Текст книги "I Love Him, I Love Him Not "

Автор книги: Ella Martin

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Chapter Six

Bianca came with me after school the next day to Blue Period Arts, my favorite place to spend my allowance. It was one of about a dozen stores in Playa del Lago’s commercial district, which, in reality, was seven blocks of upscale boutiques, overpriced restaurants, and nondescript office space crammed together. Our city council liked to make things sound more impressive than they really were.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I said as we left the school.

“Anything to get out of watching tonight’s game.” She pressed a button on the console, changing the radio station. “I don’t mind basketball or anything, but after a while, it all kind of meshes together.”

I grinned. “And Ally said you’d become more of a sports fan now that you’re dating a jock.”

She paused before she snorted. “I’ve been dragged to my stupid brother’s games my entire life. I’d be fine skipping the rest of them.” Bianca changed the station a few more times. As an announcer began shouting about a tire sale, she said, “Ugh, why are there so many commercials?”

“They don’t last long.” I pressed a button on my steering wheel to an alternative rock station. “There. Just leave it alone.”

“So how was it last night?” she said, settling into her seat. “I wanted to go to your house to check on you because you didn’t call or anything, but Mom told us you were probably okay.”

“It was all right, I guess.” The truth was it was a little creepy coming home to an empty house after having dinner at Finn’s. I’d fallen asleep on the couch with all the lights on.

“Well, Mom said you can come over whenever you want. And if you do, you can help me torture Brady.” She grinned. Brady was Bianca’s older brother, a senior and star athlete at Westgate, and her boyfriend’s best friend. He picked on all of us because he could, but he was also as protective of Ally and me as he was of his own sister.

The small parking lot was fairly empty, but the normally quiet shop was busier than usual with maybe six other people in the store when we arrived. A woman with a basket full of scrapbooking supplies stood at the register as Molly, one of the owners, rang her up. Her sister Laura straightened a pen display that looked like it had been mauled by hyperactive toddlers or maybe restocked by a color-blind baboon. Bianca and I waved to each of them before making our way to the back of the store.

“What do you need to get?” Bianca said as we turned into an aisle lined with colorful books.

“‘Need’?” I said. “Nothing. But I want a new journal.” I had plenty of mostly blank sketchbooks at home, but there was something almost magical about a new notebook with its empty pages yearning to be filled with something great.

“I’ll look around and see if there’s anything I can give to Ally on opening night.” She moved down the aisle and turned the corner, leaving me to have my regular internal debate about the merits of each book before I could select one.

It took a while, but I’d finally narrowed my choices to a hardbound lined journal and a black spiral notebook. I propped them side by side onto a shelf to study but nearly dropped them when I heard Clover call my name. I turned and saw her walking purposefully toward me with a blue basket, waving as she approached.

“I thought I recognized your car outside,” she said with a broad grin. “Quelle suprise!”

“Hey, Clover.” I eyed the two notebooks again and returned the spiral-bound one to its place before hugging the other book close to my chest. “What’s going on?”

“Just wandering. I had to pop in for some supplies.” She tilted her basket so I could see the beads and pendants she’d selected. “I took a couple of my guitars to Vinyl Cuts to get restrung, and I usually make something out of the old wires.”

“A couple of your guitars,” I repeated.

She rocked back and forth on her heels. “Yeah, I kind of have a collection.”

I was incredulous. Jake got two guitars before learning to play drums, and he said his mom complained about their expense every time he hinted at wanting a new six-string. Even used guitars in good condition weren’t cheap. But maybe it was normal for a music producer’s daughter to collect something so expensive.

“Can’t you restring them yourself?” As soon as I asked, I wondered if this was something else only music producers’ daughters did. After all, I couldn’t count the number of times I’d watched Jake change his guitar strings. Plus, he seemed to enjoy it.

“I can,” she said, emphasizing the second word, “but I’d rather not. The second time I did it, one of the strings broke and lashed my arm.” She grabbed her upper arm and added, “Totally left a mark for weeks. It was hideous.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, so.” She leaned against the notebook display. “Do you know if Jake’ll be there later today?”

