JuneBug takes off on her scooter. I walk Brutus inside. I pause when I hear voices. Whoa. That’s my father’s voice. I didn’t realize mom has Skype. I walk into the kitchen. Dad sits at our kitchen bar like he owns the place. “Oh, hey, Katie.”
He turns right back to my mom. That’s it? That’s all I get? Wow. What an A-Hole my dad’s become. Mom stands at the sink. She washes her hands vigorously. It’s a stalling tactic. Dad’s been gone so long he’s forgotten her tells. Mom always does this when she’s trying to put her words together but can’t. I walk over to her side of the bar and stand beside her. I don’t know what is going on here, but I need to remind her I’m on her side, even though she asked me specifically not to take sides.
My father sits there with his arms crossed on his chest, looking like he’s waiting for something. “Well? What do you think?”
Mom throws the dish cloth down on the counter. Oh boy. “Oh, I don’t know! Why don’t you ask Katie what she thinks?” My father looks all sheepish. This must be big.
He looks down at the counter as he draws imaginary circles on the countertop. “Um. I don’t know that we need to have this conversation right now, in front of her, I mean.”
Now, I’m offended. I turn my back on him to face my mother, but she stares right past me and starts up again. “You don’t know if she should hear the conversation that affects her directly. Are you that much of a coward you can’t say it in front of her? You’ve got no qualms about coming in here, asking me for Katie’s trust fund money to take a honeymoon with your stupid blonde bimbo. You just don’t want her to hear you say it! Do I have it right? You are un-fricking-believable! What happened to the man I married? Does the blonde know what you are doing here?”
I catch dad’s face in the corner of my eye. He looks down at the bar again. “Ooooh. I bet the bimbo doesn’t know. I bet you promised her something and now you can’t fulfill it.” Mom’s words pummel all of us. Awkward silence fills the kitchen.
I almost feel bad for my dad—he looks so shameful. But then I realize he only came down here to basically rob me and mom. That stings big time. I step up to my dad. “Since you are like, big on fulfilling obligations and commitments, now would be the time to remind you that you made a commitment to my trust fund before you met Miss Double-D Golddigger, since you are so big on loyalty and all. But also, you should know that you can’t pull out trust funds anyway without paying a big fine. And, that trust fund has my name on it, so really, you should be groveling at my feet.”
After my big speech, I run upstairs to lay down on my bed and bawl and wallow in self-pity. My idiot father came down here after my money. That’s it. Not to see how we are doing, not because he missed me or my mom. What a cold-hearted, unfeeling bastard. There’s just no other word for him. I tell myself that I shouldn’t waste any more time on him right now. But he’s my dad. Ugh. This sucks.
After my five-minute pity party, I wash my face with cold water. He will not see the traces of my tears. An idea comes to me, and I’m going with it. Mom and I are having the last word. I grab the truck keys, rush downstairs. “Hey, Mom! We gotta go. Remember we have that thing? We can’t let him down,” I call out.
My father looks at me. “Excuse me, I’m having a conversation with your mother, and it’s like 10:00 o’clock at night!” I brush past my dad, grab my mom’s arm, and pull her toward the front door. I bump Big Brutus, who is unashamedly sleeping on his watchdog job.
I turn to my dad and clear my throat. “Excuse me, but we’re leaving, and we need to lock up. You need to go now.”
He looks at my mom. She looks lost. She throws up her hands. “I guess I’m going with Katie. You can call me later.” Dad shoots me an annoyed look, which I pointedly ignore. He grabs his stuff and stomps out our front door. I quick throw the lock, hurry to the truck, and motion my mom to follow. She hops in and I start driving. “What are we doing, Katie?”
I look at her and smile. “Therapy”. We pull up to the cupcake shoppe. I unlock the front door and we head to the back of the store. I go through the door and up the stairs. Just as I suspected, Israel is still here, painting away, blasting his Spanish music. I whistle through my fingers. He turns the music down and glances in our direction. “Israel, this is my mom. We need an outlet. Can we paint with you?”
