Page 85 of The Story Of Us

“Stop calling me stupid and silly and all of these other words that you think describe me. Answer me. What will you do if I don’t go to Oxford?”

My father pauses, that same stern look on his face that I’ve become so accustomed to that it doesn’t even phase me anymore. There’s always been a distance between us, but it feels like he’s completely unreachable now.

“You can leave.”

I push my chair back and stand up, realising that this conversation was never going to go the way I wanted it to and it was completely pointless.

“I’m not going to Oxford,” I tell him, wanting to have the final word and be as clear as possible as I turn around to leave the room.

“That’s fine. But then don’t ever come back to my house again.”

It feels like the earth has opened up underneath me, and I’ve dropped through it with the way my stomach lurches. I turn around to look at him, wanting to make sure I heard him correctly, but his facial expression hasn’t changed. He’s completely serious.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can do whatever you want, but don’t come back here.”

“Are you…” I try to make sense of what he’s saying to figure out if he means what I think he does. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Your accommodation at school is paid for until the end of the year. You can stay there until then, but don’t bother coming home during summer if you make the decision you want to make.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why can’t I? You’re turning eighteen in July. You won’t be my responsibility anymore.”

“Mum won’t let you.” I try to play to his soft spot even when I know it’s useless. She’ll go along with whatever he says.

“She will once I explain how our eldest and only son has wasted both of our time and resources,” he tsks, loosening his tie further before removing it. “Everything we’ve done for you, and it was for nothing. What a waste.”

He stands to pour himself a glass of whisky, acting completely normal as if he hasn’t just threatened to upend my entire life.

“You’re serious.”

“Of course I am.”

He turns to me as he sips his drink, no emotion on his face at all. And it’s this, the casual way he’s saying all of this and reacting to it, that settles my emotions and stops the panic from building.

He truly does not care about me.

He’s only seen me as something he could mould into what he wanted rather than as his son. I think I’ve known it for a while now, and I’ve been in denial the whole time, but this is the proof I needed.

I know he’s expecting more of a reaction, maybe for me to beg and plead with him based on the way he's looking at me. But I won’t give him that. He said it’s not realistic for me to have everything I want, and he’s right. I wanted supportive parents, ones who would let me pursue the career I wanted rather than the one they forced upon me, but that’s not my reality, and I am surprisingly fine with it. There’s a strange sense of relief flooding through me as I realise that I no longer have to meet their expectations, that I can do whatever I want because I have enough people in my corner.

“It’s really that important to you? More than having a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

His one-word answer is all I need.

“Okay, I’ll pack my things and be out of your house tomorrow.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he schools his expression, but I caught it - he didn’t think I would actually leave.

When I broke up with Violet, the main thought running through my head was that I couldn’t have everything I wanted - supportive parents, following my dream career, a wonderful relationship with the girl I love, and it’s true.

But I can give up one of them and still survive. As much as I would love my parents’ support, I don’t need it if it’s going to come with conditions.

“Thank you for everything,” I tell him as I leave the kitchen.

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