Another jump forward in time...
UNEXPECTED
"What do you mean you're not going back to Tulane?" Dad asks through a jaw set tight, and Banjo jumps up to sniff dinner hoping for scraps, unable to detect the danger that's charging the air. "After one semester and you're gonna call it quits?" Dad's anger can be a deceiving kind of quiet, but by his eyes and how he holds himself you know he's seething, and I can't believe I'm the one responsible. I've always been his Magsy, his good little girl. My stomach squeezes against the stress that churns inside it.
I can't bear to look at him when I say, "I've already dropped out. I want to take some time off from college. I'll go back one day Dad, I will, but I don't like Louisiana. I want to be here in Tulsa, with Billy. We want to get married. We're in love." What my statement lacks in passion at this moment, it makes up for in honesty, truth and genuine fear. I'm scared and unsure of my dad right now, but I've never been more sure of love.
Dad tosses his napkin on his plate and angrily shakes his head. "Margaret you don't even know what the hell love is. You're too young to be in love." His words have chewed and spit me out, and if he's going to fight me on that one basic solid fact, then we're never getting anywhere and our relationship might be damaged beyond repair. And I need my Dad. I don't want us to break apart. "You're crazy Maggie Curtis if you think I'm letting you get married at this age."
Mac's worried glance when he walks past the dining room makes me feel guilty. I'm ruining Christmas Eve. He's already wearing the pajama pants Mom bought for all of us, another cheesy family tradition we complain about but secretly appreciate. It makes me feel even sicker for what I've done.
Mom guessed my secret earlier, told me I had to be the one to inform my father and sat through the entire dinner like a cat on a hot tin roof. Once she set out the bread pudding doused in her sweet bourbon glaze, she fled the scene and left me to fire the shots, not able to stomach the carnage I guess. I never meant it to be this night to launch my big news out like a grenade, to explode against the carefully arranged Christmas lights.
I've never felt or sounded so timid around him. "I'm sorry Daddy, but you're wrong. If there's one thing I do know, it's love. You should've learned that about me by now." My toes curl into the rug as I watch him and wonder what he's thinking. He flicks his top front teeth with his thumb. He looks kind of lost and even though my defenses are up, I feel sorry for him. Without an ounce of confidence, I try to tell him "It's all gonna be okay," but it only makes him look even more depressed.
He stands up tall and walks over to me, then bends down to take my hands, like he's ready to beg, and I don't tell him there's nothing we can do about it now. Not one thing. His voice is set to soft and so are his pleading eyes. "Magsy. That beautiful mind of yours. All of it wasted?"
If he doesn't stop looking at me like this I'll surely fall apart. I'm relieved when he lets me go and turns away, and I stare at his back while he leans forward on arms that seem to be the only things holding him up, both hands braced strong against a cabinet full of all our fragile things. His head hangs low in defeat. "Oh my God such a waste," I hear him breathe to himself and now I know what it feels like to be empty and thrown away on a whisper.
I watch him come together again and sit back at the head of the table. The place he's always blown out his birthday candles, carved the Thanksgiving turkey, read every Father's Day card aloud with such intense gratitude and pride as if Mac and I, not Hallmark, were the ones who came up with those corny poems. This holiday I sit much smaller at my place, the backs of my knees wet with sweat and I worry I'm marking up the upholstery.
"So y'all think you can just set out on your own huh? Do you know what kind of money that takes?" he asks condescendingly, as if I haven't thought of that. As if I even care. I find a high horse to jump on and now I meet him head to head.
"Billy and I aren't afraid to be poor, " I say with an attitude I can't squash down even if I tried. "There's more to life than that. I don't care a thing about money," and my tone makes it pretty clear I'm looking down on my dad right now for putting his emphasis on something so superficial.
His head's thrown over the back of his chair and his fingers rub circles at his temples. The shake of his chest and shoulders reveal his laughter before I can hear the wheeze, and I know right away it's not his normal laugh. He's beside himself. And when he faces me again he's about ready to lose it. His smile is the first to go and suddenly my horse, that traitorous old mare has bucked me off, stealing away with my arrogance and I'm not feeling so high anymore.
He leans forward with steely eyes and his voice, dangerous and low raises with each of his heated words until he's louder than I've ever heard him go. "That's…because...you've ALWAYS HAD IT," and his palm comes down so hard against the table the crystal is shaking and Banjo runs away yelping to his dog bed.
I want to throw up. I want this to be over, but it's only just beginning. I want Christmas back. I want my dad to always be proud of me. I want my mom to emerge from her bedroom with shining and delighted eyes, not swollen and rimmed in pink. I want my brother to come in laughing about Ralphie and Randy or Cousin Eddie and the Griswolds. And if I can't have all that, I want Billy to come get me in his dad's old pickup, take me away from here and tell me I never have to come back.
It's silent but the atmosphere still reverberates from his yell, all the air left unsettled. Dad takes a sip of his dark red wine and then watches his glass where he swirls it, the stem resting loose between his fingers. He clears his throat when he sets it back down, and I knew it wouldn't take him long to finally make his way to my truth, the real reason for all of this. What he doesn't yet want to accept.
The fury has left his face when he grabs all of me by his desperate look alone, and his eyes are wet and pained when he chokes on "How far along are you?"
A/N: Outsiders by SE Hinton
I think I may add to this one and make it a small chapter story, rather than a one shot. As always, thanks for reading!