Page 41 of She Was Made for Me

I twirl my empty beer bottle. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“At first it was a misunderstanding, but then he was so proud, and…” She grimaces. “I couldn’t stand to let him down. Not again.”

I nod, understanding. I know what it’s like to let down the people you love.

She straightens up. “Anyway. That’s why it’s important that this project is a success. I just want to doonething that makes Dad proud—that makesmeproud of myself.”

Everything in me softens at that comment. We’ve spent weeks arguing, disagreeing, generally just not getting along, and that’s because of me. I’ve made this project much harder than it needs to be for her, and for what? Because I don’t trust myself not to act on my feelings toward her? I’ve made my attractionherproblem, rather than handling it myself. I can’t do that anymore—not when I know what this means to her. Not when she’s trusted me enough to share this with me, when I can see how hard she’s trying.

Not when I can see what’s on the line.

16

Violet

Kyle gazes at me across the table, compassion warm in his expression. I’ve never told anyone about what happened in class that day, and I have to wonder how he knew it was a panic attack.

What he doesn’t know is what caused it.

The thing is, he’s Dad’s friend. I don’t want to say anything that would make him think badly of Dad, because I know it wasn’t Dad’s fault. Sure, he worked long hours and never seemed to have much time for me as a kid, and yes, he broke a few promises to me growing up, but it’s not like he did it on purpose. His job was important—I learned that years later.

But that didn’t help me at the time.

The memories flood back uninvited, and I press my eyes shut. It was senior year of high school and I’d been instrumental in getting our debate team to the regional championships. Dad was thrilled when I told him. He was a very successful attorney, with high standards for his only daughter, even making the time to help me prep for the debate. We spent an entire week of late nights researching possible topics, brainstorming arguments, and rehearsing rebuttals. It was the most time we’d ever spent together, and I’d never felt so close to my father as I did that week. When he promised he’d be there to support me on the big day, I knew he wouldn’t let me down.

I was understandably nervous the day of the debate. It was so hot on that stage, and my teammate Naivasha had been undermining me all morning. We never got along, but I knew that dealing with difficult people was an important aspect of law, the career I planned to pursue, so I tried to view it as good practice.

Randy opened the debate, his confident tone doing nothing to soothe my nerves as I scanned the crowd for Dad. Mom was there, a few rows back, her face stretched wide in a proud grin, but she was alone. I assured myself that Dad was probably running late and there was still a lot of time before I gave my closing remarks.

I don’t know what it was about that day that felt so important. It was as if everything in my life led to that one moment, and Dad had to be there. Hehadto.

I struggled to focus as the debate wore on, keeping one eye on the door to the auditorium. My hands were sweaty, my shirt sticking to me under the hot stage lights. It all happened so fast—too fast—and then it was my turn to wrap up our argument and bring it home. I was good at this—I’d done it dozens of times before—but tonight my pulse was erratic, my chest tight, and I felt like I couldn’t draw a deep enough breath.

He promised, I thought, staring blankly at my notecards before sweeping my gaze around the auditorium again.He said he’d be here.

There was no more time to wait. Everyone was looking at me expectantly, and my father was going to miss it. My proudest moment.

Except it wasn’t my proudest moment—far from it. I struggled to get the words out, and when the door to the auditorium swung open I actually stopped, mid-sentence, desperately praying for it to be Dad.

It wasn’t. The disappointment I felt was so overwhelming that when I looked at my note cards, they blurred through my tears.

I don’t know how I got the rest of the words out, but I did. I muddled through my closing comments, but did it so poorly we lost the debate.

To this day, I can still remember the scathing look Naivasha sent me as they announced that the other team were the winners. I’m surprised it didn’t reduce me to ash on the spot.

When Mom found me after the debate she pulled me into a hug, beaming. “You did great, honey!”

I couldn’t tell if she genuinely meant it or if she was only being kind, but it didn’t matter. We’d lost the championship because of me.

“Where’s Dad?” I finally managed.

Mum wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry, honey. He’s been stuck in court all day. You know how it is.”

I did know how it was. How it always was. That no matter what I did, it was never enough to make him put me before his work. It was never enough to make him truly proud.

I swallowed back my tears and told myself I was fine, tried to bury the humiliation of that moment on stage deep inside. I thought I had, until that Poli Sci class. Until it all came back to me in such a vivid way that it felt like it was happening all over again.

The decision to change my major wasn’t easy, but even worse was the knowledge that Dad would be disappointed. That’s why I couldn’t tell him for so long. Why I could barely look him in the eye when I finally did.

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