Chapter 27 Dad Issues
Twenty-Seven
Dad Issues
The next day, between classes, I searched out a vacant corner in the student union and called my dad.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
His voice sent a sharp, painful twinge right through me.
“I’m so glad you called,” he continued.
My jaw stiffened. Glad. That was his response to our first exchange of words in months. My feelings were bigger, much bigger. As big as discovering a new chemical element on the periodic table.
“I’m not busy during lunch on Thursday.” I sounded a bit cold. “We could meet then.”
“Great,” he said. “How about that sub shop I love so much?”
“Huh?” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“The place with the fresh-cut deli meat and the good bread and dressing.”
“Do you mean Big Mike’s?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s it. I love that place.”
My heart started beating faster. My phone was slippery in my hand. “But aren’t you banned from university property?”
“No, I’m not, and besides, Big Mike’s isn’t on school property.”
“It’s really close. Across the street.”
“Oh, right.”
I wasn’t sure what was going through my dad’s brain. He couldn’t possibly go to a restaurant by campus. People would recognize him and cause a scene. And I’d be there. What a mess.
“All right, how about I put in an order for Big Mike’s, you pick it up, and I drive by and get you in the car?”
All I could imagine was walking in there and asking for David Bianchini’s sub order and everyone looking at me like I was a monster.
“How about I put in the order at Big Mike’s, I pick it up, and then you drive by and I get in your car?”
He went silent.
I waited.
“All right. I’ll pick you up at noon.”
I let out a large breath. “Sounds good. See you there.”
And it was over. The first real conversation I’d had with my dad in months. Strange how anticlimactic it had been. Like no time had passed at all.
Three days later, when I arrived at the sandwich place, I got our order easily. No looks. No nothing.
I stepped outside…and Dad was already there, waving to me. I crawled into the car and held my breath, not really knowing what to expect.
“Hi, Ade!” Dad leaned over and gave me one of his bear hugs. Reluctantly, I patted him on his back before he pulled away from the curb.
My dad had always been in shape, and that hadn’t changed. But today his clothes got my attention. He looked fancy. A collared shirt, a tie, a sweater vest, and a blazer over it. All coordinated. The only time I’d ever seen him wear suit-type clothing was on game days.
His face looked the same. Not bad, like his mug shot, but what my dad normally looked like. Cool and collected. That Italian Mafia charm that made people of any age hang on to his every word. He was even chewing gum like he always had. It smelled like his usual, sweet mint Orbit.
“Did you get me the roast beef?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “Why are you all dressed up?”
He shrugged. He put on his blinker and merged into traffic.
“How’s school going?” he asked.
“Good,” I said.
Then silence. Lots of silence. Certainly he wasn’t expecting me to give him a play-by-play of my classes and my grades?
I broke the quiet. “I saw you on the news.”
He flinched. “You did?”
“On Sunday night. They were reporting on your upcoming trial.”
His chin dipped down, and he grimaced. “That’s disappointing. I thought the press had grown tired of me. Now it means they’ll be there, at the courthouse, hounding my lawyer for interviews.”
“Mom says you have a pretty good case.”
He perked up a bit. “I do, and actually the trial is one of the reasons I wanted to get together with you this week.”
And not the week before or last month or any other month during the months we hadn’t spoken.
Stop it, Ade. Stop it right now. I was here to listen to what he had to say, receive some version of an apology, and see if we could patch things up, not become more irritated, more bitter.
“Dad.” I took a deep breath and let it out. This was it. I was going to get right into it.
He reached out and touched my hand. “The reason I’m dressed up is that we’re going to take our sandwiches to my lawyer’s office and have lunch there. He wants to talk to us.”
“What?” My stomach did a somersault.
“It’s not far. Just about five minutes away.”
My neck tensed. I ground my teeth so hard my jaw hurt. I couldn’t believe it. My dad was treating our reunion as less important than a meeting with his lawyer.
I squeezed my hands into fists and looked out the window. I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to jump out of the car.
But I couldn’t get myself to make him pull over. Instead, I remained still, quietly seething.
Inside the law firm’s conference room, Dad put the sandwiches on the table while the lawyer reached his hand out to shake mine. “Hello, Adriana. My name is Gray Horton.”
How was it that so often a person’s name described them perfectly?
The man was bland. Generic. I glanced down at his hand, at the neatly trimmed fingernails that looked like something out of a cosmetology handbook.
But I didn’t grasp it, because my dad had invited his lawyer to our lunch.
The first lunch, the first real conversation we were supposed to have in months.
We all sat down.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Adriana,” Gray said. “A chemical engineering student. Wow, that’s pretty difficult coursework.”
“Yeah.” My voice had no strength, no vibrance.
“But not for my Adriana.” Dad’s spine straightened, and his chest expanded. “She’s a straight-A student, always has been.”
Not anymore. Not since he’d reduced me to a sleep-deprived, dysfunctional mess. I placed my palms on the table and bit my bottom lip. It hurt like hell, but I had to do it because I wasn’t sure what might come out of my mouth if it opened.
