Pocket Pickers #projectwomanup

Remi, I am Your Father

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"Dad?"

Everything seemed to stop in its track. The bartenders seemed to move like snails, everyone suddenly quieted. The whole world dimmed, and the only people in the room were me and my dad.

"Remi," my dad whispered, looking conflicted. He seemed to be experiencing a wide variety of emotions, which made me uneasy.

"Hey... dad," I said awkwardly, seeing from the corner of my eyes, Pierre waving at me to come.

"I-," he paused, before changing his mind, "I have to go."

He pushed past me and back into the crowd of socialites, leaving me to feel rejected all over again.

Puzzlement overwhelmed me. Feelings of hurt and betrayal bloomed in my chest. Why did he leave? I tried to rack my brain on what I did wrong, while trying not to let the signs of distress show on my face.

By then, Pierre had walked across the hall and started to obliviously pull my arm. "Dinner's starting. Come on."

I let myself be guided towards the dining area, mostly because I was spacing out. Those four words kept replaying in my mind.

I have to go.

"I-I have to go," I muttered to Pierre, mimicking my father.

"Oh, no you don't!" Pierre whispered, pulling me back and motioning for me to sit down. God, even when I was feeling like a crushed grape, he still managed to make me mad.

"Fine, I will!" I abruptly sat down, harshly bringing Pierre down with me. He stumbled a little as he hit the chair, but somehow readied himself in a graceful manner. A few seconds later, trays of sizzling meat and deviled eggs were being brought out, but the aroma only made me feel nauseous.

"Remi!" I turned around to see a plump woman rush towards me. "Pierre's been talking about a lady for some time now but I never knew the mystery lady would be so beautiful!"

I tried to smile at this random lady even though my thoughts were muddled with theories on why my dad was here.

"My name is Rita. Rita Turner. It's such a pleasure," she giggled, "Pierre isn't exactly a ladies man, you know."

I laughed awkwardly with her until she finally decided to go mingle with another plump family member. I let out a sigh of relief.

I couldn't help but continuously glance over at my father every once in a while. He seemed at home, talking to Pierre's family.

Not sparing a glance at me.

I let out a trembling breath, trying not to let the burning red anger eat me alive, but who could blame me? It wasn't Pierre's uncle (a physicist, ugh) sitting next to him who made sure he was still alive and kind of sober.

"Is something wrong?"

I turned to see Pierre pull a slightly strained concerned look towards me. Rolling my eyes, I swallowed the biting scream I was about to let out. "Even if something was bothering me," I narrowed my eyes, "I wouldn't tell you anyways."

Pierre widened his own eyes, like he understood. "Is it my family?" He whispered harshly.

"What?" I felt like slapping my face, "No, you know what, I'm fine."

Pierre grumbled and shot me a few glares while I tried to indulge myself in sweets. The cinnabon rolls and buttered croissants were really elevating my spirit.

The dinner went on smoothly for a good half hour. My nervous system was finally calming down after the overload of family members and the stress of my dad, when my father suddenly reach for a croissant at the same time I was, and our hands touched. Actually, it wasn't even a touch, more like his skin grazed my nail. But he recoiled so fast, like he had just touched a burning candle, or got bitten by a snake.

"Oh," I said breathlessy, and looked away in a gauche manner, trying to make it seem like I didn't know who he was. But I couldn't help it, I could already feel the load of pastries working its way up my throat.

"If you'll excuse me," I whispered, using all my power to not choke on my tears. I resided to blinking an absurd amount of times to try to make them resign but the urge to cry only seemed to increase. Which made me feel ridiculous because I never cried after the divorce.

Pierre looked at me, panic evident in his eyes, but I was already out of my seat. Walking fast. Far away from the hurt I was feeling.

A few apologies later, I heard heated footsteps behind me.

"What do you think you're doi-" Pierre barely touched me before I turned around and threw up on his suit. I wiped my mouth, knowing I should have felt embarrassed, but I just felt sick to my stomach.

The next few minutes played out like a slow motion movie. Pierre would gawk down at his shirt, and then he would look up at me. Then he would look down, again, and look up at me, again. And I know I was suppose to feel guilty that slimy croissants were all over Pierre's suit, but I was too busy fuming.

How dare he. The anger that was surprisingly kept at bay during our reunion, had turned into a full-blown volcano.

After everything I've been through. After everything he has made me go through. That man didn't deserve to be my father. I washed him. I fed him. I made sure he had a roof over his fucking head-

"What's your problem?" Pierre whispered harshly, "You're embarrassing me in front of my family! And now- And now you threw up all over me!"

I shook my head. He'd never understand.

"I thought you'd be happy seeing your dad!"

My head snapped as I looked at him, feeling a dam burst in my head.

"Exactly!" I exploded, "You thought, you thought, you thought!

"You've never asked me how I feel about seeing my dad here, have you? Seeing him open up to strangers he's known for two minutes without even glancing at me? Even though I was the one who made sure he didn't starve, or freeze to death, or get drunk all the time! You thought it would make me happy seeing my dad, but you never thought that I wouldn't want that?"

Pierre's eyes widened.

"Just because you're close to your family doesn't mean I'm close to mine. My dad is my only family, was, but he abandoned me, Pierre. And I don't even know why I'm even telling you this, because we met like, 3 days ago. And I hate you, and your stupid reputation! I'm Pierre Turner and I'm the greatest man alive!" I chuckled hysterially, "And now you have to deal with a stupid person like me, where her own father doesn't love her anymore-"

Before I could continue with my rant, I was pulled into a crushing hug. I struggled helplessly against his strong arms.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "you're right."

With those reassuring words, I involuntarily sank into his embrace. I didn't cry, because no one, including my dad, deserved my tears. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Together, we stood there, and finally, it felt like he understood.

"But really, we have to go."

Never mind.

NOTE:

Feeling inspired- Neha

P.S Oh, sorry for the long wait