To Grieve, Learn and Let Go (Pedro Pascal/Joel Miller Inspired Story)

Out Of Character

We arrived at his car parked in front of the meter. My hands were full, clutching onto the doggie bag containing leftovers and a tempting slice of chocolate fudge. In that moment, I found myself grappling with the decision of whether to grant my father another chance. It all felt too hurried, almost as if his earlier tears were a manipulative ploy to sway me into accepting a hollow promise. 

The way our discussion ended, with light-hearted laughter, grated on my nerves. I didn't want him to assume that by giving him a chance, I was willing to erase the pain of his abandonment and sudden return after 17 years. At this juncture, there seemed to be little recourse for me, except for the possibility of a last-minute change of heart. Yet, even contemplating that option weighed heavily on me. 

It meant going against the wishes of my grandparents, may their souls rest in peace.

My dad casually glanced at the meter and his face lit up with joy upon discovering there were about fifteen minutes remaining. He released a contented sigh, tapping the machine before turning to me. "Looks like we've got a solid fifteen minutes, kiddo. Fancy a short stroll around the block?"

Quite audacious of him to assume I'd be interested in taking a walk with him. I pondered what else he might have up his sleeve to share with me.

I shook my head, scrunching up my face as I swatted away a fly buzzing near me. "No, let's head straight back to the hotel. I've got some unpacking to take care of, anyway."

His once cheerful expression had transformed into a somber one. The rosy hue on his cheeks faded into a pallor. "Oh... I thought it might be nice to explore since it's been years since I've been here. Maybe check out some shops and see what I can find on this brief trip," he uttered, his tone of disappointment and sadness.

"There's not much worth getting around here. Almost everything is quite pricey. The only things that are reasonably priced are snacks, Arizona drinks, and maybe a small keychain," I replied, my tone reflecting disinterest and impatience.

I wasn't interested in his desire to explore the city or purchase souvenirs. After all, he was the one who initiated the conversation about his role in abandoning me, and that was all I wanted to focus on. For now, the only acknowledgment I would grant was for the doggie bag and cake slice from the diner. The remaining fifteen minutes of parking time held no significance to me.

"Okay, then." He slouched, glancing at the meter again, absentmindedly rubbing his beard before reaching into his front pocket for his car keys. Retrieving the keys, he pressed the button to unlock the car doors.

Before I could round the car towards the passenger's side, a hand grasped my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. I recognized it was my dad pulling me back. In a swift motion, he began guiding me toward the passenger side, carefully surveying the bustling street for pedestrians and cars. While he slipped into dad mode, I instinctively shifted into a defensive stance, resisting as he tried to lead me towards the passenger window. I halted, attempting to release my arm from his grip.

"I can manage on my own," I muttered in a sharp, embarrassed whisper.

His hand made a tentative reach towards my arm once more. "No, not after what happened earlier," he insisted.

I sidestepped, evading his attempt, my gaze darting nervously at the passersby who stole glances at our exchange. "I'm perfectly capable. I know how to watch out before crossing," I retorted with a tinge of unease.

Despite my protest, he remained unconvinced. "It's not just about looking both ways, Mia. It's about the risks of an irresponsible and reckless driver," he began, his voice tightening with worry. "The last thing I want is to see my daughter getting hurt—"

I swiftly interjected, desperation in my words. "The passenger door is right there," I interrupted, my voice urgent. "I'm well aware of reckless drivers. How many times do I have to say it? I'm a grown twenty-seven-year-old woman. Please, let me handle this on my own, Pedro."

For some reason, it felt a little satisfying to say that in such a cold manner—like I had some sort of power, some control over the situation. But that satisfaction only lasted a few seconds. The moment I saw the hurt flash across his face, my stomach dropped. I felt like a complete piece of shit.

That wasn't me. That wasn't who I was.

It was so out of character for me to act or speak with spite, let alone cruelty. I wasn't raised to be that kind of person. I never even talked back to anyone, not even when I had every right to. It was just in my nature to keep the peace, to be respectful, to think before I acted. But tonight... something inside me snapped. My emotions got ahead of me, and I let them steer the wheel.

My grandparents didn't raise me like that. And I know they're probably looking down at me right now, shaking their heads in utter disappointment. I could almost hear my grandpa's voice: "You know better, Mia."

Yeah, I do. But that doesn't stop the damage I've already done.

"Mia... I—I'm... never mind," he muttered, his voice low and breaking, like he'd swallowed whatever apology or plea he had inside him. Then came the sigh—soft, shaky, and defeated. I didn't even turn around to look at him. I couldn't. I already knew the expression he wore. Sad eyes. Lips pressed into a tight line. That subtle shift in his face when he's holding back too much.

I slid into the passenger seat without a word. My throat was tight, and my heart felt heavier than it had in a long time. I stared blankly out the window as he slowly walked around the car to the driver's side. I caught a glimpse of him through the glass, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tense, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He looked like he was trying to hold himself together... like the weight of what I said was still settling on his back.

The door creaked open, and he got in without saying anything. The engine roared to life, and we pulled out onto the road in silence.

I snuck a glance at him.

His cheeks were flushed, like he'd been crying, or trying not to. His eyes were glossy, like there was still something left unsaid clinging to the surface. And the way his hands clutched the steering wheel, knuckles pale and rigid. It was like holding on was the only thing grounding him right now.

Guilt twisted in my chest. I wanted to say something. Anything. But the words tangled in my throat, wrapped in shame and regret. Instead, I stared straight ahead and swallowed the lump forming in my throat.