by Jana David
Darcy
I stood in front of their door, seriously debating whether to just turn around and leave, or suffer through this.
I knew I had to face him at some point, but this been what I had imagined when I agreed to meet with him.
A full family-gathering again? Really?
He'd done it on purpose, too, invite me to dinner a second time. I was the dog who'd been naughty, and now I was being taught a lesson in obedience.
Ruin one family dinner? Let's see if you have the balls to try again.
Drawing in a deep breath, I rang the doorbell.
It was Renée who opened the door. My father's younger, prettier replacement for my mother. She gave me the biggest sparkly-white smile, and I tried not to throw up.
“Darcy! It is so nice that you could make it.”
“Of course”, I said, even though I thought the complete opposite.
I was let into the house—our old house. He hadn't even had the decency to find a new place to live. He simply kicked my mother to the curb and made room for his new family.
Speaking of new family, my two new step-siblings were standing at the top of the staircase, looking down on us, making me feel like an exotic animal on display.
Despite redecorating every inch of the house, my father had left my old room untouched, telling me again and again that I was always welcome to stay over. Yeah, right, because staying in this house with my new family would be a fan-fucking-tastic holiday.
I simply wasn't welcome here, and I knew it. It was clear from the beginning that Nick, Emily and I weren't going to become best friends.
I looked up at the two monsters, waved and gave them my best fake smile. They didn't even bother to return it. At that moment, my father walked into the foyer. Dressed immaculately in his fine, tailored suit, he approached me and shook my hand.
My father was never casual. His business attitude followed him even into his private life.
“Son, so glad you could make it.”
“How's it going, dad?” My voice dripped sarcasm, and I saw his mouth tighten at the corners, but he chose to ignore the comment.
“Renée made an amazing roast dinner. You'll like it.” He said it like I had no other choice but to like it.
“It smells amazing, Renée”, I offered, turning to her.
“Thank you”, she said, happily smiling at me. “Why don't all of you head over to the dining room? I'll handle the food. It should only take a few more minutes.”
A few more minutes that I had to spent making meaningless smalltalk with my father, while we both pretended the last family dinner had never happened. But what choice did I have?
So I followed my father into the dining room. The room looked completely different to when I had lived in the house, but I guess my father had tried to eliminate all traces of his old life without actually having to move.
Sometimes I wondered why he was still stringing me along. It would have been far easier for him to simply let me go, too, and start over with his new family.
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” my dad asked as he walked over to the small bar in the corner to pour himself a drink.
He had to be joking, right? He seriously had the nerve to ask about Christmas? But two could play that game.
“It was very enjoyable, thank you. I spent Christmas Eve with a friend, and then went to mum's house Christmas Day.”
My father nodded.
“How was your Christmas, dad? Rather enjoyable?” I watched as his features darkened and it gave me a kind of sick satisfaction to see that.
“It could have been better”,he said, taking a sip of his drink.
Nick and Emily entered the room, and happily started chatting to my father about some sporting event they were going to attend. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I was glad to be kept out of the conversation, anyway. I walked over to the bar and poured myself a drink. Double shot of whiskey, neat. Just what I needed. I downed it within seconds and poured myself another.
Renée showed up with the first platter of food. She really had outdone herself. It was almost as big of a feast as we'd had Christmas Eve—or rather what we would have had Christmas Eve, since I left before we could get to that part.
“You didn't have to go through all that trouble for me”, I told her. “I'd just as gladly eat a pasta bake.”
Renée dismissively waved a hand at me. “Please, Darcy, it was no trouble at all. Besides, it's a special occasion having you over. That deserves a special meal.”
In other words: Since you barely show your face around here, we treat you like we would treat any stranger who comes by, not a member of the family. Fair enough. I guess she had a point.
We sat and ate in silence for a while. The food was delicious, and despite the fact that I should hate this new woman by my father's side, I sure enjoyed Renée's cooking.
Thinking back to earlier childhood memories, I remembered evenings like this, where our family sat around the large dinner table, talking about our day, laughing, enjoying each other's company.
Of course, then came the days when my father would increasingly be absent. He was 'working late' my mother would say, and we would sit at the table, just the two of us, eating takeaway pizza instead of a home-cooked meal. It took two years for me to realise that 'your father is working late tonight' actually meant he was fucking another woman in a hotel room somewhere.
At that point, my parents' marriage was already in ruins, but they kept the façade of the happy family intact up until the very last moment. And I had to play along.
