Page 5 of Play Pretend

And it wasn’t even jealousy that fueled this feeling. I knew it was my own shortcomings, my own issues that made me inadequate. Maybe if I was more successful, he’d pay attention to me. If I worked harder, didmore, he’d realize I was special, too.

As the years dragged on, I’d found myself not wanting to prove anything to him. I’d just wanted to live my life and be happy. But could I be fully happy without his approval? That was what I’d been struggling with a lot lately.

Did I need him, his attention, a relationship with him, to be happy? Or could I be content with the life I was building? A life totally my own, without him or anyone else?

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to push all those thoughts away, and went through a mental checklist of everything I needed.

Macrame purse?Check.

Coffee cup with the cute, worn-out flowers?Check.

Pale pink wallet?Check.

Keys on their little sunflower keyring?Check.

What else?

Something lingered on the outskirts of my memory, close enough for me to feel it, but far enough away for me to not remember.

“He has to know how much it hurts you,” my mother continued. I moved through the living room, stepping over scattered throw pillows piled on the floor. Her words drifted in one ear and out the other. Mostly because she was right, and I currently couldn’t handle it. I was already late for work; I didn’t need a therapy session, no matter how right she was.

“You think so?” I muttered. Swatting a dying vine out of the way, I scanned the little boxes on the wall calendar for today’s date. What was it again? “Or do you think he’s so caught up in his own life that he can’t look past the tip of his nose to see mine?”

There was a beat of silence, then she delicately cleared her throat. “Well, that’s how he’s always been.”

Yeah, it was how he’d always been, but that didn’t make it a good excuse. He’d seemed to change in every other aspect of his life, yet he couldn’t gain a little self-awareness? A little empathy or guilt over the way he’d treated his only biological daughter?

My lip slid between my teeth, and I shook myself. None of this mattered. There was no amount of talking about it that would change a damn thing. I needed to move on. I needed to get over it. So, what? I had some abandonment issues—and maybe some daddy issues, too. Who didn’t? I wasn’t special. I couldn’t throw a rock without hitting someone with the same issues I had.

So why was it so hard for me to move past it?

I glanced at the photo at the top of the calendar, taking in the lighthouse there. The sun was setting behind it, making it nothing but a dark silhouette against the expanse of the Atlantic ocean. Seagulls flew overhead, and waves crashed, the mistywater a haze around the base of the lighthouse. I could almost hear the waves lapping at the shore, or the creak of the lantern up top as it rotated.

As pretty as it was,mylighthouse was better.

A smile tugged at my lips as I flipped the page to the next month—otherwise known as the current month—and scanned the boxes. I really would forget my head if it weren’t attached to my body. How could someone forget the month?

“Is today Monday?” I asked, cutting off further conversation about my dad. Silence filled the air between us, then Mom let out a breathy laugh.

“It’s Thursday.”

Thursday! It’s honey day!

“Mom, I have to?—”

“Look, all I’m saying is you should tell him you’re tired of being left out. That’s all.”

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled, the words sinking like a stone in my belly. They rang hollow, even to my own ears.

I scanned the living room once more. What was I missing?

My fingers tapped along the edge of my phone. Then it hit me. My claw clip! It was my favorite one—pink with little daisies all over it. I wore it nearly every day at the bakery. How could I forget it?

“You haven’t been home in a year,” she said, sounding unimpressed. “Obviously he has some effect on you.”

Scattered belongings jumped out at me, tangling under my feet, as I stumbled to my bedroom. I searched the dresser where I always put it, but it wasn’t there. So I moved to my nightstand, but again, came up empty. Maybe the bathroom counter?

“Mom—”

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