Page 5 of The Blue Rose
I’m so lost in my painting I don’t hear the doorbell ring. It’s not until I hear the banging, that I’m finally pulled from my trance.
Who the hell is at my door?I know I’m not expecting anyone today. I didn’t forget I was expecting a visitor… Did I? It dawns on me as I near the front door. “Fuck…” I look out the window, and, sure as shit, my dad is standing right there with a scowl on his face.
He is dressed to the nines in a black suit and shoes. His hair gelled back. Thomas Raven would never allow a hair to be out of place or anything, but freshly clean shaven. My stomach drops as I watch him look down impatiently at his watch.
I donotwant to have to deal with him today. I completely forgot we made dinner plans with everything else I have going on.
I answer the door, and he looks me up and down with annoyance. “I see you forgot we had plans.”
I stand up straighter, looking him in the eyes, the paint pallet still in my hands. “Nice to see you, too, Dad. How long has it been? Oh, that's right, five years. But, no, I didn't forget, I was busy working and lost track of time.” I spit through clenched teeth, knowing damn well I did forget.
“Working,” he scoffs. “Last I checked, painting is a hobby, not a real job.”
I try to hold in my anger, but I am seething. “Well, Thomas.”
My father’s eyes shoot up at me using his first name.
“Not everyone has a practical, real job, as you put it. My paintings pay for this house,” I wave my hands around at the house. “Pay for the clothes on my back, the food in my stomach.” I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself. “And I love my job; it makes me happy, and if you ever cared to support my dreams, or care to even take a look at one of my paintings, you would see I’m damn good at what I do and that I deserve every cent to my name.”
My father just grunts and pushes past me, completely ignoring what I just said. “Go clean that paint off your face, and if you’re done with your little tantrum, we can go have a nice dinner.”
I turn my back on him and start to walk away.
“I said nice, Serena, so definitely nothing like what you’re wearing now.” he says with disgust.
I turn around, flipping him the bird, and the anger in his face gives me the satisfaction I was looking for. Walking to my room, I close the door and get ready.
It's been five years since I last saw my father. We have only communicated through email and even that’s been sparse at best. He messages me once a week, mainly criticizing my life choices, and sending me job listings that would be more appropriate for a woman with my background. I barely reply, I know I’ll never be able to change his mind.
A couple weeks ago, my father told me he would be visiting Salem the first week of September, and would like to see me and have dinner. I replied it only took him five years, but sure I could make that work.
His only response was, he would pick me up at six o’clock.
I appear twenty minutes later with a “nice” baby blue dress on, my hair styled in a tight bun, and fresh face of makeup.
My father looks me up and down and gives me an approving smile. “See, now was that so hard? You look nice; now,” he reaches his hand to mine. “Let’s go.”
I brush past him, ignoring his hand, and walk to his car. It is a black Lamborghini Gallardo; a visual representation of his soul to the world. I get in, looking at the interior and sitting in the leather seat. The steering wheel looks like it belongs in a race car, and the radio screen is as big as my laptop.This is one way to show off you have money and flaunt it in everyone's face. My dad is notorious for showcasing his wealth, only satisfied when he can feel others' jealousy.
Sitting with my arms crossed and slouched in the passenger seat, I wait impatiently. Getting in, he takes a loud, deep breath. Raking his fingers through his black hair in the same way I do, he looks over at me. Clenching my jaw, my fingers go white against my arms. I hate that I take after him in any way, especially his mannerisms. I don’t want to be my fathers daughter.
“Look, Serena, I didn’t come here to argue with you or look down on your life choices; I simply want to have a nice meal with my daughter and catch up.”
Scoffing, I look out the window. “Sure, Dad, if that wasn’t what you wanted to do,” I look back into his steely blue eyes, “Then why do you have to berate my life choices every fucking chance you get?”
His eyes harden, “Watch your mouth; I raised you better than that”
I scoff, “You raised me? That’s rich, coming from you! Mom raised me. You spent your life at the office bending your secretary over your desk every chance you got.”
“How dare you; I loved your mother!”
Disgusted with his lies, I laugh. “Is that why you fucked every whore who opened their legs, while she laid in bed dying?” I’m so angry tears trickle down my face. “Is that why it took you fivefuckingyears after she died to reach out to me and have this fucking dinner?”
He lowers his head, looking at me with sad eyes. “Serena, I…” He’s at a loss for words. “I’m sorry, okay? I did love your mother, but she was already gone.”
I’m appalled at the words that left his mouth, cutting him off and yelling, “She was already dead? No dad, she was still alive, fighting for life. Fighting for you.” I reach for the door handle and look back. “She did until her last dying breath, but you were too busy between another whore’s legs, to even care.” I get out of the car and slam the door shut.
He speeds out of my driveway, and I’m left standing there, crying over the man, who once again failed me.
