Page 31 of Glad You're Here

Brigham, you can spitefully and maliciously hurt me all you want, but what you’ve done to your mother is inexcusable.

Iblinked at my phone as I walked across the lawn at SUU, my boots crunching the icy, dirty snow. It was the end of January, and this was the first communication I’d received from my father since Thanksgiving. My mother sent a weekly Sunday text to let me know she’d been praying for the Lord to soften my heart. She’d also sent a text on Christmas Eve with my dinner contribution assignment for Christmas dinner. I’d ignored them all. I did wonder how my family managed their holiday dinner without the cranberry jello salad, though.

I slid my phone back into my pocket, shaking my head. If my father was texting me now, I was in serious trouble. That was the only time my father got involved with parenting growing up. He acted as the hammer who laid down the law.

The scared child inside of me felt my phone burning a hole in my pocket. I had to answer my father’s text. I couldn’t ignore him and be disrespectful.

Disrespectful.

Lazy.

Sinful.

Malicious.

Spiteful.

My breath quickened, and my heart rate ticked up. My car waited in the parking lot. I could see it now. I told myself the feeling would pass if I could make it to my car. That became how I coped with leaving the church and sticking to my decision, especially when faced with Gina’s tears. Whenever I almost caved under the pressure, I would tell myself, “Make it to 3 pm, make it to Monday, get around the corner.”

Most of the time, it worked.

I pulled my keys from my pocket and unlocked my car, waiting for the dizzying guilt to subside. I’d destroyed my marriage. I’d broken my mother’s heart. I’d called my father abusive on Thanksgiving Day in front of our entire family. I hadn’t even shown up for Christmas.

Hard-hearted.

Hurtful.

Wicked.

I slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door with shaking hands. I didn’t feel better yet. I started the car and turned up the heat. My breath still formed small white clouds as I tried to steady it.

My phone dinged again. One part of me scoffed and suggested I block my father’s number. The scared part of me whispered, “Submit. Apologize. You were awful.” I glanced at the message and immediately wished I hadn’t.

I suspect you’ll do the immature thing and refuse to answer me. I’m highly disappointed in you. We taught you better. If you care for this family, you’ll call your mother and apologize. That’s all I’ve got to say to you.

I closed the message and called Thea.

“Hey, professor,” she answered lazily.

Warmth spread through my chest, and I backed out of my parking spot. “What are you doing right now?”

“I am unpacking boxes of napkins at The Station. Are you done teaching for the day?” I could hear light chatter and the clinking of glasses in the background. It sounded like home, and I wanted to be there with her.

“Yeah. I’m heading home now.” I didn’t have much to say. I couldn’t even think of anything to ask her, but her voice had already steadied me so much. I wanted to keep hearing it.

“And you were thinking, man, I wonder what Thea is doing because she’s so cool and interesting. So you called me and found out I was opening cardboard boxes. Now, you’re jealous and planning on driving all night so you can hang out with me, but Levi, don’t. I’ll finish with these boxes in about ten minutes, and then what will we do?”

I laughed, and more tension melted from my body. “I could think of a few things.” Little did she know, I meant hand-holding or kissing, like a freaking twelve-year-old, because I was broken.

“Oh. My. God. Are you flirting with me?” Thea’s gorgeous, genuine laugh made me smile even harder.

“Is it working?”

Thea laughed again. “Maybe. I’ll never confirm or deny it.” She quickly changed the subject. “So, how are things with your family?”

I’d told her about Thanksgiving a few weeks ago, and she’d applauded me. Thea gave me that tiny bit of validation I didn’t realize I desperately needed. She’d said, “Good for you. Boundaries are healthy. That’s what two out of the three therapists I’ve seen in my life have championed. They’re probably right.”

I sighed and pulled up to my apartment. “I got a text from my dad today. He drove home the fact that I’m a huge disappointment and need to apologize to my mom.”

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