Page 33 of Say It Again

“Hello?” His dad’s voice sounded over the speakers.

Shit, shit, shit. He could hang up and pretend it never happened? It’d been over a month since they’d last spoken, but in his defense, why would he take a phone call that was sure to leave him feeling empty, enraged, and hungry for deep fried chicken he didn’t need?

“Dan. Hello?” His dad’s voice was its usual burdened but with an extra dash of vexed to spice things up. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” he said, hanging his head. “I’m here.”

“Jesus, finally. Where the hell have you been?”

Nowhere special. Probably sitting somewhere with his phone in hand, declining his dad’s calls. He rolled his lips. “I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Working.”

“You mean dancing?”

He ground his teeth as he glared at the windshield. “Yeah, can we maybe not do this whole thing tonight? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“What whole thing?”

“The thing where you call and make me feel terrible about my life.”

“You mean, the thing where I call and offer guidance for your life? And all you do is bitch about it, then shut me out?”

“Telling me to give up dance is not guidance, Robert. It’s hurtful.”

“No, what’s hurtful is my twenty-five-year-old son dancing as a career.”

Daniel fought a longing to wither up like a forgotten houseplant. It was difficult to describe the sensation he got whenever they had this conversation. If he sat quietly with it for a minute, it felt suspiciously familiar to a craving. The sensible part of him knew he didn’t need his dad’s approval, but the feeble, manic part of him insisted he wanted it. Either way, he wasn’t getting it, so he ran his tongue over his teeth and said, “Like I said, I don’t have the mental capacity for this tonight—”

“You never have the ‘mental capacity’ for it. That’s the problem.”

“Don’t you have other things to worry about? I’m sure you have a new girlfriend. Hopefully she has a kid, so you can raise one that isn’t such an embarrassment.”

He’d never met any of his dad’s many girlfriends. Never been invited to their house for a potluck. But his emotionally aloof father didn’t have the “mental capacity” for conversations that didn’t revolve around Daniel’s career, which is why he said, “The financial choices you make today will affect your future. I know you’re young, but someday you’ll thank me. You want to have a normal life someday, right? You want to be able to pay your rent?”

“I love my life, and I pay my rent.”

“Always? Is that always the case? Or do I have to pay it sometimes?”

One time. One time, he’d asked for help—something he’d always regret—and that was because his car’s timing belt went out at the worst possible timing. “I paid you back for that.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t be this far behind on retirement. Irresponsible isn’t even the word for it, and all so you can, what? Wear a fucking crop top to work?”

Daniel squelched a scream. “I dance because I love it. It makes me happy. It’s always made me happy.”

“Then dance in your living room, Dan. Don’t stake your future on it.”

“It’s Daniel, and too late. I’m buying it.” No. No, rewind and unsay that. He should not tell his father about buying the studio. If he was seeking any approval whatsoever, he was about to get the opposite.

“You’re buying…? What?”

His words got snagged on some jagged inner fear. Saying it aloud meant he’d very much have to own it. In more ways than one.

“What are you buying? You can’t afford to buy anything.”

He invited a long breath in and sat up taller with his exhale. “Madeline is selling the studio. The price is fair. It’s my literal dream come true, and so I’m buying it.”

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