Page 10 of Beauty Beneath the Sorrow
“I know, but this isn’t the way.” Myeyebrows pinch together, and I fold my arms across my chest.
“I’m sorry if that’s how this is making you feel. I spent a lot of time without you, and I don’t know how to do this,” he admits.
“It’s something we need to learn how to do. Let’s just be in each other’s lives, and that’s it. I don’t need to meet or even have a relationship with everyone you date.” I pause. “No matter how young or old.”
His forehead creases. “Is that what this is about? That I usually date younger women?”
“I think that’s part of it.” A warm breeze whips past my cheeks, blowing a few strands of hair in my face. Annoyed, I aggressively bat them away. “If you want to have a relationship with me, I would love that. Let’s work on that first.”
I love my dad because he’s my dad. But I want to get to know him better. He acts like time hasn’t passed over the last few years since we’ve connected. He is trying to have a relationship with his young daughter that no longer exists. I’ve grown up and need time to adjust.
I’m sensitive to the fact that he’s trying to make up for lost time, but our relationship will look different now than it would have as a child. He doesn't get access to me or have me make him a priority in my life—we have to work toward creating a relationship that works for us. I don’t know what that life looks like. I do know it has nothing to do with anyone else.
My dad raises his palms in the air between us. “Alright. I get it.”
“Thank you.” I feel my body relax. “It’s just a lot sometimes. You’re dating a woman half your age, and mom is dating men who are practically double hers.”
“Your mom’s boyfriend is in his eighties?”
“He’s like late sixties, but you get the point.” I chuckle uncomfortably. “What’s so wrong with dating people in your own decade?”
He laughs, tracing a line around his mouth. “Fair enough. And I can’t speak for your mother—obviously, but people can’t help who they connect with.”
Why my parents are the way they are is a mystery to me. I can have relationships with people my own age, so why can’t they? And why do I even care? It feels strange, I guess.
“It’s fine. How about we have lunch or dinner with just the two of us in a few weeks? How does that sound?” I say, leaning in for a side hug.
“That sounds great,” his voice is lighter as he pulls me tight. “I’m not perfect, but I am trying.”
“I know, Dad.”
I could have handled that situation better. Those are my feelings, and I do not apologize for them.
My dad and I say our goodbyes, and I’m on my way back home.
Not too long later, I walk through my front door to find my mother and Zoe sitting on the couch, chatting.
“You know, Lina, I could have my interior designer come in here to spruce the place up,” my mother offers condescendingly.
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door. “I like it, thank you, and if I wanted your unsolicited opinions, I’d ask for them,” I spat.
I hear my sister giggle under her breath. She would have been fun to grow up with. I give her a hard time, but I’m glad I get thechance now.
“It’s so bland. Your entire place is monochromatic.” She waves a hand into the air, gesturing around the downstairs living space.
“I enjoy all shades of beige,” I retort.
She bats her extended fake lashes at me. “Why do you never let me help with stuff?”
I push out a heavy exhale. “What is with you and dad today?”
Her upper lip quirks up. “Zoe mentioned you were having lunch with your father.”
“Yeah.” I grab a wineglass from the cupboard and an open cabernet from the fridge. “And he wasn’t alone, as you can imagine.”
“It’s barely noon.” My mother’s voice raises at the end, full of internal judgment.
I lean my back against the counter, pour myself a glass of wine, and take a big sip in front of her. “It’s three o’clock on the east coast.”
