Page 16 of Aftershock

We both laughed trying to make light of something that used to be shrouded in pain. Sometimes it helped. Then I saw Lexi’s facial expression change.

“So, why exactly are you in the airport today? Where are you headed to?”

The lightness of our conversation became heavy.

“I’m actually on my way to a funeral.” I immediately followed up with a question of my own to avoid talking about my father. “Where are you headed?”

Lexi opened her mouth slightly, then paused as if she wanted to ask more about the funeral but decided against it. “I have an interview scheduled with a radio station and a new music video to shoot,” she stated simply.

“Probably going to have to postpone it now, then, huh?”

Before she could respond, the same loud, booming voice from earlier echoed outside the door. “Lexi, just checking in. Are you still doing okay in there?”

“We are doing fine,” she yelled back, emphasizing the “we” as she spoke. “You know you don't have to check in on me every two seconds, right?”

“I just wanted to let you know that Andrew said he talked to airport management and the lead security guard. They contacted the local fire department, and they are on their way. The debris is too heavy to move without some sort of machinery.”

“Thanks, Brian,” Lexi nodded in response, even though he couldn't see this.

Well, at least now I know their names are Brian and Andrew.

Lexi waited a minute with her ear pointed at the door as if she were making sure he wasn't nearby anymore, then asked, “So, whose funeral are you going to?”

Unraveling

Of course, she would ask that. My father was something I never wanted to talk about. Sometimes, it just felt easier to ignore the pain and pretend it never existed in the first place. When I was younger, I used to imagine I had a perfect family—one with an attentive father who had a knack for making the most stupid jokes at the worst times. There was this one scene I replayed in my head over and over again until I started to believe it was real.

The illusory truth effect at work again.

I would wake up on a Sunday morning and run into my parents’ room, jumping on their beds to wake them up. Mom would roll over, accidentally smacking dad in the face as he was awakened by the chaos that was ensuing. He would pull my arm, causing me to plop down on the bed as he tightly hugged me, saying Christmas would be canceled if I continued to disturb his sleep. Instead, Mom would barter with him, saying that was too harsh a punishment and it would be more fitting to have me cook breakfast for them instead. Of course, little me, not wanting to miss out on Christmas, would scurry over to the kitchen, grabbing pots and pans while spilling flour on the counters. Two bags of spilled batter, five dirty pans, and three cartons of empty eggs later, I would return with crunchy eggs, pancakes that were too crispy to have possibly been made with the correct ingredients, and orange juice, which was probably the only edible thing there. Dad would thank me while laughing hysterically, and Mom would wear a pained smile, trying to mentally prepare for the disaster that awaited them in the kitchen. They would pull me into bed with them as they both kissed my forehead and said they loved me.

That’s what I wanted, but instead, I got a broken family and a lifetime of pain.

“My dad’s.”

“What happened?” She shook her head slightly and spoke again, “I’m sorry. Again, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” I confessed. “I can’t avoid my past forever.” Lexi offered a sad smile and nodded. Taking a deep breath, I explained, “My father was never the type of man to show his emotions. He thought any type of affection was a sign of weakness,” I reflected, with a far-off look in my eyes. He never even said he loved me. Every conversation always ended with a simple ‘goodbye’ and nothing more. Frowning at the thought, I continued, “Things changed when I noticed him constantly sneaking off and smiling when he looked at his phone.” I wish I would’ve left it alone, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. “When we were at the dinner table one night, he left it sitting next to his plate while running to the bathroom. I saw an opportunity, and I took it. His phone was littered with texts from multiple women. I scrolled through dozens of messages and pictures until my twelve-year-old brain couldn't take anymore. That's when I walked into the kitchen and handed the phone to my mom. It was the beginning of the end.”

“You can’t look through a man's phone, Claire,” my father yelled, snatching the phone out of her hands.

“Really, you think that’s the main issue here?” My mom asked with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend like you didn’t see this coming…”

He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Flicking on the TV, he sat down on the couch with a huff. My mom followed, hot on his heels, and ripped the remote out of his hands. I tried to follow, but my mom ushered me back into the kitchen.

“No, Autumn!” She screamed. “We need to talk alone.” She pivoted and walked away again. Peaking my head around the corner, I watched as they continued to argue. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She slammed the remote onto the table.

Furiously rubbing his hands against his face, he groaned, “When’s the last time we had sex, Claire?”

My mom let out a low growl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No!” He angrily shouted. “A man has needs, you know.”

“What kind of message does that send our daughter?” She whispered, probably more aware of the fact that I was in the next room over.

“That isn’t my problem,” he shrugged.

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