He nods his head, hands us some brushes, and instructs us on what we can paint and how he wants it done. I reach over and crank it back up. We get to work. Minutes fly by as we get lost in the music filling the room, painting our worries all over the walls. One glance at my phone tells me it’s almost midnight.
I lean toward my mother’s ear. “Mom, I have school tomorrow. You going or staying?”
She glances at Israel, who gives her a nod. “I guess I’m staying.” I head downstairs, leaving my mom in an upstairs room with a hot, young Hispanic artist. Who knew life would go this way?
I get back to the house. Dad sits outside. I walk past and stop at his window. “Mom’s not here. She’s staying over at a friend’s house tonight.”
My dad looks at me like I’m speaking Greek. “You’re staying the night here by yourself?”
“Nooo. I have Brutus. Plus, my friend JuneBug’s probably coming over soon. I’m a senior in high school now. I’m not exactly a child.”
He scoffs. “Well. I don’t know how I feel about your mother leaving you home alone overnight like this.”
Oh, boy. He just stepped in the crap with me, and I unload. “Reaaally? Well. I don’t know how I feel about my dad gallivanting around town with a blonde bimbo who looks like a porn star and is young enough to be my older sister, but that didn’t stop you!” My dad looks at me like I’m the worst person on the planet. But I’m not done. “What? Are you so simple-minded you think your actions only affect your ex-wife? You think they don’t affect me? I mean, do you not understand that you might be the reason I never fully trust a guy, like ever?
I may have a slew of failed relationships because of what you did. And don’t go saying your life is your own and you are only responsible for your own actions. A good father is a good husband; they go together. You don’t get one without the other. And what little girl sits around dreaming about the day her daddy leaves her mom at home, crying, because she wasn’t enough?” I feel tears coming on. This ticks me off. He doesn’t deserve them.
My dad just sits there, stunned. And I can’t find it in myself to care at this exact moment. I didn’t know how much anger I had until he showed up. Blahhh. He sits there a while. Then he speaks. “So is she, like, with a guy?”
Un-fricking-believable. I unload all my pent-up anger and hurt on my dad—break my heart wide open, and this is what he gets out of all that. I look him in the eye and enjoy watching him squirm. I’m either a real baller or a sadist, but I don’t care. “As a matter of fact, yes. She’s with a hot, young, Latin artist and they’re up in a room right now, making all kinds of noise.” I raise my eyebrows all suggestively. My dad looks at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth. Technically, I am. He can interpret it however he chooses. I could give a rat’s ass. I’m tired. My emotions are done, and I just wish he’d leave.
I stare him down. “You can’t stay here. This is my home. You gotta go find a hotel or something.” I turn and walk to the house. I unlock the door and then lock it back again.
I shut the door with a bang. I am the Queen of my domain. I walk along this narrow-raised platform, staring down at all my subjects; those who have wronged me in their past lives…my dad has joined the crowd of jesters in my throne room. He shall feel the full extent of my wrath and he shall suffer the consequences of being an inconsiderate prig. I bring justice for all Women….
Snap out of it, Katie. But dang, that felt good telling off my dad. My mom may be diplomatic and kind, but a girl has a right to her own feelings – and Dad needs to know he’s being a real horse’s ass.
I open the fridge and go straight for my mom’s chocolate stash. I know I shouldn’t, but I allow myself a few seconds of guilt-free scarfing before heading upstairs to run the bath. I pop in my headphones and jam out for just a bit before tuning into Norah Jones. I need mellowing and relaxation.
I look over at Brutus who followed me to the bathroom. I start a conversation to try to feel less awkward about my one-eyed audience checking out my lady parts at the edge of the tub, making me hide under two carefully placed washcloths. “Scaredy cat. You must not like being in a dark house by yourself either. You can hang out with me. I’ll just stay here until I’m all pruny.” An hour later I get out and head to bed with big Brutus in tow.