The Life You Love

Chapter 10/Part 2

I've made my mind up. I'm giving dad one chance, one afternoon, to make things right. We're meeting at a coffee shop because I refused to have him in the house and I didn't feel like going to wherever he was staying, not to mention that if we're in public a screaming match can't ensue. I hope. I take a breath before pushing my way through the door. I spot him instantly - it's pretty quiet in here but he's still chosen the table tucked away in the corner. He always liked those spots, though I don't know why - they're dingy, covered in chewing gum and where all the teenagers like to sit. I make my way to the counter and order myself a decaf white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. This drink is my guilty pleasure though I don't have them often. I'm not a big fan of coffee and even though I get decaf I still don't like having it often. There's a trend with coffee shops now to take your name and even though I'm the only person without a drink in here they insist and even though I spell it out for the barista I'm still left with a post it on my mug for 'Alyssa'. I weave in and out of the tables and settle down across from dad.

'Hey El.' He smiles, locking his phone and sliding it to the edge of the table.

'Hello.' I'm hostile. I know I'm here to give him a chance but I can't help myself. He caused so much hurt and pain these last few years and I can't forget that.

'How've you been?' he asks casually. Making small talk is his thing but I don't have time for it. I want to bite back, to tell him that if he really cared he would have called, he'd have emailed, text... he could have even made a Facebook account - a personal one that he would actually accept mum and I on rather than just clients and other business partners for networking. Instead, I take a big scoop of whipped cream off the top of my mocha and glare at him. I wish he'd just apologise off the bat, not beat around the bush.

'Don't, dad.' I eventually say. 'I'm not here to pretend nothing's changed, that you've been here and we're just having a catch up over coffee.' I state. He sighs knowing he can't put off the conversation any longer.

'El... I actually have something important to tell you.' He smiles, clearly thrilled with whatever news he has. I put my spoon down, shaking my head as I swallow the cream so I can talk.

'No, dad. I'm not here for your exciting new business deal either. Do I actually have to spell it out?' I'm getting angry now and tears prick at my eyes. Am I really not important to him? Does he really not care? He reaches is hands across the table, and turns them palm up, and gives me a pointed look, asking me without words to take his hands.

'El, honey. Please. I know - I know. Just... let me finish. Let me tell you what I have to say.' What he's really asking me is to behave, to respect the fact that he can't - won't - apologise and instead be happy for him and pretend we have a completely normal father/daughter relationship. Reluctantly, I reach my hands toward him. They're still warm, the way I remember, though not nearly as giant as I recall. His skin is rough, showing signs of his age and the repairs he used to do around the house, assuring mum he knew how to fix the kitchen sink before calling a plumber because he burst the pipe. They tell of the months he spent teaching me to ride a bike, constantly taking my stabilisers off only to put them back on when I refused to get on, not trusting him to keep a hold of me like he promised. He was a hard working man, dad was. He still is. I know his job isn't easy - not that I have a clue what it is. I didn't care. It didn't matter - it doesn't matter. All I know about his job is that it took him away from me... No. He chose to allow it to take him away from me. It was him who wouldn't let mum and I come to California with him. The memory of him telling me I wasn't going comes flooding back, breaking down the wall I built to block everything negative out. My breath catches and I'm suddenly overcome with emotion. How could he do that? And now he won't even apologise!

'You know what, Dad? Just go. Go home. Get on another plane to California and leave. It's not like you thought much about me when you did it the first time so just go - you can't even apologise for what you did.' I scoff, unable to contain myself. I'm aware that my voice has risen and I quieten down when I see the couple at the table closest to us looking over. I want to stand up and storm out but I need him to do it. He's my dad. I can't walk away from him... I need him to know that I still care. But he's walked out once before, so he can do it again and prove to me what I already know - that he doesn't care. But he doesn't move. His eyebrows furrow, and I can see the hurt in his eyes.

'I'm not going anywhere, El.' He whispers. I don't say anything, just keep looking at him.

'You don't understand... I am home... I quit. I took a demotion to a job back here, in Sparrowell. Well, it's in the city but I'm going to be living here again and I would really like it if we could spend time with each other. I can't say sorry for what I did because it means nothing. But I'm here to prove to you what words can't - that I am sorry - if you'll let me.' What? He's home... He isn't going back to California...

'I - You... what?' I can't get the words out. I don't even know what I want to ask him but I think he understands.

'I realised that I wasn't happy out there. I missed you so much but I was so scared to call you. I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me and with the time difference I kept calling when you were at school and then a few months ago the divorce papers came through the mail and... I realised what I'd done. El, and I just... I didn't know what to do. Then the next day a job offer came through, it's a downgrade - less money - but it was like as sign and I knew it then - I had to come back. I'm so incredibly sorry and I know that the words mean nothing and I can't take back the last three years but I'm here now. Please let me make things right.' He's pleading and even though I want to be mad at him I follow on from what Amelia said. Give him a chance.

'Ok.' It's not much in comparison to everything he just said, but those two letters mean the world to my dad - I can see it on his face. I give him a small smile and decide to put the past behind us, for a little while, and try to reconnect with my dad, to get to know each other again. I won't forget what he did, and I don't forgive him, not quite yet, but maybe someday soon I will.

'I'm really pleased to hear that, El. I brought this with me just incase you wanted me to stay out of your life and I wouldn't get the chance to give it to you tomorrow.' He pulls out a small box, wrapped badly in some pink polka dot paper and one of those stick on bow things.

'Happy birthday, El.' He says as he passes the box over to me. 'Go on, open it.' I'm surprised he remembered in all honesty, but remembering my promise to myself I say nothing more and scrape at the paper looking for a gap in the sellotape. I manage to rip into it and peel the bright happy paper back to reveal a dark box. I think it must be jewellery but then... would dad really buy me jewellery? I flick a glance at him, confused. He's smiling.

'Just open it.' He seems pleased with himself and I can feel little butterflies in my stomach, excited to know what he's got me. The lid on the box is refusing to come off so it takes an agonising few minutes to finally coax it open and inside there's a keyring. It's a picture of dad and I in the back garden. I can't even remember when this was taken but it's such a cute picture.

'I've had that on my car keys for as long as I can remember but I want you to have it now, for yours.' He's smiling and though I do appreciate the gesture and love the photo, I can't help but feel a little let down.

'Dad... I'm turning 17 tomorrow... I know America is different but I can't drive yet. I've not even got my provisional in the post.' His face falters, though he doesn't look as upset as before.

'Oh... well, I guess you can pop it on your house keys for now.' He sounds disappointed though there's a hint of something lighter in his voice. I think nothing of it, assuming that he's just trying to keep things from getting more awkward. I guess he might have forgotten what age you can drive here rather than forgetting how old I am. We finish up our drinks and set off, and he tells me he'll call me tomorrow as he doesn't want to intrude on any birthday plans. I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not that into birthdays and my only plans are to stay at home all day. I feel lighter, somehow, as I leave the building and make my way back towards home. Things aren't exactly how they were before dad left - they never can be - but I feel as though things are getting back on track, things are looking up. I have my mum and dad, not together but still around me. I've got Alex and Amelia by my side and I'm ready to help whenever I can. I feel good. And maybe it's just the meds finally kicking in, or maybe it's a mix of all these things, but I finally feel happy. No. I finally feel content.