by A. D. Ryan
“You go to a party last night?” Dad asks, drawing my full attention to him. He’s staring past me and toward my bed where my gown still lays across it. What was once the reminder of a wonderful fairytale night has now transformed into evidence in what he’s sure to think is the biggest scandal since Watergate.
I dash across the apartment and toss the dress into my closet. I don’t know why, but I panic and this seems like a good idea. “You bet. Tons of fun.” He eyes me suspiciously, and I know he’s picking up on my spiking anxiety.
“So, where are you staying?” I ask, hopeful that he didn’t just assume he could stay here. It’s not that he’s not welcome, but maybe, if he says he plans to stay at a hotel—or even Owen’s place—I can get him out of here before the hypothetical shit hits the fan.
“I know you don’t have a lot of extra room here, so I wasn’t going to impose. I actually stopped by Owen’s place, but he wasn’t home—he’s probably out with that girl he’s been seeing.” He sounds proud of his best friend…for now. “Anyway, I figured I’d come over here before trying again.”
“Did, uh, did you try calling him?” I ask, checking between the cushions on the couch with no luck and then dropping to the floor to look under it. Seriously, where the hell is that damn thing!
I realize right this second that I’m royally fucked. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get a hold of him before he shows up here with an armload of Chinese takeout, and my stomach rolls. Dad parks himself in one of the stools at the kitchen counter, and I rush to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.
That’s when I hear it. The special ringtone I’ve picked out for Owen. As I Touch Myself by The Divinyls fills my small apartment, I silently curse myself out for not putting it on vibrate. I rush out of the bathroom, ready to apologize and explain away the horrible song choice as an inside joke between Liz and me, when I stop in the hall, terror grabbing me and holding me in place.
There, in my father’s hand, is my phone. He’s looking down at it, confused. Soon, though, his eyes find mine and he holds the phone up, the screen facing me. I hold my breath, because while I figured I’d be able to laugh about the song with him, I know he’s seen who’s calling me.
He knows, and he knows because I was so fucking careless. Again.
“Wh-where’d you find that?” I ask, reaching for my phone. He’s not so willing to relinquish it just yet, but I keep my arm outstretched, just in case.
“On your front table,” he replies, his voice eerily calm. I swallow thickly, my knees threatening to give out on me any second. “Amelia?”
“Y-yes, Daddy?” My voice shakes, and my vision darkens around the edges. He never uses my full first name. I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out or throw up. Possibly both…probably both.
“Why is Owen calling you?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before finally holding my phone out to me. “And why is there a picture of the two of you together, in what appears to be your bed?”
The picture he’s talking about was from a week or so ago. Owen and I were lying in bed, and I wanted a picture of the two of us. He was only too happy to oblige, so I grabbed my phone, snuggled in close and took the picture. I then immediately attached it to his name in my contacts folder so that it would pop up whenever he called me. Seemed like a good idea at the time, because what were the chances anyone was going to look at my phone before we’d come out as a couple?
I should have known better than to assume all was good.
“I can explain,” I say, hugging the phone to my chest as though that can somehow make him un-see. Tears sting my eyes, threatening to spill over onto my cheeks, but I hold them back for now.
“Explain what, exactly?” he says, his calm demeanor slowly chipping away.
And just when I didn’t think anything could get worse, the door to my apartment swings open, and Owen saunters in with an armload of takeout, chuckling. “You didn’t answer your phone, sweetheart,” he says, his eyes down and looking into the over-sized bag. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted extra spring-rolls again. I know how you tend to be hungry after we—” he cuts himself off the second he looks up and realizes we’re not alone, but I’m afraid it’s too late. Dad’s gone from confused to upset to downright pissed off and seeing red in less than two minutes.
“Do not finish that sentence,” Dad says, his teeth clenched together so hard, I worry they’ll break. He looks between us a couple of times, and I wait for him to explode…
But instead, he shakes his head and pushes past Owen, leaving my apartment.
