Page 79 of Lily In The Valley
“Kelly.”
“What,” I said, louder and sharper than I intended. He set his mug down and met my gaze. I saw the hurt, the way he bit back the words he wanted to match mine. He inhaled once, then let out the breath as he stared out of the window, then down at Karter, dozing away.
“I should’ve told you to put off starting after your mother passed.”
“Daddy, that has nothing to do with this. I’m just tired. I’m not spiraling because she’s gone.” I sighed, leaning back and crossing my arms.
“You said it, not me,” he replied, calm as ever. “And I agree. You can’t keep going like that didn’t happen. Why do you think I haven’t been back to the clinic?”
I didn’t respond. I got lost in the swirl of foam and cinnamon around the rim of my mug.
“So, what now? How long are you on leave?”
“A month minimum. Says I have to get clearance from a therapist first, then they’ll put together a transition plan. I’ll catch up on tv and reading in the meantime.”
“Still think you know everything. You got it honest.” He chuckled softly. “I think you need to come home,” he said, sipping from the cup.
“Daddy, I can’t. I still need to finish my fellowship.”
“I don’t mean for good. Just while you’re on this leave. Come be around people who know you. Viv and Lisa been driving me crazy making sure you okay.”
“You told them?” I rolled my eyes and smacked my teeth.Now everyone will know.
“Well, when you put out a bat signal, you have to know everyone gonna try to come running.” He laughed. “I promise I won’t convince you to stay. I think it’ll do you some good being around your friends. Your family. I’m sure Karter won’t mind being spoiled.”
I didn’t answer right away. “I think so, too.” I looked down into my cup, swirled it slowly.
“I’m glad you called me, baby girl,” he said finally.
“I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
“That still counts,” he replied.
The rest of the day was spent planning for me to fly back home. While I called to have Karter’s food and medicines shipped to my parents’ house in Houston, he and my father played around in the living room. While I packed, they wrestledon the floor. Later that night, we sat on the couch, eating from take-out containers.
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” he said. “I’m sorry for how you had to grow up strong, dealing with me and your mama’s bullshit. How tired it made you.”
I finished the bite of Kung Pao chicken I had in my mouth, washing it down with red wine. “Tired doesn’t cover it,” I finally replied.
“I should’ve been more aware. Especially after your mama passed on.” His voice broke. I looked over at him. Tears filled his eyes. “I saw you breaking in the hospital. At the funeral. But I was too caught up in my own mess to remember I needed to be there for you.”
I put the container of food in my lap on the coffee table. He did the same.
“For the past few months, I’ve been thinking, how could I have been better for y’all? Given you and your mother the life y’all deserved. Hearing you on the phone last night, and when you opened the door this morning.” He shook his head side to side. “What did I instill in you to bring you to that point? To make you think you couldn’t come to me.”
“You left me with silence,” I said. He didn’t flinch. “You left me with a blueprint for emotional avoidance. I grew up in a house where no one said sorry. No one named their pain. Just tension and closed doors and long dinners with you and Mama either bickering or so caught up in each other you forgot I was there.”
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” he whispered.
“And I mirrored it. As much as I tried not to, I did. Took it with me into every room. Every relationship. And now, I don’t know how to stop.”
He didn’t defend himself. Didn’t shrink from the truth. He just reached for my hand, slowly, like he was asking permissionwithout speaking. I let him take it. His palm was rougher than I remembered.
“I can’t fix what I did wrong,” he said. “But I’m gonna show up now. If you’ll let me.”
I swallowed, then nodded. He pulled me close, tapping his hand on my arm. I felt a version of safety I never knew I needed. My father, holding my hand, in the stillness.
The flight home was easy.Karter snored in his carry-on crate under the seat in front of me. My dad read medical journals in the seat beside me, used the airplane Wi-Fi to look up therapists in Houston. I stared out the window at clouds that looked like bruises, my heart too tired to be anything but still. When we landed, the Houston heat slapped me in the face. The airport smelled like pollution, concrete, and despair.
