Chapter Thirty-Eight December 31
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Lennon?” Dad’s voice calls from downstairs.
I rise from my desk chair where I’ve been writing all day and open my bedroom door. “Yes?”
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding a bag of takeout. “I picked up Greek food for dinner. Hungry?”
My instinct is to say no. Food is one of the only weapons I have right now. But instead, I tell him I’ll be right down, because if I want my life to move forward the way I need it to, then I must let go of some of this spite. It’s not like holding on to it has gotten me anywhere.
I come down the stairs and follow him into the kitchen as he brings the food to the island, searching for scissors to cut the knot off the plastic bag. I open the drawer and pull out a pair for him.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“At Petra’s house,” he replies as he cuts the bag open.
“You’re not going to spend New Year’s Eve with your wife?”
Dad removes the takeout containers from the bag, and I grab us two plates from the cupboard.
“Here or the table?” I ask.
“Here’s fine.” He removes the lids to reveal chicken souvlaki, yellow rice, roasted potatoes, and vegetables. “I didn’t want to leave you home alone tonight,” he adds.
I choke down the knot in my throat as our eyes briefly meet.
“What are your plans for the evening?” he asks as he pulls out a stool. I pass him a knife and fork. “Grab a spoon for the tzatziki.”
“Probably just going to read,” I say, handing him the spoon before pulling out the stool next to him.
“No one is keeping you a prisoner here but yourself,” he says, scooping rice onto his plate.
“Then why did you stay home tonight?” I stab a potato with my fork and pick up a skewer of chicken. He doesn’t respond. “Is it because you’re worried I’ll invite him over?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Dad says, taking a bite of his chicken.
“I know you don’t trust me.” At those words, he puts his utensils down and turns to look at me.
“And I understand why. I broke your trust. But there’s a lot you don’t know because you’ve been too angry to listen.
To hear my side. And now that so much time has passed, it doesn’t even seem worth it anymore. ”
I clench my jaw and breathe out through my nose. My heart is drumming in my ears. Trying to have this conversation with Dad brings me back to all those fights we got into after New York. The trauma comes right back, making it clear I haven’t yet healed. But how could I have?
“It’s over with John,” I tell him.
He turns back to his plate and shovels a spoonful of rice into his mouth. I take a few bites of food, but it’s a struggle to get it down. There’s been a constant tightness in my chest ever since June, and right now, it feels like there’s a vise around my esophagus.
“I swear on my life and the life of Paulie that I didn’t know he would be on that trip.
And I know you would have preferred it if I’d ignored him, or maybe if I’d called to let you know, because lying by omission is still lying.
I know you and Mom have strong feelings about…
” I pause, unsure what word to use here, so I just let my sentence fade away.
“But what’s done is done. And I don’t plan on doing that with anyone else. ”
Dad continues to eat as I speak, which I take as a good sign. He could have yelled. He could have walked away. But he’s still here. Still eating. Still, hopefully, listening.
“I know that in order to rebuild your trust I need to be honest with you. This next thing I want to say isn’t easy, because you won’t be happy about it, and I’m really tired of being responsible for that constant frown on your face, but the thing is…
” My voice starts to crack as tears prick at my eyes.
Push through. You’re almost there. “I have two goals right now. One, for you and Mom to forgive me. And two, to study Creative Writing at Columbia University. In New York City.”
Dad puts his fork down slowly and grabs a napkin to wipe his mouth. I look down at the food on my plate, my heart thumping.
“Forget about it.”
“Your forgiveness or Columbia?” Something fierce pulses inside me, forcing me to steady myself. For the first time in months, I feel alive. Awake.
“You’re not moving to New York City for four years. You were there one week and look what happened. In four years, you’d be unrecognizable.”
“Is that what you’re so afraid of? That I’d change so much you wouldn’t be able to recognize me?”
He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “What you did in New York was shameful.”
“I don’t understand. Georgie got pregnant and you managed to move on.”
“Georgie isn’t you,” he spits out. “We expected more from you. We thought we’d raised you well enough not to allow some boy to take away your purity in a dirty hotel room.”
“You make it sound so terrible.”
“You broke our hearts,” he says, his fist hitting the marble counter, “and our trust, and you made us doubt everything.”
“You don’t think I know that? I know that. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I loved John. As much as it pains you to hear this, I loved him with all my heart. And it wasn’t a decision made in haste. It was made from love.”
Dad pushes out his stool, rises, and storms to the fridge. He pulls out a beer, twists off the cap, and tosses it with excessive force into the sink.
