The Science of Growing Apart

7- Dad

"Dad, it was so bizarre," I told him at dinner on Saturday as I was chaotically stirring the tomato sauce simmering on the oven. "He was so calm, like... like..."

"Like he was talking to an old friend?" he answered for me when I began floundering. My dad chuckled and then said, "I think the bigger question is why you're so freaked out, Josie."

"Because it's weird," I insisted. "It's like he's just pretending that we just casually fell out of touch."

"But... you did fall out of touch?" My dad was clearly very confused about my frustration and ranting, but still patiently listened as he checked on the garlic bread baking in the oven while I continued to monitor the sauce.

"I mean... yeah, I guess," I conceded with a shrug. "But there were months of unanswered calls, emails, texts. I tried so hard to stop our friendship from fading, but he basically ghosted me. And it's weird that he's not acknowledging that this was not a consensual falling out of touch."

"Ohh okay," he nodded his head, as if finally understanding what I was saying. "You want him to acknowledge that he hurt you."

"Maybe. But what would it even do, you know? Because it was six years ago and I'm over it, it just feels weird that it wasn't even acknowledged," I continued to try and explain how I was feeling about my interaction with Casey. I think my dad was right, as he usually was, in saying that I wanted Casey to recognize that he hurt me. This wasn't a case of two friends going to college and organically losing touch with each other. This was one friend organically losing touch with one, while the other tried for way too long to salvage a crumbling friendship as it fell through my fingers.

"Do you want an apology?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted slowly. It felt weird to say that I needed an apology for something that happened so long ago, and something that I'm not even upset about anymore.

"Honestly, Casey was a really good kid. I'm sure he still is, and I bet he has no idea how badly he hurt you when your friendship ended," my dad told me, looking over at me with his wide hazel eyes that looked so much like mine. "And I'm sure if you actually told him that you feel uncomfortable and why, you'd get a sincere apology immediately."

"I don't even know if it's worth it. Or even if it's appropriate, considering our relationship right now is purely professional," I said with a shrug. I wondered, though, if I didn't bring up the weirdness I was feeling, would this entire process be awkward between us?

"Don't burn the sauce just because you're frustrated," he quickly scolds me, leaning over the pot to investigate and then he pulled it off of the burner, onto the one beside it to cool off. "Garlic bread is ready too, let's dig in."

I had already set the small dining room table for the two of us, so we grabbed our plates and began filling them up with pasta, my mom's recipe for homemade tomato sauce, and garlic bread. The kitchen smelled amazing and garlicky, so I could feel my mouth watering.

The house my dad lived in by himself was the same house I grew up in. We lived here with my mom as one big happy family until she passed away when I was seven and then, it was just the two of us. There were two cozy bedrooms upstairs, a wide open living room next to this slightly cramped kitchen. It hadn't been redecorated since my mom passed, but I found the dated décor to be somehow comforting. I liked that it fit my dad's outdated style.

"So I have something to talk about too," my dad announced as we sat across from each other at the wooden table to eat our dinner. "I'm not sure how you'll feel about it."

"Okay..." I responded slowly, feeling cautious about what he could say. He never had any exciting news, as he'd gotten comfortable in his routine of going to work, going bowling with his friends, and watching his TV shows at home.