Page 60 of Monk
I feel entirely spent and I don’t want to keep arguing with my dad. And I’m certainly not going to tell him that his assumptions about them are all wrong, and that I know this because I spent the day hanging out with them. That will only open up an entirely different can of worms I really don’t want to deal with right now. All I want is to take a hot shower and change my clothes.
“Maybe I made a mistake coming home,” I say quietly. “I just wanted someplace safe to stay for a little while. I don’t want to keep fighting with you, and I don’t want to keep feeling like I have to justify my actions to you. I’m a grown woman, Dad. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“Then maybe you should act like a grown woman instead of a naïve little girl with a crush,” he snarls.
Feeling beyond drained and suddenly too weak to argue, I just nod. I’m not nodding because I agree with him, but because I’m resigning myself to the reality that my father is never going to change. He’s going to continue holding his ignorant and judgmental points of view until the end of days.
“I made a mistake coming here, and I’ll leave tomorrow. I’m sorry I caused you any trouble,” I say.
I turn and walk out of the kitchen before he can respond, and head upstairs. The door to my bedroom closes behind me and I flop face down onto the bed. Grabbing the pillow, I put it over my face and scream into it loud and long.
My voice is hoarse by the time I’m doing screaming, and tears are spilling from the corners of my eyes. Forcing myself to my feet, I trudge to the bathroom, hoping a long, hot shower will rejuvenate me.
***
Wearing a pair of boy shorts and a t-shirt, I’m sitting on my bed, my back against the headboard, after an unscheduled nap. Now, I’m just waiting for my dad to go to bed. I’m starving and I want to go raid the fridge. But I prefer not to run into him right now and will wait until he goes to sleep.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me that other than a bunch of pretzels, I haven’t eaten all day. Cutting a glance at the clock, I see it’s closing in on eight. If things are all the same—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—my dad will be working super early. He always goes to bed early and wakes up at some ungodly hour. That’s just always been his way.
My body stiffens and my heart falls into my stomach when I hear the hollow thump of his boot steps on the wooden floor outside. The steps stop just outside my door and I can see the shadow of his feet in the gap between the floor to the bottom of the door. He’s just standing there, and I have the idea he’s trying to decide between coming in and smoothing things out or coming in here to renew the fight.
And when the knock comes, I feel my heart sink into my stomach. Part of me is tempted to pretend I’m asleep, but I know how immature that sounds.
“Yes?” I say.
The door opens and my father sticks his head in. “Can you come downstairs, please?”
“I don’t want to fight with you anymore, Dad. I don’t have the energy for it right now.”
He frowns. “Just come downstairs. Please.”
He shuts the door before I can answer, and I listen to the sound of his footsteps retreating as he obviously expects me to follow him. I hesitate for a second, but I do just that. Just as I’ve always done. Throwing open my door in frustration, I pound my way down the stairs to show my irritation. Yeah, I can be a passive-aggressive bitch sometimes.
“In the kitchen, honey,” he calls.
Ever the obedient daughter, I walk into the kitchen and freeze, my blood suddenly colder than the Arctic Ocean. Spencer is sitting at the island, cup of coffee in front of him, and he smiles at me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I stand rooted to my spot, my anger giving way to a wild, unbridled fear.
My dad is standing on the other side of the island, closest to me, and looks at me with a thoughtful expression on his face. Turning back to Spencer, I try to bottle up the fear that’s rampaging through me and channel the anger.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” I say, my voice quavering.
“Now, honey, before you go gettin’ upset, just know that I called Spencer,” my dad says.
I round on him, fury flowing from every pore in my body. “Why in the hell would you do that?”
“I just think you’re makin’ some bad decisions, honey. And I think you should talk to your husband. See if you can work things out,” he replies.
There are literally a thousand things I want to scream at him right now, but I manage to hold myself in check. My entire body is shaking as the fear and anger fill me to capacity.
“Dad. I’d like to talk to you privately,” I seethe.
“Honey, I—”
“Now, Dad.”
I turn and walk out of the house, staring out at the darkened forest around the house as I wait for him on the front porch. The clouds overhead are thick and patchy, casting a silvery dappled light over the world, and a cool breeze rushes past carrying the scent of the forest and the sea. It would be calming if I wasn’t so pissed off.
I finally hear the door closing behind me and I round on my father. He stands there, his thumbs hooked into his uniform pants, looking back at me with a condescending expression on his face. It takes everything in me to not smack him right then and there.