“Dad?” I call after him, the first few tears falling down my cheeks. He doesn’t respond, nor does he come back. In fact, it sounds like his footsteps are getting farther and farther away.
Worried, I go around Owen and see that I’m right; Dad’s almost made it to the stairs, so I follow after him, barefoot, down the hall. “Daddy, wait! Please!” Even though my vision is blurred from the tears that are now flowing freely, I pick up speed so he doesn’t get too far away. Behind me, I hear Owen drop the bag of food, and I only think about the mess it must have made for a millisecond before I hear his heavy footsteps behind me. I fly down the stairs after Dad, not once concerned that I might trip and fall on my face.
It surprises me when I make it to the main level, and I can hear Owen directly behind me, having caught up in record time. “Alan. Stop. Give us a chance to explain.”
Dad doesn’t. He keeps pretending he doesn’t hear us calling after him as he steps out into the rain. It’s pouring outside, but I can’t find it in myself to care as I carry on after him in my shorts and tank top. The rain is cold as it pelts down on me, mixing with the salty tears that soak my cheeks and plastering my hair to my head and my clothes to my body. The fact that I’m walking on cold, wet concrete chills me, but I need to stop him. He needs to hear us out.
“Daddy, please!” I cry out desperately, my voice reaching a pitch I didn’t know it could, and he stops. He doesn’t turn around, but he stops. This is progress, and I thank God for small miracles.
I stand there, three or four feet away from him, my eyes blinking the heavy rain away as quickly as possible, not that it impairs my vision any less. I can see he’s breathing heavily, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“How long?”
At first, I’m not sure I hear him with the wind howling the way it is, but he repeats his question, and I take a deep breath before answering. “Since Thanksgiving,” I reply, raising my voice so he can hear me.
He whips around, his eyes wide and furious between blinks. “This has been going on for over a month?” His gaze shifts to something behind me, and I don’t need to turn around to know that Owen is right there. I can sense his presence. I always know when he’s near. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Alan, listen. It’s not what you think,” Owen tries to explain, stepping around me and approaching my dad until they’re within arm’s reach of one another.
“She’s just a child!” Dad bellows, his voice cutting through the rain and wind until even the people across the street turn to see what’s going on.
When his comment sinks in, I grow offended. Frowning, I shake my head angrily. “I am not!” Neither of them seems to hear me, far too focused on each other.
“Jesus, Alan,” Owen starts, pushing his fingers through his sopping wet hair. “I’m trying to tell you that it’s not like that. Amelia and I—”
“’Amelia’?” Dad questions, eyes growing fierce and frightening. Before either one of us can read the situation for what it is, one of his balled-up fists comes flying forward, connecting with the left side of Owen’s face. Shocked, I scream, slapping both hands over my mouth as Owen falls to the wet pavement, his bottom lip split and bleeding.
“Don’t you dare say her name. Do you hear me? You think you can just…” Dad looks like he wants to attach some kind of derogatory label to our relationship, but stops himself short. “…with my d
aughter and everything between us would be fine? How could you take advantage of her like that?” Dad advances on Owen, who’s still on the ground, trying to regroup and shake off the fuzzy feeling he has to have after a debilitating hit like that.
Worried about what my dad’s going to do next, I dart between them, and the words leave my mouth before I can even think about whether they’re a mistake or not right now. “I love him!”
If it weren’t for the steady downpour of rain, I’d swear time stopped because both my dad and Owen stare at me for what seems like forever, though I know it to only be seconds—maybe a couple of minutes. My entire body is shivering from both the rain and the severity of this entire situation, and I wrap my arms around myself in hopes that it might help. It doesn’t.
“Excuse me?” Dad’s tone is soft, but no less angry, as he addresses me.
I look at Owen as he pushes himself up to stand. “I love you,” I repeat. While I realize that this is probably not the best or most romantic setting for my confession, it’s happened, and I don’t want to take it back, because I can see in Owen’s eyes that he feels the same way. I don’t need him to say it back—not yet.
