Thursday, November 14
Imogen's POV
In the morning everyone is weirdly on edge. Wyatt, Margo, and I all sit and eat breakfast together but no one says anything and it makes me nervous. Wyatt and Margo glare at each other every once in a while but apart from that no one does anything but eat. Kyle hasn't even tried to call me or tell me where he is. Margo says she saw him early this morning and he didn't say anything.
I'm surprised Margo doesn't even try to say anything or cheer anyone up. I muster up all my courage to actually say something to somebody. "Um, Wyatt? Do you maybe-"
"If I knew where Kyle was the last thing I would do is tell you," he says not even bothering to look up from his cereal.
Margo shoots him a glare that he doesn't notice or just chooses to ignore. "Maybe you should check with Jaxon or Alex," Margo suggests.
"I already did. I'm really worried about him."
Wyatt gets up from the kitchen table and throws his bowl into the sink. It makes a loud noise making me and Margo jump. "Kyle is a grown ass man," Wyatt grits out between his teeth. "If he wanted you to worry about him he would've asked you to. And if he wanted you to know where he was he would've told you. Now call me crazy but I think it's obvious he doesn't want anything to do with you!"
With that Wyatt storms out of the kitchen. "I don't know why he hates you so much," Margo says quietly.
"Maybe I should just go. I'm obviously making things between you and him... complicated so I should go."
"Imogen, he just-"
"No, it's fine. My dad actually lives in town so," I say and leave before she can convince me to stay.
^^^
I packed up what I could from Margo's and drove to where I'm pretty sure my dad lives. I literally haven't seen him in years and I don't know if this is a good but I have no where else to go.
I pull up in the driveway of the familiar house and get out of my car to knock on the door. After a few knocks the door swings open to reveal my father. His hair is long, past his ears. The dad I knew would never let it get past a buzz cut. Another thing that shocks me is the strong smell of alcohol.
"Imogen?"
"Hi, dad," I say nervously. The smell is even stronger once he opens his mouth.
He smiles widely and pulls me in for a hug. "Imogen, it's been long. Too long," he breathes.
It has been a very long time and I admit that I missed him. I should've contacted him sooner so we could talk. "May I come in?"
"Oh, please," he beams. "Come, I'll make tea." He ushers me into his home and goes straight for the kitchen. The smell only get stronger as I sit down on the couch in the living area and wait for him.
Once he comes back I smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch," I say.
He waves me off. "I forgive you, Immi." My heart swells at that old nickname.
"Dad, I - would you - I need a place to stay and it must look horrible for me to just come here asking this of you after not calling or visiting for years but I need-"
"Say no more. Imogen, I would love for you to stay with me," he says. "I've missed you and we've much to discuss, no?"
"You're right, we do have much to discuss," I sigh. The truth is not matter how much we act all lovey and happy an argument will come up between us. It's inevitable.
