Chapter 35s: Forever Change
Life is so damn unfair.
I mean, OK. Dad is awake. That's a good thing. And with the awkwardness finally out of the way, I am happy he's awake.
But it is just so damn awkward, right? In all the ways.
Like right now. I need to keep reminding myself to keep from crumpling the drawing I was showing him; Cassandra said having a neat portfolio is important for the future. I put it down with the rest of the drawings.
"Cassandra isn't dangerous! She's an artist!"
Ugh. What is it with that 'I know better than you' look coated in sugary affection? This might be the courtyard of the hospital and as close to a backyard as you're going to get, but this is still a public place! It is so embarrassing in so many ways!
Look at me, dad! I'm ten years old now! I don't draw on the walls anymore!
"Oh honey. Please, calm down. I wasn't saying she... intends to hurt you." His voice has that pleading tone that I can't quite put my finger on; maybe he used to use it when talking with mom? It is hard to tell with the way he slurs and switches words at random half the time.
Either way, I am so glad he's stuck in a wheelchair right now. I'm sorry mom - please don't be disappointed in me for thinking that - but I really am. It means he can't just loom over me with that parental forcefield of righteousness to settle the argument.
"What do you know? You're more than a year out of date!" I respond in the heat of the moment.
The painful grimace on his features says it all. That really upset him, even if he's not showing it. My gaze drops down, and I utter a somewhat more pacifying apology, but he shakes his head as he motions me closer, which I do. He's still dad, after all.
"We're having this talk... exactly because I missed so much of your life. I can't be a good father if I don't know what is going on in your life, right?"
He's got a point.. but it is so unfair. I grab his hand as he's ruffling it through my hair; the simple motion betrays what I've told him a few times already in the past few weeks: 'I am not eight years old anymore, dad.'
I guess he'll take a while to learn. He's not used that noggin' of his for so long, after all!
"But Cassandra is not dangerous!"
I am quite clear as I insist.
"Not in the ways you can see, love. But I hope you'll.. believe my worries. You're talking about a woman with a lot of... unhealthy changes to her body who makes a.. living off of doing those things to people. The art you showed me," he adds, a small nod towards the table with some mosquito sketches I've been doing, "isn't.. exactly the cute sort of art you used to be fond of."
The sigh that escapes me better alert him to my frustration and the patience that is running out regarding his reasonable 'I am a parent' argument.
"It's not as if I really like mosquitos or fire ants or cockroaches. She said it is a study to learn to draw better!"
"Uh huh. And what other sort of people do you meet there, other than this To... Timothy guy who reminds you of a devil?"
Ugh. Did I really have to use that very-apt description around my dad? I want to slap myself in the face for being so stupid; I should have known dad would be like that.
"Just people. Some want a tattoo, others want a hole here or there. Some look like they are rich and have made it in life, and yet others look like they left one of those roadtrip movies with all the shiny motorbikes and all."
The latter may outnumber the former perhaps three to one, but there's also a huge amount of regular people. And he'd just focus thinking that it is a sea of tattood people and all sorts of bad habits. Ugh.
I guess he still thinks me to be the naive eight-years-old blabbermouth like before. The thought of getting one over on him is actually quite satisfying!
"What are you.. grinning about, girlie? Did you remember a good joke?"
My expression freezes in place as I step away towards the drawing I put on the table, presenting my back to him so he can't divine my thoughts with those parental bursts of insight.
"No no. Just remembering how when I met Cassandra and Timothy, I thought all those things you said. It had me scared for no good reason!" I turn back and grin, lifting my hair a bit to the side so I can show off my studs.
"But see? Now I can wear earrings like these. It's just in your mind! Conquer your fear, and you'll understand!"
I sound a bit like those monks from the mountains from that movie we watched some time back, but that only makes me happier. As Cassandra told me once: imitation is the highest form of flattery!
Sure, she was talking about it being okay to imitate nature and it not being some sort of overstepping to study His Creations so closely, but I think it applies here, too. Movies are awesome!
Dad meanwhile just laughs awkwardly, trying to move our obvious disagreement along. "I'll have to meet them some time, okay? I just want to make sure you are safe, sweetie. But maybe in a few months, the doctors will give me... official clean bill of health, and then we can be a family again."
My expression freezes as I glance back at him.
"Really?" I hear myself ask the question, and I find that I don't even know what I mean by it.
Does it make me happy? I guess. I've wanted things to be like they were for the past two years.
So why do I feel conflicted? As if I'd be losing something far worse than the drawing I spent the whole first week of class on?
"Mhmm. It will probably involve some lawyers, but officially, I am still your dad. And Cain's dad, too. They can't take that away from me. Or him. Or you."
I force a smile onto my face. Does it look fake? I can't tell.
I don't even know if it is fake.
"That sounds great, dad."
It doesn't take a genius to tell that one sentence has brought back all the awkwardness from the first time we met after he woke up again.
The oddly chosen combinations of words that clearly do not belong in this time or place fill up the remainder of the visiting period, and I hate myself a little for being so glad that it is finally over.