But he does, and my heart soars, momentarily forgetting that my dad is here and that he’s furious with us.
“I love you, too.” Owen pulls me into his arms, and I offer him a small smile, lifting my hand up and brushing the blood from his bottom lip with my thumb. He rests his forehead against mine, and behind me, I hear my dad storming away, yelling profanities that get swallowed up by the storm.
Reality slams back down around me, suffocating me, and I push away from Owen. He keeps hold of my hand, only letting me get so far, and I watch as my Dad walks briskly down the sidewalk toward his vehicle. Shivering as the cold finally registers, I call after him, but he doesn’t hear me—or he’s ignoring me completely. I want to go after him, but Owen pulls me back toward my building.
“We need to give him time, Amelia,” he tries to tell me. “He’ll come around.”
I want to believe him, but I saw something in my dad’s eyes when he heard me profess my love for his friend of over thirty years, and I know it’s not going to be as simple as he wants me to think.
22. Sorry
I’m not sorry for continuing on with this relationship, even though I knew all along that it could strain or even jeopardize my friendship with Alan. What I’m sorry about is that he had to find out the way he did. It was never our intention to blindside him with the news.
So for that, I feel horrible.
Of course, on the flip side, I feel like it’s his own damn fault for showing up unannounced. Had Alan just picked up a damn phone to tell us he’d be showing up a day early…
I shake that particular thought off, because this isn’t his fault. Not in the slightest. I’m just so pissed off with how everything turned out that I can’t seem to think straight. I shouldn’t be placing the blame on him. There’s no way he could have known.
How did we fuck this up so royally?
My jaw throbs at the memory of Alan slugging me, and I wince when I bring my hand up to see if it’s any more swollen than before. It’s not, thankfully, but by morning, I’m sure that’ll all change. I know I had it coming, and yet, I honestly never thought it would come to that. Alan and I have had our fair share of disagreements over the years, but never—ever—had it come to blows. But he feels betrayed, so I can’t fault him for acting this way.
In his eyes, I probably deserved far worse than what I got, and I’m sure he would have loved to lay into me a little more—what father wouldn’t?—but Amelia was quick to shock him by confessing her true feelings for me. To say I was taken by surprise would be underselling my reaction. Hearing Amelia tell her father that she loved me made everything else that had happened seem like a really bad dream, and for just a split second, I reveled in it.
Until Alan walked away into the cold, rainy night.
Having known him for as long as I have, I know that this could have gone one of two ways. While he’s not a violent man by nature, he is extremely passionate about what he believes is right and wrong. In addition to this zest of his, he’s also known for stepping back from a situation and silently simmering over it, processing and thinking about how he can best handle it.
Although his intuition and ability to listen with an open mind are what makes him a great father and an asset to his job, he’s never had to apply those skills toward a personal situation of this magnitude, so it’s entirely possible he just didn’t want to face the news of Amelia and me and ran away instead. We’ll never know, though, if he keeps avoiding us. It’s not as though we can read his mind.
Amelia wants to go after him, but I know that nothing will be accomplished tonight. Plus, he’s already hurt her more than she’ll ever openly admit, which pisses me off, so I convince her to let him go for now. Naturally, she’s hesitant, but she succumbs to reason…
For about as long as it takes for the two of us to get back upstairs, anyway.
She immediately picks up her phone and tries calling him. He doesn’t answer, not that this is surprising, given everything he’s just learned. There’s no giving up, though. Amelia calls repeatedly, leaving voicemail after voicemail until she can’t leave any more. This upsets her, and she tosses her phone onto the kitchen counter with a cry of anger and starts rifling through the contents of her freezer.
“I can’t believe he did that,” Amelia says angrily, digging around until she produces a small bag of frozen peas. “He didn’t even give us a chance to explain! And the way he just up and punched you? Ugh!”
