I make it home in record time and drop my bag at my father’s feet. “Did you know Mr. P was closing Magic Castle?”
Dad is hunched over, running numbers as usual, with piles of paper crowding around the nook that houses his computer. He closed the office recently, opting to work from home to save money. Dad promised he wouldn’t take over my space, not even when I leave for college next year, so he’s holed up at a nice desk in the corner of the living room.
He shoves a pen behind his ear and leans back. “What’s that, hon?” There’s a smudge of ink on his cheek, like a pen exploded earlier and he’s been wiping at his face all day. I’m trying to stay mad at him, but he makes it so hard.
“Did you know that Mr. P was closing Magic Castle?”
“That’s not really something I can discuss with you. You know that,” he says, as if that’s an acceptable answer.
“So, you knew, then?” I shake my head. “You knew and you didn’t even bother to warn me?”
He looks at me, his brow furrowed beneath his shaggy hair. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” I say. “Can’t you talk to Mr. P? There has to be something you can do. I mean, you’re his accountant! You can fix this.”
“Businesses close every day, hon.” My dad’s words sound a little blunt, a little patronizing, but his voice doesn’t at all. He sounds resigned—disappointed, even.
“Did you at least try to talk him out of it?”
“It’s not my place to try to talk him out of it.” A sad smile spreads across his face as he rubs at the scruff of his jaw, his lack of shaving a telltale sign it wasn’t a client day.
“You mean you could have told him not to, but you didn’t. Awesome.” And here they come, those pointless, frustrating tears, welling up in my eyes like they do every time I get really mad.
I hate them.
My dad says I got this from my mother, that she was the exact same way. He said she used to tear up every time she yelled, like her heart was literally breaking from anger. I wish I was nothing like my mother. I wish I was stronger. I wish my anger was loud and wild, instead of wet and weepy. Stupid DNA.
Dad rolls his chair closer, tilting forward to meet my eyes. “Hey, where’d you go?”
I stare down at his toes, studying the dark brown hairs that tuft out over the tops of them. I hope I have a job that lets me work barefoot someday. Also, I hope I never get toe hair like that.
“Sorry,” I say, “I was thinking about Mom.”
His face falls, and I wish I’d swallowed those words. It’s been years since she left, and it’s still a sore spot for my father. “I see,” he says, because there really isn’t anything else.
I bite my lip and study the drawings on my shoes until I feel like I can speak again. “Sorry, the park closing is kind of messing with my head.”
“I know this isn’t easy, but sometimes you have to let things go.” He sets his hand on my arm. “Unfortunately, this is one of those times.”
Of all the things my brilliant, loving, amazing father could have chosen to say in this moment, that is absolutely the worst. The anger simmers in my belly and shoots right out of my mouth. “We’ve let enough things go, don’t you think?”
“El—”
“I’m talking to Mr. P and I’ll get him to change his mind, and that’s it.”
My dad shakes his head. “Please don’t torture that old man. It was a hard enough decision for him as it was. Please, Lou, let it be.”
“How am I supposed to do that? How?” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, huffing hard out through my nose. “It’s not just some stupid park to me, and it shouldn’t be for you either!”
I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t get how he’s being so cool about this. That park is where he and my mom had their first date, and where he took me when she left. Not to mention every birthday I’ve ever had was spent there—except for the one time I went to one of those places where you make a stuffed animal, a choice I still regret, by the way—and I know it’s silly, but I pictured my graduation party there too. And now it’s going to be gone, just like everything else, and he doesn’t even seem to care.
“I know it’s not, Elouise, I know. But there’s nothing you can do. You need to focus on the future, not on some falling-down park in a town you’re already too big for.” The pain in my dad’s voice nearly knocks me off my feet. Maybe he’s not as okay with this as he’s trying to seem.
I shift from foot to foot and kind of half shrug. “I’m not too big for this town, Dad. I never will be.”
He smiles. “Can I get that in writing?”
“Oh my god. Do you want it notarized too?”
“I happen to know a great notary, actually.” He adjusts the certificate on his desk, a smug look crossing his face.
“You’re such a dork.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and dash up the stairs to my room. “I gotta go take a shower.”
“Love you,” he calls up, going back to his work.
“Love you too,” I say, slumping against my bedroom door.
I take a deep breath and bounce my head against the door a few times before I shove myself back up. Enough wallowing.There’s work to do: I have a park to save. And a best friend to set up. And also maybe my dad will make us waffles for dinner if I ask real nice.