I didn’t want to talk to him now. I didn’t want anything to do with him.
“You’re off today,” I reminded her. “You can go.”
“You two need to spend some time together.” She said it so forcefully that I knew arguing would be pointless.
“Fine,” I muttered, poking the waffle in front of me with the tip of my fork. Sylvia made real waffles, not the toaster ones Mom always made for us. I would have never admitted it to Sylvia, especially that morning when I was so pissed at her, but she really was an amazing cook.
“Whitley.” Sylvia sighed. “Honey, you’ve been here since May, and you haven’t even unpacked your bag.”
I didn’t look at her.
“I know you’re not happy and that you must be frustrated,” she said. “But you’re only here for a few more weeks. I don’t want you going off to college with regrets about your relationship with your father.”
“He’d be the one with regrets,” I mumbled.
I didn’t think she’d heard me, but apparently she had. “That might be true, but you need to put forth a little effort, too. He loves you.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll take that to mean you’ll go with him.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.” She smiled and took my plate of syrup. “He’ll be ready and in the car by ten.”
So, when I climbed into the SUV an hour and a half later, Dad was all pumped and ready to go. He grinned at me from across the cab. And for a moment, I thought maybe Sylvia was right. Maybe this time together would be good. Maybe we could work things out….
“Hey, munchkin. Nice to see you up so early.”
“I was forced.”
He laughed and started the engine, humming along with the country music on the radio. I frowned. At one time, we’d both hated country music. Jimmy Buffett was the only exception. But I guess that was just one more thing to show me how much my dad had changed. We didn’t even hate the same things anymore.
And if I had hopes of getting to know the new Dad on this little outing, they were dashed the minute we got to the tuxedo place. It was like I wasn’t there anymore. Just him and the tuxes—and there were lots of tuxes. He insisted on trying on all of them. Because nothing was good enough.
That coat was too tacky.
That bow tie was too small.
Those pants had a strange shape.
My father shopped like a woman, which made Sylvia’s whole pretense of me saving him from wardrobe embarrassment even more laughable. Laughable was also a great word to describe the bonding idea. This was real quality time, with Dad locked in a dressing room and me sitting on the bench outside, texting Harrison about how the store attendant was just his type.
But I couldn’t get Sylvia’s voice out of my head, and I knew that it was still my job to try. So, after three hours of shopping—during which time Dad wound up buying the first of the twenty-two tuxes he’d tried on—I swallowed my pride and made my attempt to talk to him.
I suggested we go get ice cream together, and I started the conversation.
“So,” I began, swirling the plastic spoon around in my Dairy Queen Blizzard. “We, um, haven’t really had a chance to talk in a while.”
“I know,” Dad said. “I’m sorry about that, munchkin. I’ve just been so busy. Between work and preparing for this wedding and just getting used to everything. Becoming part of a family can be difficult.”
You were already part of one.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it probably can be…. But the Caulfields are nice, I guess.”
“I thought you’d love them.”
“I wish you’d told me about them.”
He sighed. “I suppose I probably should have. It just didn’t seem right, you know? To tell you over the phone or in an e-mail that I was engaged.”
“You could have told me when you started dating her. You could have called.”
“Oh, you know me, munchkin.” He laughed. “I had no idea how serious it would be. I didn’t see any need to waste your time by telling you about another girlfriend when I figured she’d be gone in a month or two.”
I gritted my teeth. Whose time did he really think he’d be wasting by calling me? Mine or his?
“Then we were serious all of a sudden,” he continued. “And I just thought I should give you the news in person.”
“Right. Well, I like them. Nathan and Bailey are nice, and Sylvia… She’s been really great support through all of this online-bullying stuff.” I waited to see if he’d even admit knowing about it, or if he’d feign ignorance.
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, Sylvia says you’re holding up well.”
Fuck that. Holding up well? He hadn’t spoken to me about the pictures, hadn’t acknowledged them. He’d just untagged himself and ignored them, never even asking if I was okay. Sylvia shouldn’t have been the one talking to me about cyber-bullying. It should have been him—my father. He didn’t even care.
But like an idiot, I just kept trying.
“The things they said—most of them weren’t true,” I told him.
“Good.”
“Do… do you want to talk about it?” I asked. “I mean, I know some of it was on your Facebook page. Did you want to ask me about any of the pictures or… anything?”
“No, munchkin. I have faith that you can deal with it,” he said.
I stared at him, trying to fight off the tears springing to my eyes. Even if he wasn’t angry, couldn’t he have given me a hug? Comforted me? I wanted to throw my ice cream at him. To scream, Everyone in this fucking town thinks I’m a whore because of that web page! I was almost raped a few weeks ago because of some of the things it says about me! The least you could do is tell me you give a shit.
But I didn’t say anything.
“We should get back,” Dad said, standing up. We’d been sitting in the booth for barely ten minutes. “Sylvia will be wondering what’s taking us so long.”
“Wait—I need… Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, munchkin. What’s up?”
