Chapter 16
Play Orange Juice by Noah Kahan
When Dad first steps out of the car, I hardly recognize him.
He looks like he has lost quite a bit of weight, and the trimmed beard is a stark contrast to the rugged man I had seen last. I raise one arm up to cover my eyes from the sun.
The other stays holding the sign Mom and I had made last night.
“Welcome Home” in bright neon letters cover the majority of the white poster board.
His grey hair catches the sunlight, exposing all the new white strands that have found a home on his head. A light green t-shirt covers his torso, and they almost perfectly match the sweats he has on. Those however look older, as though they have been sun bleached.
My stomach twists with uncertainty as he takes mom and I in, for a moment I expect the monster to return, as if nothing happened. All the excitement I had held for his homecoming has slowly dwindled down, leaving me with nothing but fear that nothing has changed.
“Hey you two,” he finally speaks up as he grabs the last of his bags from the uber.
“Hi Daddy.” I croak out, my dry throat giving my nerves away. He walks up the steps, setting the bags gently down at our feet. Dad’s arms open wide as he pulls Mom and I in for a hug. His touch is soft, as if he’s also scared that the monster still lingers somewhere inside of him.
“I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am,” he murmurs as he finally lets us go. Mom’s eyes fill with tears and she nods knowingly at him.
Forgiveness lodges its way in my throat, yet no matter how hard I try the words can’t escape.
It’s as though my body is unwilling to look past the past. It’s impossible to focus on the future and how bright it could be.
Not when his hands on my skin burn with the memories of the last time I saw him.
My lip trembles as I fight past the pain, wanting nothing more than just to be a little girl for once. A little girl who wants the safety of her Daddy.
When our eyes catch, the look in his irises mirror mine. So much uncertainty lies between us now, and we’re lost to the confusion.
Mom snags the bags off the ground, dragging them inside and beckoning for us to join her. I step past Dad and head straight for the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water.
“It looks incredible in here,” he praises Mom as he pulls her in to kiss her forehead.
Her cheeks blush with pleasure and her nose scrunches up.
While I’m grateful for her happiness, I can’t help but be envious that I wasn’t able to find my own.
His apology had left me feeling claustrophobic.
Turns out a new coat of paint wasn’t enough to bury the memories.
They make their way over to the couch, sitting down side by side. “How was it?” Mom asks with a soft tone.
Dad leans forward, clasping his hands together in his lap.
“Hell at first, honestly. I thought the withdrawals were going to take me out.” With his head still down, he gazes up to me.
His brown eyes glimmer through his lashes.
“It wasn’t until I could finally stand up on my own I realized how much I really had to lose.
The alcohol had been a band-aid to wounds I didn’t know I never healed. ”
Mom’s hand glides gently up and down his back. “You put in the work and you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Dad slowly shakes his head. “It’s not that simple my love. I need to pay the toll of all the bridges I had burned. My amends must be made.”
She nods knowingly. “How can we help?”
“All I ask for is patience.” He starts off, keeping his gaze directed at me. “Patience with me while I try to make things right.”
The dam can’t hold it any longer, and the tears begin to flow freely down my cheeks. I nod at him, unable to form any words. I might not be able to forgive him right now, and knowing he understands that brings so much relief to me. I can give him patience. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Are you hungry?” I finally speak up, though I have to turn towards the fridge in order to gain confidence.
“Starving!” He lets out with a chuckle. “I swear they served us nothing but prison food.”
“Mom snagged a bunch of deserts from the festival yesterday, pumpkin bread or an apple pie themed scone?”
“I’ll take a scone.”
I grab the brown paper bag from its cold home and set it out on the counter.
The scones have hardened due to the chill, leaving them close to solid and crumbling around the edges.
It’s funny how quickly things can change, almost like nothing was destined to ever be permanent.
I make quick work of warming them up in the microwave, listening to the whirring come from the machine.
“Do you need any help?” Mom calls out from her place in the living room.
I glimpse over my shoulder to see my parents both looking at me.
Dad has his arm wrapped around Mom’s shoulder in a loving embrace.
