Hoops and Dreams

[24] Peace talks

"Let's go for a drive."

I look up from the chemistry textbook I was pretending to be so enthralled with to see Dad sticking his head through the gap in my door.

My parents have been back home for just a few hours and so far I've used every excuse in the book to avoid the Talk they wanted to have with me. I sited a headache as a reason to stay holed up in my room when I got home. I told them I needed to study when it was time for dinner. And I had been hoping I could keep up the charade until they were both asleep but that was too much to ask for.

"Right now?" I croak.

He nods, yes.

"But I'm studying uh..." I look down at my textbook trying to remember what it was exactly that I was so busy doing. "Organic chemistry?"

"It won't take long and I think you deserve a break."

No, I don't. But with a heavy sigh of reluctance, I closed the book and got up from my chair.

"Grab a sweater, it's breezy out."

I followed my Dad out of the house with my gray cardigan in hand and a pair of slides. As we walk through the living room I try to use my sibling power to communicate my panic to Timothy via telekinesis but he doesn't bite. He throws me a limp wave and keeps staring at the TV.

"It's just us?" I ask as I watch him unlock the car and get into the driver's seat.

"Yeah. Andrea's still tired from the drive."

And I would know that if I had thought to ask her when she got back, I think to myself with a flicker of guilt. She was pregnant and pregnant women can be delicate. It wouldn't kill me to at least check up on her despite how awkward things are now.

We sit in sullen, tense silence as he reverses and drives out of the trailer park. Me providing the sullen and my dad handing out the tense. I wish I had the courage to say something or at least switch on the radio. Anything would be better than the quiet we've settled into.

I like to think I get my temperament from my father. We're both quiet until we're mad. We both get violently happy when our team wins. And March madness is a love language we're pretty fluent in. On the outside, every single line on his hand matches every single line on mine. I'm most definitely not a daddy's girl but I am and always will be my father's daughter.

With that in mind, I like to think I know what he's about to say even before he says it.

Hazel, he'll say with a rough note in his voice. I'm not mad at you but I was.

Now I'm just disappointed. Affectionately termed the Injured Parent approach.

Or maybe he'll go, Hazel, I never expected you to speak to Andrea and me the way you did on Sunday. The Appalled Parent method. An oldie but a goodie.

I've spent the past week preparing responses to justify myself whichever route he decides to take. The excuses are poised on the tip of my tongue before he starts to speak, armed and ready.

You'll understand then why I'm a bit annoyed when he throws out the parental playbook and goes rogue.

"Do you know," he says taking a left turn at a junction, "that the happiest day of my life was the day you were born."

The Sentimental Technique.

I'm screwed. There's no good way for anyone to prepare for that method.

"Umm, I guess so," I respond.

"I was so sure you were going to be a boy." He says wistfully. "You were such a strong kicker. Kept your mother awake through most nights. Remember that mobile in your room with the baseball gloves and the spaceship."