Page 106 of Lovesick
My dad sits down on the side of my bed and engulfs me in a hug—a hug that we haven’t shared in who knows how long. His grip is crushing with a desperation that he’s never shown me before, and it exacerbates the hypoxia in my head. I feel like a little girl again clinging to her father for guidance.
“I can’t do that. You’re all I have, sweetheart. My whole world is you.”
Tears drip onto my hospital gown in slow-drying splotches, despondency riveting me to the spot. “Home shouldn’t feel like a prison,” I whisper.
His arms loosen incrementally as he detaches himself, and he cards his hand through my hair to placate me. It’s something he used to do to calm me down when I was younger.
“I never wanted it to, Merit. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize how much you were hurting. I always wanted you to feel like you could come to me with anything. I always wanted to be your safe place, but after the incident, I was willing to do whatever it took to protect you, even if that meant sacrificing our relationship,” he tells me.
Being this close to him, I now notice how much this whole ordeal has aged him—how a handful of new wrinkles crease his skin and exhaustion tugs at the edges of his rough features.
Remorse settles in my stomach like stones at the bottom of a lake. All we’ve been doing these past few months is hurting one another.
“I’d rather you hate me and be here than…”
“Love you and lose you,” I finish.
It’s rare to see my dad cry, but right now, it’s all he’s capable of. There’s something so polarizing about seeing a large, strong-willed man crumble to pieces.
Fat droplets distort his irises—falling even quicker than my own—carrying a year’s worth of pain that I could nevercomprehend. A parent’s love is one of the strongest things in this universe. If I was in my father’s shoes and my child was sick, I’d probably react out of fear too.
“Do you remember when you were little, and you were terrified of learning how to ride a bike?” he questions.
I laugh through a chest-rattling hiccup. “I was scared of getting hurt. I begged you to promise to never let me go.”
“My God, I was determined to keep that promise. And when I did eventually let go because I wanted you to see that you could do it on your own, you fell, but I was there to catch you.”
More tears obscure my vision as my composure is slowly swept away like the structural supports of a cliffside house caught in a rockslide. I don’t remember the last time that I cried this hard. I can’t breathe through my nose, there’s a solid lump in my throat, and dizziness sends me into a tailspin.
“Now I’m the one who’s scared,” he divulges, using his thumb to wipe up the absolute massacre on my face.
“I don’t want you to be. I’m going to be okay, Dad. I can do this on my own.”
“I know, pumpkin. I’m just…I’m not ready for you to stop needing me.”
“I’m always going to need you—that’s never going to change. But you have to have some faith in me that I won’t fall this time. And if I do, I’m capable of picking myself up again.”
He sighs, and it’s like in that single breath, all his worry dissipates into the air. “You’re right—I haven’t let you live yet. This move hasn’t been fair to you. There are no words that can express how sorry I am for prioritizing your physical health over your mental health. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I embrace him when there’s finally a lull in my rainstorm of tears—one that promises everlasting light after a year of unfeeling darkness. “I know, and I’m so sorry for all thesneaking around and the lying. If I’d just been honest with you from the beginning, we wouldn’t be here.”
I can feel his hummingbird heartbeat against my own ribs.
“Then how about we make a promise to start over?” he proposes, his voice soft, quiet, reminiscent of the gentleness that he showed me during my childhood.
My father stands before me, not a villain in my story but a man hardened by grief who was pushed to take the most desperate of measures, all so he could make sure that he still had a daughter to hold on to.
“I’d really love that,” I say, squeezing him extra tight before reeling back.
The expression on his face is strangely unravelable, and his projection of guilt has anxiety throbbing inside me like an infected wound.
“I have something else to apologize for.”
What could he possibly be referring to?
I nod because I’m too afraid to speak.
“When you came to me with the idea for the fundraiser, I should’ve heard you out. I didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself. I was so focused on the team that I forgot about the most important relationship in my life, and I’m so ashamed of how I disregarded you. It shouldn’t have taken Crew asking on your behalf to make me change my mind.”