I shook my head. “He’s off until Saturday.” He’d started working at Vinyl Cuts a few weeks before Christmas, and it seemed like he was there all the time over winter break. It was the perfect place for him. People brought in old records and used instruments to sell, and Vinyl Cuts serviced some equipment, too, so Jake was surrounded by musicians and audiophiles. He loved it. But since we were back in school, his parents had said he could only work weekends.

Bianca rounded the corner and stopped short when she saw me talking to Clover. “Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Clover gave her more of a smirk than a smile as she appraised my best friend, but Bianca didn’t seem to notice. “You’re Bianca, right? Talia and Jake have mentioned you a couple of times.” She straightened and held out her hand. “I’m Clover. It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Oh! Yeah.” Bianca shook her hand but looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Same.”

“Clover and Jake are friends,” I explained. “We hung out at his place a lot over winter break.”

“Jake is seriously talented,” Clover practically gushed. “Like the stuff he writes and the way he plays? It’s like he throws his soul into everything he does.” She beamed. “He’s so amazing.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. She had just vocalized sentiments I already had, but for some reason, I was uncomfortable hearing her say them aloud. It was stupid to feel that way because she was recognizing Jake’s talent, but something in the way she talked about him made me weirdly possessive. I clutched the notebook tighter to my chest.

“So do you want to grab coffee or something?” Clover asked. “Or are you guys already doing stuff?”

I was about to decline when Bianca said, “Coffee’s good.” She smiled and added, “I’m in no rush to look at my geometry homework.”

“Cool. Let me get a couple more things, and I’ll meet you guys up front.”

Bianca and I watched her disappear around the corner before we started for the registers. “Thanks a lot,” I grumbled.

“You don’t want to hang out with her?” she said, her eyes wide. “Why not? She seems pretty cool.”

“I guess.”

“You may have competition running for president of Jake’s fan club, though,” she said with a snicker.

I didn’t respond. I paid for my notebook, thanked Molly for ringing me up, and inwardly seethed while we waited for Clover.

****

A cold, torrential rain began pouring down while we were in the art store. Neither Bianca nor I were prepared for more than an overcast day, so we arrived at the Bookish Bean shivering, our hair plastered to our foreheads. I never understood why people thought it didn’t rain in Southern California. Not only did it rain, but whenever it did, it was icy cold, especially in January, and the fleece hoodies Bianca and I wore did nothing to ward off the chill. Clover, of course, had been prepared for the weather and had stayed dry beneath her long hooded raincoat.

“It’s been a while since I was here,” I said to Clover as Bianca took the seat beside mine. I cupped my hot tea with both hands. “I think it was this past summer. Ephemera was playing some local bands thing.”

Clover’s head bobbed. “Probably. Simon hosts those every couple of months.”

Simon, I repeated silently, quelling the urge to roll my eyes. Of course she was on a first-name basis with the owner.

“Is it always this busy?” Bianca bit into a crumb cake. “It’s like everyone’s here.”

I glanced around the brightly lit coffee shop, checking out the different patrons. It was fairly crowded, and judging by how people were dressed, it looked like every school in the area had sent delegates. A group of girls in St. Lucy’s navy pleated skirts were in a far corner of the shop, lounging on a dark brown couch beside a large, floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Boys wearing St. Francis ties huddled around a pool table in the back, and a bunch of kids in regular clothes – possibly from Lakeridge High – sat in clusters in various parts of the room.

“Around this time? Yeah,” Clover said with a wave to an older guy leaning against the pickup counter. “They get a crazy mad rush because all the kids get out of school and swarm the place.” She sipped her drink and added, “If we stick around long enough, you’ll see a mass exodus, too. It’s pretty funny.”

Bianca frowned. “Don’t you go to school?”

“Sure,” she replied with a broad grin. “Just not a traditional one.” Clover took another sip and explained. “My dad keeps lots of tutors on his payroll. It makes it easy for me to travel with him when he needs to go somewhere for long stretches.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, and I watched the cars on Lakeridge Avenue slosh water onto the curb as they passed.

“So, Talia.” Clover touched my arm to get my attention. “I’m glad I ran into you, because I really need your help.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the only one Jake will listen to.”