He points at me, his finger hanging in the air while his other hand wraps the neck of his beer bottle tightly. “This is not something you do until you’re married.”
“Says who? You? The Bible? Where exactly is this coming from?”
“Our beliefs.”
“Come on, Dad. Do you really think anyone my age cares about those old-school beliefs?”
“I care,” he says, pressing a finger to his chest. “I care. You’re my daughter, and I care about the decisions you make.”
“With my body,” I remind him. “These are decisions I made with my own body.”
He drinks a long gulp and then slams his beer down on the counter in front of me. I swivel my stool around and get up so I’m standing in front of him now.
“It’s done, okay?” I say. “It’s over. It only happened once.
He’s out of my life. I’m trying to rebuild.
I’m trying to find out who I am outside of boys and love.
I want to be a writer. And I want to study in New York.
I can’t do these things without your help, your support, your faith in me.
Despite what you may think, I am a good person.
I deserve happiness. I deserve your love and respect.
I’m your daughter. I’m allowed to make mistakes.
I’m allowed to make decisions you don’t approve of.
I’m sorry I hurt you. I can understand why you’re so upset.
But making me feel like a terrible human being every time we’re in the same room together doesn’t help anything or anyone.
I miss you.” My voice catches but I press on.
“I miss being your friend. Your daughter. I miss listening to Beatles records together. Barbecuing in the winter. Going for long drives to expensive grocery stores to buy fancy cheese.” The tears have sprung loose, and I allow them to fall.
“I’m a good person, Dad. I am. I made a mistake, in your eyes, and I’m sorry I upset you.
But I am a good person, and I’m tired of feeling like I don’t deserve to even live anymore. ”
My father’s gaze drops to the ground as he lets out a deep breath.
“Don’t you think I’ve paid enough? It’s been six months.
Look at me, Baba. I’m skin and bones. I can’t eat.
I either sleep too much or not at all. I have one friend left in this world.
Georgie is busy with her own family. The only boy I ever loved is moving on without me.
And I’m always alone in my room, reliving the moment I lost my father’s respect.
It wasn’t only your heart that broke that day. ”
I have no clue if I’m getting through to him at all but the fact that he’s still here tells me that this is my best chance to be heard, so I just keep talking.
“The only thing that’s kept me going and kept me hopeful, that’s kept me alive, is my writing.
I’m punished for wanting things almost everyone on this earth wants.
But it’s wrong when I want it. When I want love, when I express my dreams, they’re silly.
They’re insignificant. Face it, you’re disappointed in me not only because of what I did in New York, but because I’m not your perfect daughter who will fulfill your life’s ambitions.
And now you don’t know what to do with me.
I’m tarnished. Not worthy. You act like I murdered someone.
I never chose to fall in love. My heart made that decision.
But my head decided to do what I did that day, and I refuse to feel any more shame over it.
I will not apologize for my actions anymore. ”
“Are you done?” Dad asks, stoic, still.
My heart plummets to my stomach. All those words are just making an emotional graveyard at his feet, sinking into the ground, failing to penetrate that thick, stubborn head of his. I shrug slightly in response because I don’t know what else to do. I’m all out of words.
“You’re my daughter and I will love you no matter what. It’s very upsetting to hear how much you’ve been struggling. But I don’t know what you want me to say, because I’ve been struggling too. I had one job as a father, and I failed. Twice.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re wrong. You didn’t fail me because of the choices I made for myself.
You failed because of how you treated me after I made those choices.
I love you, Baba, and I respect you. But I’m going to mess up and do things you don’t approve of.
It’s what makes me human. It’s what makes me an individual. ”
I sit back and stare at the food, my stomach churning at the sight of it. I get up and bring some plastic wrap so I can put it in the fridge for later, but we both know I won’t eat the food.
Just as I’m about to leave the kitchen, I turn to my father, who is still standing, unmoored.
“I will continue to work toward these goals. I want to study at Columbia. And if I don’t have your financial support or your blessing, then I’m still going to pursue this dream, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.
I wasn’t put here on earth to live my life for someone else. None of us were.”
Our eyes briefly meet, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I can almost see a slight nod from my father.
“I hope we can both resolve to put aside our differences and enter the next year as father and daughter. You know where to find me,” I say, before heading back to my room, the adrenaline of the conversation keeping me upright.
When the clock strikes midnight, I usher in the new year alone in bed.
No message from John.
No apology from my father.
But that’s okay, because fear is not going to win this time.