Now, my father was building a new image for himself, which included a new family and me, the son he was so proud of, despite basically abandoning him. I wished he would have done just that. I wished he would just leave me alone.
Nick was talking about an upcoming test at school, and then Emily interrupted him with a story about a dance competition she had attended the day before. I simply sat and listened while eating my food. We'd already gotten through half the meal. I was doing good so far.
Ten minutes later, I even found the courage to apologise to Renée for my rude behaviour on Christmas Eve. I felt a bit sorry for the woman, to be honest. It was only a matter of time before my father would grow bored of her as well. When that happened, she would find herself in the same position as my mother, sitting around, waiting for a husband who was at a bar somewhere, chatting up women half his age.
“Can I have a word with you in my office, son?” my father asked when the plates had been cleared off the table.
“Yeah, sure.” I followed him into his office at the back of the house. I really just wanted to go home, but this might be an opportunity to talk to my father about something I'd been thinking about a lot recently.
“I was going over some of the numbers for the new project over in West Derby. I'd like you to take a look at it, tell me what you think.” He turned on his computer, and we both waited in silence for it to start up.
“So, what else have you been up to?” dad wanted to know. As if I would tell him about the last time I went out to the pub or something.
“Not much. Studying, working, the likes.” I closed my eyes for a second, wondering whether I would regret my next words in the near future. “Actually, dad, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about.”
That got my father's attention. “What?”
“Well...I...” This was harder than I'd anticipated.
“Get to the point”, my father interrupted me. He didn't like people who couldn't express themselves properly.
“I've been thinking recently. About my future. You know, just the next hundred years or so.” I attempted a weak laugh, but he didn't laugh with me.
“Yes”, my father urged me on.
“And I think I want to change my focus and go into architecture.” There, I'd said it. I'd actually said it.
I didn't get the response I'd been expecting from my dad. He just looked at me for a second, and then he started laug
hing. He was laughing so hard, it took a while for him to calm down enough to speak. I briefly wondered whether it was just a delayed reaction to my joke from earlier.
“Architecture?! Have you lost your mind?! You're about as creative as the dying plant there in the corner. I saw the drawings you made as a kid. Stick figures, at best. And you want to design a whole building? You can't be serious.”
I was left speechless. I expected him to have some reservations, doubt my endurance to stick with the subject, but I would never have thought he'd be that cruel. Was it because I had ruined his Christmas dinner? Whatever it was, I was done with his arsehole attitude.
“My drawing skills have evolved a great deal since you last saw any of my work. Maybe, if you hadn't been so busy fucking your secretary, you would know that, dad. Besides, Architects hardly need to be Leonardo da Vinci's.”
“You'd never make it, son. I'm just trying to save you the disappointment—and save me the money.” He was still quietly sniggering at me.
“I wouldn't ask you to pay for it anyway”, I sneered. My fists were clenching on their own accord, and I was seriously considering landing a punch. It wouldn't be the first time, sadly, but I would definitely make sure it would be one to remember for him.
“And how are you going to pay for it? It's a four-year programme. And the last time I checked, university doesn't come free.”
That was it for me. I turned around, simply intending to walk out the door, when I thought better of it. The doorknob already in my hand, I turned around one last time. As I took in the figure of the man who claimed to be my father, I felt nothing but hatred. All my life he'd either ignored me, or dictated my life the way he wanted me to be seen. I was only worth his time when it made him look good.
“You know what? Fuck it, I quit.”
Unbelievably enough, even that made my father collapse in a fit of giggles. He didn't say anything else, just laughed at me.
“Sorry I didn't give you two weeks' notice.” I mumbled, and then I left.
It felt good. It felt so fucking good to finally stand up to my father.
“Darcy, would you like me to wrap up some leftovers for you to take home?” Renée stood in the foyer, watching me as I hastily put on my shoes.
“No, thank you.”
“Okay. Well, I hope we'll see you soon.”
I wasn't sure whether she had heard any of the interaction my father and I just had, but the tone of her voice told me she knew something was up.
As the door swung shut behind me and the biting cold air hit my face, I could have screamed out of happiness.
The feeling of euphoria didn't last long, though. As I stood in front of my house and moved to put the key in the lock, a wave of unease hit me.
Had I really just quit my job, the only income I had? I could still go back and apologise. I could go back and beg for forgiveness, tell him I'd had a bad day...
Instead, I turned around and headed down the street to the nearest pub.