Bianca and I exchanged glances, and I sat up straight. “What’s up?”

Clover rotated the cup in her hands a few times. “There’s an open mic night in a few weeks,” she said. “First Friday of February. Simon’s hosting it.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word.

“Lots of poets show up,” she said, “and a couple of wannabe comedians, too. It’s traditionally a hodgepodge of whatever people think their talents are.”

I waited for her to continue. I still didn’t see how she needed my help.

She took a drink. “I think it would be a good platform for Jake to test out this song he’s been working on, but he doesn’t want to do it.”

I frowned. “I wonder why,” I said at the same time Bianca said, “That doesn’t sound like Jake.”

Clover lifted her hands as if in surrender. “Who knows? But whatever. I know what he’s working on. This would be the perfect way to gauge reaction to it.”

“Ephemera’s dead, Clover,” I said. “I know you’ve heard.” It came out sounding harsher than I intended, but no one seemed to notice.

“That’s exactly why he needs to try out this new song.”

“I don’t know,” I said, an uneasiness gnawing at my stomach. “Jake doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Unless you’re the one who asks,” Clover said.

Bianca raised her eyebrows. “She’s got a point.”

They both stared at me, and I fidgeted under their scrutiny. “I’ll think about it,” I said at last.

Clover didn’t look too thrilled with my response, but Bianca was satisfied and began peppering her with questions about her tutors and what it was like to be homeschooled. I turned my attention to my tea and silently decided if Jake was opposed to Clover’s idea, there was no way I’d help her change his mind.

Chapter Seven

The rest of the week passed in an uneventful blur. I stayed at Bianca’s house most of the time, and the most exciting thing I did was strip out the magenta from my hair and dye it lime green.

Ally, Bianca, and I had our books and laptops spread out on the dining room table when my mom and Dr. Griffin came home Sunday afternoon. Mom swept into the room and went around the table, giving each of us hugs and kisses on the cheek while he stood in the entryway with her bags.

“Rob, put those down and come here,” she said as she sat in the chair beside me. She clasped her hands together and beamed. “We have some exciting news, and you can be the first ones I tell in person.”

My friends looked at me. I’d forgotten to tell them Dr. Griffin was going to propose to her during their trip. I shrugged and took a sip of my soda.

“We got married!”

The soda went down the wrong pipe, and I started coughing. My eyes watered as I choked. Mom reached over and patted my back a few times before I finally managed to say, “I’m okay.”

I was expecting an engagement. But married? The woman was almost fifty years old, and she ran off to elope like some lovesick teenager whose parents didn’t approve of her boyfriend.

Ally and Bianca properly oohed at the sight of her ring and asked to hear the entire story from the proposal to the trip to the altar. Meanwhile, I stared at my new stepfather, wondering why he didn’t have the good sense to keep her from behaving like a lovesick idiot. But he just stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders, smiling down at my mom.

I excused myself and went to the kitchen. Dr. Griffin entered as I was filling a large bowl with potato chips.

He leaned against the counter and watched me. “She tried to call you,” he said at last.

“Not hard enough.” Even as I said it, I knew it probably wasn’t true. I’d missed a few calls from her and let a few more go straight to voice mail, but I was so mad, I didn’t want to admit that. And it wasn’t like she’d left any messages.

I rolled up the chip bag and clipped the top before returning it to the pantry. Dr. Griffin was silent again. I wondered if he’d be like Dr. Brinkley, expecting me to go on and rage while she waited until it was almost the end of the hour to speak.

“Well?” I said to him after an unbearable silence. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“Do you want me to say something?”

My fists clenched and I pressed my lips together into a tight line. “Can’t you talk like a normal person? You aren’t my therapist.”

His mouth curved up as though he was trying to keep from smiling. I grabbed the bowl and stomped back to the dining room.

“We talked about Lakeridge,” my mother was saying to my friends, “but we may just have some caterers come here. That’s if we decide to do anything at all. It wouldn’t need to be a big event. After all, it’s the second time around for us both.” She laughed nervously but smiled when she caught my eye. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

I paused, gripping the bowl as I stood at the head of the table. “Whatever.”

