Page 132 of The Thought of You

But it’s not what I expect.

I reach for my phone, scroll to the name I need in my contact list, and pause.

I can’t do this, can I? I’m going to call, and say what—how dare you? Why did you abandon me when I needed you most?

“I could, actually,” I say to no one but myself.

After all, that is what happened. I’ve never admitted it to anyone except to myself, but I always pushed it aside because the truth was too hard to face.

It was too scary.

But I take a deep breath, count to five, and face my fears head-on, just as my friend suggested.

My heart thumps like a fist banging against a door, the reverberations nearly numbing my entire body as I force myself to press the name.

I need to do this. Not for Maren or Owen or anyone else. I need to do this for me.

Dad answers on the first ring. “Hey there, sea turtle.”

The nickname might as well be the twist of a knife in my chest.

When Maren suggested I turn straight to the source, it wasn’t my mom I needed to talk to. It’s my father—the first man to ever break my heart.

“Do you have a second, or a few?” I ask, hesitation weighing my voice down.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“This is going to sound… odd. Maybe a little out of the blue, but… I think it’s been a long time coming.”

“Should I be sitting down for this?” His chuckle crackles through the speaker, and my stomach sinks.

Out with it.

“I’m mad at you,” I blurt.

Any other sign of amusement fades, and the line is filled with silence, plus my heavy, labored breaths.

“Dad, I know you left because of Mom, and I don’t blame you. I’m not saying you should’ve stayed and put up with all her weird, often insane, ways, but you didn’t just leave her. You left me,” I choke out, gaining momentum the more I talk as I finally release years’ worth of agony. “You moved out of the house, and as if that wasn’t far enough, you then packed up and moved three states away. I haven’t seen you since last Christmas, and that was only because I came to you. I always come to you. I’ve invited you over countless times, and you’re always too busy.”

“Addie, sweetheart. It’s far more complicated than that.”

“There’s nothing complicated, Dad. I’m your daughter. You should’ve tried harder. I waited for you to try harder until I convinced myself that I actually respected you for doing yourself a favor and getting away.”

“I had to get away,” he says faintly. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Yes, there is. I don’t know the circumference of the Earth, how to replace a spark plug in a lawn mower, or how to completely love someone no matter how badly I want to,” I deadpan, although the final item has tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

“I… I had no idea.” His tone is loaded with surprise and disappointment.

I release a humorless laugh and squeeze my eyes closed. “The funny thing is that I’ve always admired your busy, jampacked routine. I’ve admired you. I’ve mirrored my own life to yours so I could be stable and smart and sensical in order to be more like you and less like Mom. But it’s bullshit. It’s all… bullshit.” My eyes fling open.

I’ve never cursed in front of my father, and I’ve certainly never cursed at him. I’ve always spoken as respectfully as possible to him and my mother both, although Rain often makes it nearly impossible.

Still, they’re my parents.

“I’m sorry to be so rude, but?—”

“You’re right. I deserve that and far worse, to be honest.”

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