Page 52 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

“I went by the house the other night and saw how it is. And it’s probably my fault that Chris fell last night. He was so worked up about our fight.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit.” I grab a handful of creamers out of the metal basket on the table and begin dumping them into my coffee. When I’m done with that, I tip the sugar container over and let a white river of sweetness pour in.

I make eye contact with my dad as I do so, as if I’m daring him to lecture me on sweets. He looks like he wants to say something but shakes his head. I stop pouring the sugar and stir.

“I know I messed up, Kit-Kat,” he says. He runs a hand through his hair and shifts his eyes to the side. For one moment, he’s the dad who used to take me out to breakfast and who taught me to ride a bike. He’s the dad who whisked Chris and me off to “adventures” every Sunday so Mom could sleep in. He’s the dad who sang us songs and made up riddles for us to solve.

“Don’t call me that,” I say softly.

Chris needs me to be strong. Mom needs me to be strong. Neither of them need to know Dad is here. And the last thing I need is to get emotional about my dumpster fire father.

I take a sip of the coffee. Sweet Baby Jesus. It’s like drinking cake.

“Courtney then,” he says. “It’s a more grown-up name for sure.”

“Just Kit.” My voice is forceful, and I look away from him.

Silence stretches between us. I should get up and deliver Mom her coffee. I should yell at my dad. Instead, I just drink more coffee, waiting for him to say something else.

“I’m going to sit here until Len comes,” he finally says. “I called him and told him I’d be here. To return the guitar. He wanted to meet in a public place.”

“So he doesn’t kill you,” I mutter. “Smart man.”

“Yeah. How’s school going? You looked perfectly in charge at the Castle last night.”

He must’ve seen me delivering turkey legs and beers.

“I’m a Wench, Lars. Nothing to be ‘perfectly in charge’ of there.”

“I meant in your video. The one where you rode out as a Knight.”

Something in me stumbles. I can’t believe he saw that. Did he feel proud of me while he watched? I push the thoughts way down. Nothing but pain waits for me there.

“You don’t get to ask me about school. And you don’t get to ask me about that video. My life is pretty much off the table for your opinions.”

“I’m sorry, Kit. I didn’t mean for it to go this way.” He strums a note when he says it, making the doctor at the next table look up from the chart he’s reading.

Why can’t my dad be like that guy? Professional, competent, and put together. Someone who goes forth into the world every day to save lives and help people, not play some hokey soundtrack for a robot dragon show. Literally, a tape recorder could do his job.

Almost as if he’s reading my mind, he pulls a newspaper clipping from his pocket. “My show’s in town and doing really well.” He points to the top of the page, where his face is barely visible above the wing of a baby dragon. “That’s Lillyheimer, and that’s Starzy.” He points to pictures of each dragon.

The coffee is perking me up and anger rushes in, knocking over nostalgia and sadness like dominos. “I’m not a child anymore, Lars. And I don’t care about your robot dragons. Chris is in the hospital, most likely because of you. Mom is broke because you took everything from her. So, forgive me if I don’t want to sit here, shooting the shit about the kids’ show you’re doing.”

He looks stunned for a minute and then holds up his hands. “Fair, fair. You can be angry. I understand that.”

His trying to rationalize and empathize with my anger makes me want to pelt him with creamers. I take a steadying breath. “I’m leaving.” I scowl as I grab both coffees. “Don’t come up to Chris’s room and don’t bother Mom. Unless you’re ready to sign the divorce papers already.”

He pulls a folded pile of papers out of his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve got them right here. Tell her I’m down here. And Len has my phone number, in case you want to chat someday. But you don’t have to call. Tell Chris I’m sorry. And that I love him.”

He sounds so much like that dad I used to know. The dad I loved once. The dad who was my friend and hero, who I’d gift with handfuls of flowers and funny drawings.

“Goddamn you, Lars. You don’t get to just come back and pretend like things are fine between us. I thought you knew that by now.” My voice is thick with unshed tears.

“I love you too, Kit,” he calls as I walk away.

I don’t turn around this time. He loves the idea of the child I was. And I love the notion of the father he was before he left.

But all that’s gone now.