Ally glanced up with a questioning glance and cleared her throat. “Hey, Bianca,” she said, looking at her phone, “we should wrap things up. It’s getting kind of late.”

“No, it’s not,” she said before Ally hit her with a pen. “Ow.”

“Then maybe we should let Talia catch up with her mom,” Ally said, nudging her.

I shook my head. My friends were hardly masters of subtlety.

“I’ll take the girls,” Dr. Griffin volunteered. “It’ll give you ladies some alone time.”

“Thank you, love,” Mom said, grinning at him. It took all my willpower not to gag at the sickening sweetness of it all.

After a few hasty good-byes, Dr. Griffin left with my friends a few minutes later. My mother and I silently stared at each other, an odd test of wills. After a long pause, I sat down across from her.

“I thought you’d be happier,” she said.

Her disappointment was palpable, but I brushed it aside. “I’m happy.”

“You aren’t acting like it. I thought you liked Rob.”

“He’s fine.”

Mom gave me that you’re-not-fooling-anyone face and said, “I’m not a mind reader, Talia. You’re going to have to tell me what’s bothering you.”

I crossed my arms and looked away. It was impossible to put into words everything I was feeling. Finally, I blurted out a single word. “Why?”

“Because I love him.”

“No, not why did you marry him.” I tried to condense my thoughts into something coherent. “Why did you do it there?” I demanded. “Why the rush? Why couldn’t you wait?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re upset because you wanted to be there?”

“No,” I said a little too forcefully.

“I don’t understand.”

“He said he was proposing,” I explained. “Why couldn’t you just say ‘yes’ and take your time and have an engagement period like normal people?”

“Because that’s not what I wanted,” she said. “I’ve had a big wedding, and we all know how that turned out.”

Her eyes drifted toward the front door, and I shuddered. I knew she was remembering my dad’s last night here. It was something I wished I could forget, too.

“Right. You know the ending. Why put yourself through that again?”

Mom closed her eyes, and I felt a twinge of guilt. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Talia, honey, Rob isn’t anything like your dad.”

“Yeah, well, neither was your last boyfriend. But he was still a scumbag, just in a different way.”

She stiffened. “That’s not fair.”

“I just don’t understand why you feel like you need to be with someone,” I said. “What was so wrong about it being just the two of us?”

“Nothing.” She leaned forward. “You are and always have been the most important person to me. But I never wanted to be a single mom.”

“Great,” I said with a nod. “So you picked a new dad for me, and I’m back on high alert to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’ve never asked you to do that.”

“Sure. But if I hadn’t stepped in to stop that monster, you never would’ve had the guts to kick him out.”

That was a low blow, and I knew it. We never spoke of the night my father left, but the events that led up to his departure still loomed over us like dark shadows. Mom closed her eyes again, and I saw something seeping from beneath her long lashes.

Dr. Brinkley would’ve been disappointed in me. The past was permanent, etched in stone, something that couldn’t be changed. It wasn’t fair to bring it up when we were fighting. I took a deep breath and focused on a spot on the wall behind my mom. It was easier than watching her cry.

“Did you guys at least talk through the practical stuff before you eloped?” I said. “Are we moving?”

Mom sniffed and reached for a napkin to dab at her eyes as she shook her head. “No. Not right away, at least. Rob will move here and put his house on the market, and we figured we can all look for something that suits us sometime before summer.”

“‘All?’”

“Of course. Rob and I want the three of you to feel like it’s your home, too.”

I stifled a groan. I forgot this meant I’d have siblings. No, wait. Step-siblings. At least they wouldn’t be around much. Jessica graduated from Westgate last year and seemed nice enough, but Dexter was in his first year of law school and, if I remembered correctly, completely full of himself.

“Fantastic.” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm.

“Talia.” There was a note of warning in her voice, and I gave her my full attention. “I realize this will be an adjustment, but I expect you to at least try.”

Try. I wanted to rage at her, to tell her that’s all I’d been doing for the last five years, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. But I knew she wouldn’t get it. I sighed. “Fine.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Not everything is about you, Talia.”

“Yeah, I’m not three, Mom. I know that.” I slammed my books shut and began shoving things into my backpack.

