Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
As I brace myself to push through this, even though Dax isn’t here, I can hear him saying, Deep breaths. It’s the only reason I haven’t backed out of the driveway and headed back to Peachtree Springs.
I take another deep breath, then get out of the car. I can hear that kid in my head, screaming. He gets louder, but I clench my fists as I approach the door, input the code, and head inside. “Dad?”
“In the kitchen!” He sounds so at ease, so relaxed, like we’re just having some normal father-son bonding time. Which is wild since that’s not us. Hasn’t been for a long time.
He’s opening cartons of food on the table, and as soon as he sees me, his eyes light up. It’s a sharp contrast to what happened between Dax and his father. Reminds me that, even though we have our fucked-up shit, there’s comfort and security in knowing he loves me. He just…doesn’t understand me. Doesn’t know how to reach me. Guess that works both ways.
“Hey, kiddo.” He offers me a hug, which I find myself recoiling from as much as ever, while also feeling guilty about my reaction.
“Hey, Dad,” I force out, realizing some of this tension must be because of what I plan to do.
He pulls away, and the way he glances me over suggests he’s not totally unaware that something’s off. Of course, he doesn’t acknowledge that, just heads back to the table. “I got it from your favorite place with that popcorn chicken you like.”
“Thank you,” I say, which again catches him off guard. He looks unsettled by my appreciation.
“I’m glad you came by. You’re always so busy around the holidays, and I’m leaving for Aspen next Tuesday, so this might be our only chance for a while. Come on, sit down.” He takes a seat at the end of the table. “Get some food. I can’t imagine you’re eating the way you should be while you’re at school. And you look like you’ve lost weight since I last saw you.”
“Do I? Maybe. It’s not something I ever really think about.”
“Well, eat up. I’m always worried you’re not eating enough. And you never let me give you any money for food. You know, most of the parents I talk to give their kids money, even if they do have a part-time job.”
Again, Dad does such an excellent job of demonstrating how little he knows about my life, but I can’t really fault him, considering I’m determined to keep my distance from him. I pull out the seat adjacent to his, which he notices—how could he not, when I always sit on the opposite side?
As I settle, he starts collecting food on his plate.
I could forget all this. Just have a fine enough dinner with him, then head back to Peachtree Springs, fuck the hell out of Dax…be happy.
However, I wouldn’t really be fine. If I don’t face this, I’ll carry it into my relationship with Dax. And the thought of fucking that up…no, I can’t. Nothing is worth risking him.
It’s time. I have to do this now, before I chicken out.
“Dad…” I push out.
“Yeah, Miles?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“We’re talking.”
“I want to talk about…” The word catches in my throat, some remnant of how I’ve managed to keep this down all these years. Stop. Don’t. The screaming intensifies, but I fight it, push it out through my teeth. “Mom.”
He freezes with his spoon in the Mongolian beef, his face turning a shade paler.
Terror grips my chest, reminding me of how easily this could turn into a full-blown panic attack. Keep on breathing.
Dad swallows. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He’s not making eye contact as he continues transplanting the beef to his plate. “Let’s just have a nice dinner tonight. Here, you need a plate.” He grabs the plastic plate and passes it to me, his gaze finally meeting mine, and there’s desperation in his expression, as though in taking the plate, I would be agreeing to play along with this fantasy.
I can’t do it, though. Not anymore.
“It’s not only Mom I need to talk to you about. It’s you too. And what happened back then.”
He sets the plate on the table, still avoiding eye contact. “I’ve told you, you need to talk to someone. I’ve always encouraged you to see a therapist, especially after the fire at Sigma Alpha.”
“The one I told you I didn’t start.”
His gaze wavers, and I can tell he’s skeptical. “It’s just hard for me to understand why you would have gone to the police if it hadn’t been you.”
“Because you didn’t ask me about it. You didn’t want to talk about it. Just wanted to handle it and move on like you did with Mom.”
That clearly strikes him like a punch to the face. He flinches. “I actually have some references I could give you, and someone in my pickleball group sees someone. I can get their name, and you can vet them out for the best fit. How’s that?”