?”
“Good, yours?”
“Good.” I adjust the basket of bread.
Conor nods. “Good.”
We sit there in silence for a moment before the unbearable weight of our pleasantries gets to me. “Actually, my day wasn’t good. It was hard.”
Concern etches his features. “What happened?”
I take the cloth napkin from the table and lay it in my lap. “I wrote a letter to my dad.”
Connor’s eyes widen. “You did?”
I nod. “Yeah. I figured it was time to tell him how I felt.”
He pauses, seeming as if he’s choosing his next words carefully. We haven’t talked a lot about my dad, but he knows better than anyone that our relationship is complicated. “What made you decide to do that now?”
I release a long breath. “I don’t know. I guess because senior year is almost over and I haven’t ever told him how much it hurt for him to do that to our family. I wanted to let him know that it made high school really hard.”