“Are you done with your homework?” she asked as I yanked the zipper shut.

“Mostly.”

She nodded once. “I’d like you to get ready for dinner. Rob’s taking us to Chaussons to celebrate.”

I didn’t say anything but slung my backpack over my shoulder and started to leave the room.

“Please don’t be angry, honey,” she said, stopping me. “I promise this is a good thing.”

I nodded to let her know I understood. And I wasn’t upset, not really. She was right; Dr. Griffin wasn’t at all like my dad. But on top of wondering if this was a smart move for her, it felt like everything was changing all at once. Jake had a new go-to girl, and it wasn't going to be just my mom and me anymore. I couldn’t help feeling like I was being left out of something.

Chapter Eight

The following afternoon, Mr. Collins, my art teacher, stopped me as I started to follow my classmates out the door.

“Talia, a word, please.”

If it had been any other teacher, I would’ve been annoyed at not being able to rush out after last period. But I liked Mr. Collins, so I spared him my usual irritated protests. I adjusted my backpack and turned. “What’s up?”

He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. “I imagine you’ve heard Misty Templeton has been placed on academic probation?”

I nodded. Of course I had. Ally had posted the senior’s plagiarism scandal on her blog and mentioned it a bunch of times over winter break. It was as though she’d been delighted to see her brother’s ex-girlfriend fail miserably.

“And I’m guessing you know she was supposed to design the collateral for Chicago.” I nodded again, and he grabbed an owl-shaped stress ball from his desk and toyed with it. “Mrs. Riley asked to see my top students’ portfolios,” he said. “She was rather impressed with your work.”

I blinked, surprised. Mrs. Riley was the Drama Club director and a formidable woman, and since she handpicked all the people involved in the theater productions – cast, crew, orchestra, and design – it was a big deal to get a compliment from her. She was tough and no-nonsense¸ with a philosophy that she was preparing us for the real world, and she didn’t believe in coddling any of the students. When Bianca missed callbacks because her psycho ex-boyfriend gave her a concussion, Riley refused to reschedule her slot. So, yeah, Riley had a reputation for being kind of ruthless, but if she ever offered positive feedback or a kind word of encouragement, we all knew it was genuine.

“Wow,” I managed to say. “Thanks.”

“And she’s interested in seeing your ideas for Chicago collateral.”

“Wait.” I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What?”

He put the owl back on his desk and took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. “There’s no pressure, of course. The design she picks goes on flyers, posters, programs, and the cast and crew shirts.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “I’ve seen what you’ve done for Zack and Keith’s band,” he said. “Chicago should be easy for you.”

“Yeah, but those were just flyers,” I said in protest. “I mean, people put them up and tear them down a couple of days later. They’re not, like, posters that people would look at for a long time.”

“There’s really not much difference, you know. Once your art’s out there, it lives as part of the public space.”

“I’m not so worried about people seeing my work as much as I am about coming up with something Mrs. Riley actually likes.”

He crossed his arms and fixed me with an unwavering stare, as though he wanted to make sure I had his full attention. “Elizabeth Riley is one person, Talia, and she has no more influence on your future as an artist or anything else than she does on who will be the next president of the United States.” I started to say something, but he stopped me, saying, “I know the Drama Club reveres her like a goddess, but you’re better than that. Don’t give her more power than she has.”

I nodded, surprised at his words. I’d always thought teachers were good friends who totally got along, but Mr. Collins seemed, I don’t know. Annoyed? Whatever it was, it was obvious he didn’t like her that much.

He put his glasses back on and walked me to the door. “Go home and sleep on it,” he said. “Let me know tomorrow. I told her I’d mention it to you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, okay?”

I bobbed my head again. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’ll be good practice for you, though, if you’re thinking of becoming a commercial artist,” he said with a knowing look. “She’s a tough client and not easy to get along with, but you’ll face people worse than her in the real world, too.”

I smiled. There was a reason Mr. Collins was my favorite teacher. He didn’t mince words. He told it like it was.

