Chapter Seventeen
The drive to my dad’s rental house wound through the forest. Spring was finally winning its slow battle with winter.
For once, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and the sunlight filtered through the bare branches on the trees lining both sides of the street.
Everything looked freshly thawed, the last of the snow melting away.
The air was bright with the first real promise of warmth.
I had even opted out of wearing my jacket.
It should have felt hopeful and it almost did.
But even under the cheerful weather, I was hollowed out from the conversation with Paxon.
When he left, he had taken something from me, and I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to get it back.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted it back either.
I was a new kind of tired that I wasn’t quite used to.
It wasn’t about waiting for the next time Lindie got drunk or wanted to take her anger out on me.
It wasn’t about waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It was more like the exhaustion that came after holding my breath for too long.
The danger had passed, but my body hadn’t realized it yet.
Like I should be feeling maybe relief now that I’d talked with Paxon and was able to share my feelings.
But instead, all I felt was the ache of everything that I had locked inside while I gave him the space he requested.
Like I was finally acknowledging what his space had cost me.
By the time I pulled into the small driveway, the sky was darkening. Warm light spilled from the kitchen window, and the faint scent of garlic drifted through the cracked door.
Dad met me there before I even had a chance to knock.
“Cadence,” he said. His light brown hair was a little messier than usual and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He looked tired, but his presence was still steady, comfortable in that way where the world could be chaos but he’d find a way to sort it out like a dad should.
“Hi, Dad,” I managed. My throat felt tight. “Sorry for running a little late.”
“Is everything okay?” His honey-colored eyes studied me, concern filtering through his calm demeanor. “You look like you need food. Good thing I made a lot tonight.”
I tried to smile. “You always make a lot.” And sent everything home with me after our weekly dinners.
“Force of habit. Sit down before it gets too cold.” He stepped aside and let me inside.
The kitchen was warm, all soft light. Two plates were already set out.
As I got comfortable in my seat, he filled my plate with pasta and a light cream sauce. I dug in after a quiet thank you. For a while, the clinking of silverware was the only sound between us.
When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet. “Rough day?”
I let out a long breath. “More like a rough week. But yeah, today...was not what I had set out for it to be.”
He didn’t push, waiting patiently for me to fill him in on what was happening, like he had been doing since coming back into my life a few months ago.
He didn’t demand anything from me like a dad probably would have.
Then again, we didn’t have a normal father-daughter relationship.
That was lost to us when he left when I was a kid and I was emancipated now. He didn’t have the right to me anymore.
So a lot of our relationship was us tiptoeing a little before getting to what needed to be said, like we needed to test each other first.
Dad leaned back and simply waited to see if I’d explain. At first these conversations were hard. Both our therapists suggested a weekly dinner for us to reconnect with each other. It became a weekly check-in. Our first few dinners, not much was said, but it was getting easier opening up to him.
“I had a fight,” I finally said. “With Paxon.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “The soccer player?”
“Yeah.” I pushed at a piece of garlic bread on my plate. “He told me about an internship across the country. And I just...I lost it. I said things I shouldn’t have. I shoved him out the door.” I blinked furiously. “I literally kicked him out of my house.”
Dad stayed silent for a moment as he slowly processed what I shared, then nodded slowly, like he was mentally picking each detail before giving me a response. “Sounds like it’s been building for a while.”
“It has,” I admitted. “I’m scared, Dad. Of everything. Of him leaving, of all of them leaving. Of turning into her.”
He frowned faintly. “Your mother?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I read that schizoaffective disorder can be hereditary. That there is a genetic component to it. And then I go and act like I did to Paxon, getting so mad at him. Blowing up like that. What if it’s already happening to me? What if I’m just like her?”
Dad sighed softly and reached across the table, his hand covering mine.
His hand was warm and steady. A little rough.
“Cadie,” he said, his voice firm but gentle.
“You are not your mother. You have her stubbornness and maybe her temper, but not her illness. You’ve been through hell and you’re still standing, still considerate of everyone else before yourself. That’s not sickness. That’s strength.”
The tears came faster than I expected. “But I hurt people too. I lashed out at him. Who in their right mind would sign up to be with someone who’s dating five people? It’s messy. It’s wrong. And I’m ruining everything.”
He exhaled, long and thoughtful, then smiled in that small, sideways way that always looked like he was trying to reassure me without letting me know he was doing it.
“Loving your mother was hard,” he said finally.
“But it was worth it. We loved each other for a long time, even if it ended the way it did. Love, the real love, always takes work. Sometimes it takes more than you think you can give. But that’s the point. You learn where the limits are.”
He paused, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like dating five people.
I’d need an Excel sheet just to keep track.
” That earned a tiny laugh out of me. “But if they make you happy and they’re happy with you, then it’s something you all have to figure out together.
No one else can tell you how it’s supposed to look. ”
I sniffed and tried to smile. “And if I fail?”
“Then you try again,” he said easily. “And if someone breaks your heart, you call me. We’ll order takeout, curse their name a little.
” He leaned back with mock seriousness, letting go of my hand after giving it a small squeeze.
“And then I take a little trip to Nevada. I know some good desert spots. Photography has its benefits.”
I groaned. “Dad.”
He grinned. “What? It’s important to have a plan B.”
It was ridiculous and exactly what I needed. My laugh came out small but real, shaking loose some of the weight sitting on my chest.
“Listen to me, Cadie. You are not broken. You’re scared and you have the right to be. But fear doesn’t make you your mother. It makes you human. What you do with that fear? That’s what defines you.”
I nodded, letting his words sink in. For the first time since Paxon had walked out my door, I felt a flicker of something steady in my chest. Not peace, not yet, but at least I felt like I was going in the right direction.
When dinner was over, Dad packed up the leftovers for me like he always did, labeling his containers in his neat handwriting, letters perfectly spaced like they’d been typed instead of written. He even included expiration dates so I knew when to toss them out.
At the door, he hugged me tight. “I love you from the moon and back,” he murmured, his voice soft against my hair. Pulling back just enough to look at me, he added, “Over and over again.”
I swallowed hard. When was the last time I got to hear him say that? “I love you too, Dad,” I whispered.