“Amelia,” I groan, the cut in my lip protesting every time I try to get a word in edgewise between her frustrated rants. “He’s not the bad guy here.”
She flops down on her sofa next to me, her knees resting against my thigh as she gingerly presses the frozen vegetables to the side of my face that’s been throbbing non-stop for the last twenty minutes. “Well, neither are you! He had no right—”
I shake my head, replacing her hand with mine on the makeshift ice pack. “He had every right.” I stand up and pace the room, exhaling heavily. She looks hurt, clasping her hands in her lap while looking up at me beneath her furrowed brow, and now I’m feeling sorry for a whole different reason. I just keep fucking up when it comes to her.
I’m definitely on edge after what happened outside, but I’m letting my frustration rule me, which means I’m being short with her, and that’s not right. Alan’s reaction has put tension on our relationship, but I refuse to let this tear us apart; it’s detrimental for us to work through this together instead of letting our emotions toward Alan cloud how we plan to handle everything. I’m not about to lose Amelia now that I’ve finally got her in my life, so I plan to bury any remaining frustration as deep as possible and show her that no matter what happens, we’ll make it through this…together.
Dropping the peas onto the coffee table, I kneel in front of her and take her hands in mine, hoping to reassure her of us with my touch as well as with what I’m about to say. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, or like we’re the villains in this, but you can’t just slough his reaction off as”—feeling weary, I swipe my hand over my face and groan—“unreasonable. He reacted the way any father would in his situation… Hell, how I’d have reacted in his position.”
Amelia sighs, dropping her gaze to our hands as she twists hers and laces our fingers together. She doesn’t say a word, leaving the floor open for me to continue. “Jesus, Amelia, if I’m so fiercely protective over you, can you entertain the thought that maybe your father might be too? Probably more so. And it isn’t going to matter to him that the man you’ve chosen is someone he’s trusted for over thirty years and knows would never hurt him or his family. Not right now, anyway. ”
It’s obvious when she concedes defeat, and I lean forward and kiss her hand. “Okay, yes, I understand that he’s just being my dad…but that still doesn’t make what he
did okay. You guys have been friends forever, Owen. How could he just throw that all away without hearing our side of it?”
“He hasn’t thrown it all away,” I try to assure her, even though I’m not so sure I believe it myself. “But, as far as he’s concerned, I’m just taking advantage of you.”
“Yeah,” she grumbles, “he made that pretty damn clear.”
I chuckle, standing up and sitting back on the couch with her, even going as far as to pull her onto my lap. “Look, like you said, I’ve known him for years, and I’ve seen him like this before. He just needs to blow off some steam while he processes everything. Maybe he’ll come around on his own…maybe he won’t. It’s hard to say. What I do know is that we can’t force him to just be okay with it or to listen to what we have to say just yet.”
Pouting a little, Amelia’s eyes meet mine while her fingers toy with one of my shirt buttons innocently. “I’m not sure I like your logical approach to this. You should be pissed off right along with me.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am upset, but not necessarily at your dad. Sure, he should have called and given either one of us a heads-up instead of just assuming that he could drop in unannounced—and I’m sure he’ll realize this himself once the storm in his head has cleared—but I’m just trying to play Devil’s Advocate. We can’t place the blame solely on him. We were wrong to keep it from him this long—no matter how sound we felt our reasoning was.”
She’s silent for a minute, quietly letting everything we’ve discussed sink in before replying softly. “I know this isn’t his fault. I really do get that. I guess I’m just so hurt that he’d completely ignore the fact that both of us are happier than we’ve ever been and not let us explain ourselves. I get that he needs to process our relationship, but wouldn’t it be easier for him to digest if he had all the facts?”
“Ideally, yes,” I reply, running my hand up and down her back, noticing for the first time since we came in out of the rain that we’re both still completely soaked through. “But he’s probably not feeling too rational right now. Which is why we should give him time.”