I swallowed. I couldn’t believe I was going to ask him this. I was such a moron.
“A few years ago, when I asked to live with you, you said no. Was it really because of Mom? Because you didn’t want her to be upset?”
“Of course.”
“Really?”
“Well… why are you asking me about this?” he asked.
“Just because. Because I should know. Was there another reason you didn’t want me to live with you?”
He let out a long breath and pressed three fingers to his temple. “That was a big part of the reason, yes. Because I knew your mother was very upset about the divorce and if you came to live with me, she’d be even more upset. I felt guilty, and I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“But this was two years after the divorce,” I told him. “It was over with. She was still mad, but… What was the other reason, Dad?”
“Whitley, I don’t—”
“Just tell me.”
“To be honest, I was happy. I was a bachelor with a good job and a great life. I’d just gotten out of a marriage I’d been in since I was twenty-one, and I was having fun. I didn’t think it was the right time.”
“Right time for what?” I asked. “For me to live with you?”
He shook his head. “Having a teenage girl live with me would have complicated things.”
“So… you just… didn’t want me?”
I’d already figured this out, but hearing it out loud still hurt like hell.
“I wouldn’t say it like that. It was more just… I know I was a bad father for feeling that way, but I thought, in the long run, life would be better for both of us if you just stayed with your mother. I was sure you were just going through a phase—wanting to live with me. You were fourteen. You’d change your mind. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But it all worked out in the end, right?”
“Right,” I muttered.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.” He stood and picked up his empty cup of ice cream. “I’m sorry, munchkin. I wish I could have told you the truth then, but I was a selfish asshole. I’ve changed, though.”
No, I thought, watching him toss his cup in the trash can and head for the door. I stood up and followed, throwing away my unfinished Blizzard. That’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed at all.
24
Right after we got back to the house, I received a text message from Trace.
Hey sry havent called n a while. Em got a new job! How r u?
His timing was pretty uncanny. Dad was walking into the kitchen, leaving me standing in the living room, alone, without even a word. Like nothing had happened. Like I wasn’t there. It was like Trace knew I needed him. Like he knew how alone I felt.
I started texting back as I walked upstairs to the guest room.
Not good. Can I call u?
He replied quickly.
No. N a meeting. On a saturday. Its boring & its a long story. I can txt tho
Leave it to my brother to be texting under the table at some kind of important meeting. A good sister would have sent him another message, telling him she’d call him when the meeting was over. He shouldn’t be texting. This was his job. All of that bullshit.
Well, I wasn’t a good sister. In fact, I was pretty goddamn selfish if you got right down to it. Yet another trait I’d gotten from my father, I guess.
There were so many things I wanted to say. So many stories I wanted to tell Trace. Feelings I wanted him to understand. But a text message can’t hold that many emotions. Or letters.
So I typed the only words that seemed to fit:
I liked dad better b4 I knew the truth.
It wasn’t easy explaining to Trace through text messages the whole story about my talk with Dad, but I managed. And while his attempts to comfort me were full of misspellings and incorrect punctuation, it felt good just to have someone listen. Or read, technically.
He told me he’d give me a call—a real voice-to-voice call—in the next few days, but I wasn’t going to hold him to it. Not that I thought he was lying or anything, but he had a wife now. A daughter. And at the moment, I was beginning to understand just how important it could be for a father to pay attention to his family.
Trace’s family came first. I got that. Even if taking care of them meant he couldn’t call me for several days, I wouldn’t complain. Not anymore.
Thingsll get better. Dont 4get hes still r dad. He fucked up but he luvz u
I didn’t reply to that one. Lately, everyone seemed to be telling me that Dad loved me. Everyone but Dad.
I put my cell phone on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed, squeezing my eyes shut. With all the things I’d learned, I knew that even when the summer ended, the nightmare wouldn’t. I was mad at Dad for so many things, but mostly I was mad at him for letting me see he wasn’t perfect.
I didn’t open my eyes even when I heard the door of the guest room open.
“Hey, Whit,” Nathan said. “Bailey and I are going to the movies. You want to come?”
“No,” I muttered.
“You sure?” he asked. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m sure.”
The latch on the door clicked, and I figured Nathan had gone. But of course he hadn’t. The end of the bed sank a little beneath his weight, and I sighed loudly.
“What?” I demanded, opening my eyes and finding Nathan sitting next to me.
“Did something happen today?” he asked. “With you and Greg?”
Every bone in my body told me to scream, None of your goddamn business! But looking up into Nathan’s chocolate eyes, I just couldn’t. As much as I wanted to blame the Caulfields for the way Dad had changed, I knew now that he’d been flawed for a long time. And they—Nathan, Bailey, and Sylvia—had been good to me, no matter how I treated them in return.
“Yeah.” I sat up. “I tried to talk to him, but he just doesn’t care. I brought up the Internet stuff, and he said he was sure I could handle it. That was all.”
“I’m sorry,” Nathan said.