“I’ll let you know,” I said before I stepped into the hall. I strolled to my locker and retrieved my navy peacoat, only half aware of my surroundings as I thought about my conversation with Mr. Collins. My attention snapped into focus as I almost rammed into a group of junior girls congregated in the middle of the hall, and I mumbled “Sorry” in response to their haughty stares.

A few yards ahead of me, Jake closed his locker and turned toward the parking lots. I hurried to catch up to him.

“Hey,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned and smiled. “There you are. You weren’t at your locker. I figured you’d be at your car.”

“Collins kept me after.” I hitched my backpack up on my shoulder and put my arm through the other loop. “Mrs. Riley wanted to know if I’d design the posters and stuff for Chicago.”

Jake stopped. “That’s awesome! You’re doing it, right?”

“I don’t know yet.” I looked down at my feet and kicked at an imaginary pebble. “I don’t think I could handle her criticism.”

He lifted my chin with his thumb. “Hey, she’s one person. Her opinion isn’t absolute.”

“Yeah, Mr. Collins kind of said the same thing.”

“And besides, she can’t be much worse than Zack.”

I laughed, and he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked in silence.

“So do you want to grab something to eat before we study for Jorgensen’s quiz?” I said when we approached our cars. “It’s still cool if I come over, right?”

“I can’t today,” he said with a slight shake of his head. He dropped his arm and shoved both hands into his pockets. “I’ve got, uh, some stuff going on.”

His odd reply made me pause. I studied him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were downcast, and his eyebrows were scrunched the way they usually were when he was nervous about something. It was as if he was hiding some deep secret, which was why it was so weird. Jake never kept anything from me.

I waited for him to elaborate and finally said, “Okay.” I knew better than to press him for information.

“We can get together tomorrow,” he offered. “I have no idea what’s going on in biology.”

“That’s because you keep falling asleep.” I unlocked my car door and tossed my backpack onto the passenger seat. “So are you going to tell me about this super-secret whatever you’ve got going on?”

“No.” He frowned. “Not yet, anyway.” An almost apologetic look came across Jake’s face. His eyes looked sad, almost guilty. “I kind of want to see where it goes before I tell anyone.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Cryptic much?”

He grinned before he squeezed me in a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as I climbed into my car.

The change in my afterschool plans meant I’d be going home to an empty house, but since I wanted to look up old Chicago posters, I figured it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I was surprised to see a strange sedan blocking my spot in the garage when I came home.

I parked beside it and peered into the car for some sign of who its owner was. It was immaculate, like a brand new car. I remembered Mom saying something about calling a real estate agency to have someone look at the house; the car probably belonged to an agent or something. I was glad I’d cleaned my room the night before; I couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than having a complete stranger see my dirty clothes strewn all over the place.

“Hello?” I called from the foyer. I figured it was best to announce my presence.

A series of staccato clicks on the tile floor made me feel better. At least Mom had come home early to meet the real estate people. I paused at the bottom of the stairs.

“Talia, honey, I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “I thought you’d be studying at Jake’s.”

“Didn’t you get my text?” She shook her head, and I said, “He’s got something going on. But it’s cool. I have some stuff to do for Mr. Collins. He said Mrs. Riley wants me to….” My words trailed off as movement behind my mother caught my attention. When I saw who was coming from the living room with Dr. Griffin, I froze.

It wasn’t a real estate agent.

It was my father.

I hadn’t seen him in five years, but I would’ve known him anywhere. After all, I had inherited a lot of his features, including his straight nose and deep-set eyes. Even my birthmark was like his, only his shock of white hair was prominent at his widow’s peak. He was a little older, more tired than I remembered, but beyond that, he looked exactly the same.

“What’s he doing here?” I demanded in hushed tones.

Mom took me by the arm and tried to turn me away from my dad. “Talia, please don’t freak out.”

I pulled my arm free and glared at her, ignoring her flinch. “I’m beyond freaking out.”

She took a deep breath. “I called him.”

“You what?”

My father smiled and raised a tentative hand in greeting. “Hi, honey!”

I cringed, paralyzed. The right thing – the polite thing – would have been to smile back and rush into his arms for a big, fatherly hug.

Instead, I raced up the stairs, two at a time, and didn’t stop until I locked myself in my room.