by Amali Rose
“I am going to be great. Hell, I am great, but at something I actually give a fuck about, and that’s architecture, not football.” I sigh. “I’m okay with that, Dad. Now you need to be, too.” He deflates in front of me. “I was always upfront with you. I told you that football was never going to be my path, it’s about time you realize I mean it.”
He nods his head solemnly and continues to stare at me, almost as though he’s seeing me for the first time.
“Do you really think you disappoint me?”
I look up and meet eyes that are eerily similar to my own. “How could you not be?”
“Then I really fucked up this parenting gig.” My father shakes his head in defeat. “From the moment you were old enough to know your own mind, you followed it. You knew what you wanted and never gave up until you got it. I have nothing but respect for the man you are, and I will never, never, be disappointed in you, or the choices you make, do you understand me?”
I nod mutely.
“Right, now let’s eat before our food gets any colder.”
His voice leaves no room for argument and we both turn our attention to the food in front of us, eating in awkward silence.
The night doesn’t improve, the air remains uncomfortable and as I head home after dropping my father off, I’m still trying to process everything that was said.
Pulling into the apartment complex’s parking lot my phone goes off. I slide the gears into park and pull it out, relief coursing through me when I see Layla’s name.
LAYLA: Booty call?