“There was more, but… You know, I think he’s always been this selfish, I just didn’t want to see it.” I pressed my fingertips to my eyes as the tears I’d fought off at Dairy Queen began sliding down my cheeks. “I hate this. I’ve spent years being an apathetic, coldhearted bitch, not caring about anyone. But he’s turned me into a sniveling little girl with Daddy Issues.”
He lifted his arms a bit, then hesitated. I shook my head and scooted closer to him, resting my forehead against his shoulder. He smelled like soap and spice, and his cotton T-shirt was soft against my face. His arms were around me then, hugging me. I didn’t cry long—just for a few moments. One of Nathan’s hands stroked my hair gently, the way someone should always do when they comfort you. The way mothers do in movies when their little girls wake up from nightmares. The way fathers on TV do when their daughters have their hearts broken for the first time.
The way no one ever had for me.
When the tears were done, I sat up, swiping my wrist across my wet cheeks and eyes. “I’m sorry. God, I’m ridiculous.”
“No, you’re not.”
We sat in silence for a long time, just breathing the stale air of the guest room together. After a moment, Nathan looked at me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with Bailey and me?” he asked. “The movie’s a comedy. Maybe it will cheer you up.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. I’m just going to stay here and…”
He stared at me, waiting.
“And do something. I don’t know.”
“You think you’ll call Harrison?” Nathan asked. “Maybe he’ll come hang out with you or something.”
“Maybe.” No. “Have fun,” I told Nathan, pulling my hair over my shoulder and absently twisting the brown strands around my fingers. “I hope the movie is good.”
“Okay,” he said, nodding. He reached over and squeezed my arm before standing up. “Well, we aren’t leaving for half an hour, if you change your mind.”
Then he was gone.
Nathan and Bailey had already gone to the movies by the time I finally left the guest room that night. I was starting to get hungry, and Sylvia hadn’t called me down for dinner or anything yet. So I slumped into the kitchen and began digging through the cabinets, hoping I might find some Pop-Tarts to snack on.
I’d just located a box of strawberry ones—my favorite—when the screen door slid open and Sylvia walked in, wearing her swimsuit and laughing loudly. She stopped when she saw me, her cheeks turning instantly scarlet.
“Whitley,” she said. “Hey. I thought you’d gone out with the kids.”
“No,” I said, unwrapping my Pop-Tart. “I decided to stay home.”
“Oh, sorry,” Sylvia said, putting a hand to her mouth. I could see a small key dangling from a chain around her finger. “Sweetie, if I’d known you were staying here, I would have made something for you to eat. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool.”
She walked past me and reached for the cabinet above the sink, sliding the little silver key from her finger and opening the lock.
Liquor cabinet.
Somehow, I couldn’t believe she kept alcohol in the house.
Sylvia pulled down a bottle of wine. “You sure you can fend for yourself tonight?” she asked, relocking the cabinet.
“Yeah. No problem.”
“Good,” she said, and she turned to me with a sigh. “Sometimes I need a night off.” She laughed and ran her fingers through her wet hair. “Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, Whitley.”
“See you.”
She smiled, and I noticed the bounce in her step as she headed toward the screen door. When she walked outside, I could hear the music playing. Familiar and sweet.
… Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know…
The door slid shut again, s
ilencing the sounds of Jimmy Buffett and “Margaritaville.” But I’d heard it. I could have recognized that song by two notes alone. I’d listened to it so many times during summers at the condo.
I ran to the door, still holding my Pop-Tart, and peeked out through the screen. Dad was sitting in one of the lawn chairs, wearing his swim trunks, as Sylvia twirled and danced her way over to the table. She sat down across from him and opened the bottle of wine she’d just taken from the liquor cabinet, sipping straight from the top before passing it to Dad.
He lifted the bottle to his mouth, but his lips were already moving, forming the lyrics of the song.
He was singing.
And Sylvia was laughing.
And they were drinking.
It was like a scene from a movie I’d watched over and over and over again. That was Summer Dad sitting out there. The Dad I’d missed. The Dad I’d assumed was gone. But he was here. With Sylvia.
I stepped away from the door, fists clenched.
All summer I’d looked for him. My laid-back, laughing, best friend of a dad. But he’d been here all along. Two months, and I hadn’t seen him. Now, he sat just outside with his new fiancée, living his new life.
I swung my fist into the side of the fridge. Then again. I left my Pop-Tart on the table and ran back upstairs, slamming every door between there and the guest room.
I’d missed him. I’d missed him so much, and he’d been there all along. Just not with me.
25
“Please.”
“No.”
“Come on, Whit. Please?”
“Leave me alone, Nathan.”
It was the beginning of August, about a week after the bad shopping day with Dad, and Nathan had decided to spend that Friday afternoon harassing me.
The fact was that I hadn’t been in a good mood since Saturday. Seeing Dad being his old self again—without me—had hurt almost as much as Dad’s admission about not wanting me to live with him four years ago. Since that night, I hadn’t left the guest room much, going downstairs only for meals, and I hadn’t spoken a word to Dad.
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