“That’s great,” Gray said.
A second later, a legal assistant came in with a tray of different drinks. Dad took a Coke. I grabbed a bottle of one of those fancy sparkling waters. Might as well. Dad was paying for it.
“So, Adriana, I’m not sure how much detail your dad was able to go into so far, but I wanted to explain to you a little about his case.”
“My mom mentioned it, but I don’t need to know details.” I took a sip from the bottle of water.
“Actually, we think you should.”
I knew that this guy was a lawyer and I should be respectful, but I was beyond that. Not only had he ruined my day, but he must not understand that I didn’t care about the trial. I just wanted it to be over. Every loose end tied up, so people would start forgetting about what had happened.
The lawyer and I locked gazes.
Then he blinked. “You need to know about the case because we want you to be an exhibit at the trial.”
My stomach shrank. I was no longer hungry. I was ill. “A what?”
“An exhibit. That’s what we call the family members who are in the courtroom supporting the defendant. We can’t call character witnesses to testify, because there’s no he-said-she said at issue, but we can make sure the family is there sitting behind your dad. This will speak volumes to the jury.”
I glanced at my father. He was leaning in, his lips parted, waiting for my reaction.
In that moment, I sort of felt bad for him, but as quick as the feeling came, it disappeared.
I looked back at the lawyer. “As my dad already knows and should have explained to you, I’ve started a new life with a new name so that I could attend Minnesota University in peace. Going to the trial would ruin everything I’ve done to put last year behind me. So no, I will not be attending.”
Gray squinted at me. “Your dad has told me this, and I don’t think you going to the trial will ruin your new identity. Video cameras are not allowed in the courtroom, and your presence could mean the difference between a guilty and a not-guilty verdict.”
I stared at the wood table. My heart was pounding, my muscles quivering. He was giving me a guilt trip, which made me dislike this guy even more. “Why don’t you ask Eric to go?”
Dad’s expression was unreadable. “We tried. He can’t come.”
“Oh, that’s right.” My shoulders were tense, and I knew that what I was going to say next was going to be petty and hurtful. But I didn’t care. “He’s probably busy with his AHL team, not the NHL draft team who dropped him…because of you.”
Dad grimaced.
The lawyer piped up again, his voice full of authority. “Eric would be a great option, but he can’t be here because of his commitments. That’s why we need you.”
A bitter taste rose in my throat.
My family and I had been on a camping trip once and gotten hit by a severe thunderstorm, the rain coming at us horizontally because the straight-line winds had been that bad. That was how I felt now. Like I was being blindsided. I couldn’t orient myself. Couldn’t keep myself upright.
My father dug into his lunch, but I couldn’t imagine taking one single bite of my sandwich. I’d probably throw it up the moment I tried to swallow.
I had to leave.
So I put on my jacket and grabbed my backpack.
“Ade, where are you going?” My dad almost sounded like he was choking.
“I can’t do this.” I put on my backpack. “I’m getting an Uber.”
I turned and left. I walked faster and faster, opened my Uber app, and ordered one.
Good. Only two minutes away. I needed to create space between myself and him before I flipped out completely.
In the vestibule to the office building, I stared out the window, waiting. My muscles wouldn’t stop quivering.
I just wanted a father. One who wasn’t a narcissist. One who could try to understand what I’d been going through this year. But even that must be too much to ask.
The interior door burst open.
“Ade,” my dad sputtered, out of breath. “Please don’t leave like this.”
“What other choice do I have?”
“Stay.”
“Stay and what?” My nostrils flared. “Be treated with more disrespect?”
He shook his head. “Disrespect?”
“Today I thought we were supposed to have our first lunch, our first conversation, since the arrest, and instead you brought me to see your lawyer. Then your lawyer tells me that you need my help and that, while you know my situation, you need me to do it anyway. That’s what I call disrespect.”
He came toward me, trying to bridge the distance between us, but I stepped back.
“My God, Ade, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel this way. You have my utmost respect. You always have.”
“Like when you went behind my back and tried to use your influence to get that hockey cheer coach to put me on their team because you didn’t think I was good enough to get on it by myself?”
His arms fell to his sides. “I wasn’t thinking when I did that, honey. It was a mistake. I made a lot of mistakes.”
The Uber car pulled up in front of the door.
“You’ve always been good enough,” he said. “I’ve always been so proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
I was shaking now, uncontrollably. Part of me wanted to sink to the floor and let him console me. To convince me that all the pent-up, hurtful feelings I had about him right now were wrong.
The other part of me wanted to run. As far away as I could get. But there was one thing I knew with certainty.
“I can’t sit there, Dad.” Tears brimmed in the corners of my eyes, and I fought them. “I can’t sit there during your trial. And you know exactly why.”
“Okay.” He nodded and kept nodding. “I understand.”
I exited the building and jogged to the Uber, opened the door and collapsed into the back seat. Only then did I let the tears slide down my face.
I couldn’t go to the trial, because it would mean publicly admitting who I was. That I was Coach Bianchini’s daughter. And that I wouldn’t do.