Page 143 of The Prodigal Son

The broken glass is gone. The TV replaced.

“I stocked the fridge for you. Plenty of water and soda and stuff to make dinner if you feel like cooking. Or…I can cook you something if you want. I bought a couple T-bones. I can fire up the grill.”

I smirk at him. “Thanks, Dad. I got it. I promise.”

He lets out a sigh, and I can see his discomfort. Leaving me here must be harrowing for him.

“I promise I’m going to be okay.”

“I know you are,” he stammers while rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m your dad. It’s my job to worry.”

Walking in, I drop my bag on the floor. “I’m just going to do some laundry and throw a frozen pizza in for dinner. Call it an early night.”

He nods while looking at me with mischief on his face. “And maybe make a phone call.”

I shake my head with a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe make a phone call.”

My dad walks up to me before pulling me in for a bear hug. He pounds a hand on my back affectionately. As he pulls away, he holds my arms as he says, “Don’t forget to check in.”

“I won’t.”

“And let me know how the meeting goes tomorrow.”

“I will,” I reply with a nod.

Before letting go, he gazes into my eyes like he wants to say more. “They’re lucky to have you,” he adds. “Just the way you are.”

I give him a tight smile, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve needed that. Just a boost of confidence that I can do this.

“Thanks, Dad.”

With a fatherly nod and a pat on my arm, he walks toward the front door. Just after opening it, he turns back toward me. “Oh, I went ahead and wrote the night of that concert on your calendar in the kitchen. So you don’t forget.”

With a laugh, I shake my head. Then he’s gone.

And for the first time in eight weeks, I’m truly alone.

Immediately, I busy myself. I empty my bag in the laundry room, throwing all of my clothes in the wash. Then I preheat the oven for the frozen supreme pizza. Stopping by the fridge, I pull out a bottle of water and notice the date on the calendar that my dad circled with purpose.

It’s next week. Isaac’s tour ends in a week, and he’ll be home in Austin. While the oven heats, I pull out my phone and check his schedule on his website. He’s not playing a show tonight. He’ll be in New Orleans tomorrow. Houston, a few days later. Then Austin.

My stomach clenches with anxiety. Every time I start to spiral with thoughts of Isaac moving on without me or meruining a good thing with what I did, I stop and ask myself… What do I know to be true?

I know I love him more than anything.

I know he loves me.

I know he promised to wait.

I know I told him I’d call him as soon as I could.

And now…I can. My phone is sitting in my hand, waiting for me to make the move. So what’s holding me back? It’s just one small step in the direction I want to go in, so what is my problem?

Pulling open his contact, my finger hovers over the call button. But at the last minute, I click on the text icon instead. It feels like the cowardly thing to do, but at least it’s something.

Hey.I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to let you know that I’m home. But please don’t feel obligated to…

“Ugh, I suck at this,” I mumble to myself as I delete the whole thing.

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