Polar opposites sharing bunk beds and possibly falling in love in the process. Alex would not believe it in a billion years.
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Alex is an only child, a force of nature, and an academic machine. At least, she likes to focus on those aspects of h...
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"He's always attracted by the art he isn't practicing. The place he hasn't been. The girl he hasn't met."
- An Affair to Remember.
____________
2 years ago
I didn't know why I kept expecting things from him. I had no idea why some remote corner of my heart craved his acceptance so much.
Mom had picked dad up at the airport at 4 am. They both sat in the front seat of the car, eerily quiet. They'd decided to turn on the radio to compensate for their silence, but it only made it so much more noticeable. And reallly...what did my parents have to speak about? I preferred them silent rather than screaming, which was what I'd grown accustomed to.
My dad kissed my forehead at the airport. He threw on a smile that almost seemed...genuine, though that could have just been my imagination, I tended to look at my dad with rose-colored glasses. But I couldn't stop thinking about the smile, about the notion that perhaps he was happy to see me.
The more time that passed, the more dad pushed us away. We hadn't seen him in a year by that point, he'd spent most of his time in Colorado and the rest of it traveling to other states, barely stepping foot in California during any of it. He insisted we stay home, not to visit him, not to bother anyone. Even as an eight-year-old, the offer seemed the slightest bit sketchy. And it still was, eight years later.
G-d, it was quiet.
It was 6 am in the morning when we got back to Palopa, still somewhat early in my opinion. In spite of the lack of action, I wasn't tired in the slightest. I kept looking at the back of my dad's head as he slept. He'd spent an hour or so at the airport, and then an extra hour because his flight was delayed. I couldn't blame him for wanting to sleep. I caught a look on his face.
For a moment, I was brought back to the days I was a curious child. My dad looked older, certainly, he'd even grown a beard plagued by white hairs. My dad was a blonde, and though some of his "golden curls" had been lost along the way, it was still clear he was the one from whom I'd inherited my own hair.
I touched my dad's cheek slightly. I'd missed this. I'd missed being near him, I'd missed his presence, for some reason or another.
I sighed and went back to kneeling against the back seat. Dad would spend the next three days with us before leaving for some business in Boston. Not even a week after a year of nothing, it almost felt like a scam.
"Mom?" I murmured.
Mom looked back for a moment before returning her eyes to the road. "What, honey?"
"Do you think....do you think we could...we could convince dad to live with us again?"
I knew the answer before she even thought it through. I knew dad would never agree, and I knew that even if he did, he and mom couldn't spend more than a few days together without breaking. It was selfish of me to ask her because I knew she'd feel bad for me.
