Him & I

21

Dad used to be around. Sure, he was never really the goofy, homely type - I never met that part if it existed - but he used to be home. Drive us to school on weekdays, early so i'm waiting by my locker for Pamela who loves arriving 'fashionably late' as she puts it though it's really only because she keeps snoozing her alarm every time it comes on.

On Saturdays, he'll be home too, and we'd all watch a movie we've probably watched before and order popcorn from Francis because he's never been the popcorn-making, barbecue-grilling kind of dad. But he was around. Trouble only started when Danielle turned sixteen and insisted she wanted to start driving, own a car, that her friends had one too, get a license.

She got the license but not dad's approval. So, Saturdays we weren't four watching a movie we'd watched before anymore, but three. Then this last summer, no one wanted to watch a movie anymore 'cause dad wasn't home. Danielle said to hell with To all the boys I've loved before 2, and Toby said he wanted something DC.

I said bye to the t.v, told Toby he could have it. I don't know if he was happy about it or not, my family was falling apart.

That's why when I met dad in the kitchen this morning with of course, his black suit on, seeping dark coffee and trying small talk, all my answers where tight-lipped. And when he stood up to leave for work that he's sorry he can't be around this Saturday, I told him it was fine. That it's not like we aren't used to it anyway.

I said that 'cause I thought it was fine. Because I didn't expect any type of guilt to get out of static form and begin crawling over my skin like I'm not right. Like I'm lying. Like we all aren't indeed used to not having him around and i'm the only one who ever knows when he is since it's always early as dawn, having me jump down my balcony instead of using a door. Like we aren't used to it anyway.

Yet still. "I shouldn't have said that."

"You're used to it?" He asks, looking more pitiful than ever. Shutting the door without any noise, he starts toward the round table, ending at the corner that thankfully keeps him far away from me.

I watch him clasp his hands on the glassy laminate, clasp and unclasp, eyes staying distant. I watch him stay quiet for too long.

"Dad."

He lifts his head, meeting my eyes for a fleet second then as if realizing his might now be red, doesn't let them properly meet mine again.

Biting the insides of my cheek, I wonder if I should or shouldn't speak. Or maybe If I do speak, it should be bashful words asking him why he seems to be so worried now when he's the one who willingly hasn't let himself be present for months.

He dropped my brother and I off at school on the day we resumed and promised he'd be more around compared to the summer break. He hasn't kept the promise till today, but I'm also not very good at confrontations.

"Why haven't you been home?" I force my voice to come out stern but I know it's wavering.

"Princess-"

"Soledad talked about it the other day and I told her work's probably gotten busy. Busy-er. Even when I'm not so sure that's the answer."

"Nika, I know that I've-" He cuts himself off, looking down at his clasped hands on the table.

Toby clearly got his features from our paternal part of the family, because dad is only a different version of him. Fair skin and overgrown curls. Except that's he's, of course, much taller, bigger, and now wears a suit everyday. Since even Sundays are spent at work. But they express sadness the same way. Or rather, don't express it. Same way Toby wouldn't let tears fall for the life of him, Is the same way I guess dad wouldn't.