Images of them before his addiction flicker in my eyesight.
The endless laughter, the dancing in the kitchen, the kisses goodnight; they all seem just out of reach.
I shake my head as the images blur and reality comes back into full view. “I got it.”
“Well I can grab us drinks then!” Dad offers.
His words shake me. More images take over. Bottles and bottles and bottles. The brown liquid sloshing around. More bottles. Blood and fists. More bottles.
The plate of warm scones drops from my hands, the plate shattering against the linoleum flooring. I stare down at the mess with a completely blank expression. “I’m sorry.”
It comes out like a whisper, one I’m sure neither of my parents hear as they rush over. “I’m sorry.” I try again.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks, her voice frantic.
“I’m sorry.” The words get stuck on repeat as if I’m incapable of coming up with anything else.
Dad immediately heads over to the small linen closet, pulling out a broom and a dust pan.
Mom bends down as she picks the larger ceramic pieces from the ground.
I can grasp the mess around me but I feel so disconnected from the moment.
Instead I find my feet carrying me down the hall, and shutting the bedroom door behind me.
Play Dear Inner Child by Peach PRC
My body slumps against the wooden wall furthest from my door. My hand grabs the side of the bed for support as I lower myself to the ground. My knees pull inwards, attempting to make myself as small as possible. Like a mouse hiding away when a loud noise is heard.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be capable of forgiveness.
The little girl in me screams to be let out, but the hardened outer layer of me doesn’t know what safety means anymore.
Nothing is ever safe, there’s always a chance that the worst is ahead.
Dad being sober doesn’t automatically fix everything, and that is the hardest pill I’ve ever had to swallow.
He had played the role of the Monster for too long. The damage has been done.
I stay fixated in that position until the sun has found a home below the horizon. The darkness envelops my bedroom, becoming my own personal tomb.
A slight knock at the door has my head perking up like a dog.
“Babygirl?” Dad calls from the other side. “I brought you some dinner.”
The air between us remains silent. My body trembles with fear and I hold my breath. A broken object has never gone unpunished.
“I’m going to come in. Okay?” He attempts to sound soothing.
The door slowly creaks open, light from the hallway flooding into the unlit room.
His silhouette glows as he stands in the door frame.
My eyes struggle to adjust to the newfound brightness, but I can make out the plate in his hand.
The smell of spaghetti floats through my room.
“I’m sorry.” I blubber out.
“It’s okay, Nova. It’s just a plate.”
My head falls in between my legs, finding solace in hiding away. “That’s not why I’m sorry.”
I hear the ground below creak as Dad makes his way over to me. The familiar pop of his bad knee lets me know he’s bent down. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I don’t know how to not be scared of you.” I whimper, hugging my knees tighter against my forehead.
The bed next to me shifts as Dad uses it as leverage to sit down next to me. “Can I tell you something?” He questions.
I slowly raise myself from my hiding spot and look at him. The anger I had expected to find doesn’t appear. With unease, I nod.
“I’m scared of me too,” he sighs. “My failures define who I am. I am a bad husband. I am a bad father. I’m a very bad man, Nova. I know this. I don’t expect anyone to pretend I’m not.”
He reaches forward, setting the plate down. Steam from the tomato filled sauce rises in front of us. “I’m hoping that maybe with time, I can become something else. What happened, happened. And I can’t take that back. But maybe I can be something more.”
“Where do we go from here?” My thoughts cloud with sorrow as I take him in. He’s a different man than the one who left, but somehow still the exact same. The two of them are so entangled that it would be impossible to pull them apart.
He presses his thumbs together, staring down at them with a contemplative look. “Maybe for now, just the living room?” A hopeful glance catches me slightly off guard. “We could watch a movie? I’ll stay in the arm chair so you can sit next to mom.”
“Do I get to pick?” I barter, using my sleeve to wipe away some of the sadness that had dripped down my cheek.
A hefty laugh leaves him as he stands. “Sure, babygirl.”
I wait until he’s a few steps ahead before I finally unrelease myself. I stand, with my plate in hand, and walk to the living room.