Page 16 of Branded
It was also…unwanted.
Right?
I was happy in my bubble, settling in, expanding a little bit with events like the team get-together. My parents were on the other side of the country and though the move had seemed overwhelming at first, I could say now that it was the right thing to have done.
A full-time gig with my closest real-life-online friend.
People who were cool and smart and talented and who pushed me a little but backed off when I needed them to.
Opportunities to be involved.
Plenty of space to soothe the part of me that needed it.
So yeah, I still had moments where the anxiety gripped me tight and made it hard to do the simplest things, like just remain on the fringes of a party, watching the others interact, to engage in small talk or friendly competitions.
But…away from my dad, I was better.
My cell rang.
Right.
I’d thought of him and conjured up the monster with just that internal musing.
Ring.
“Shit,” I whispered, eyeing my bath, the steam rising off the water in curling tendrils, debating and knowing that it was better to bite the bullet and just answer the call.
Get it over with.
Be done for this segment of time so I wouldn’t have to talk to him again.
Sighing, I dried my hands on the towel, picked up my cell, and swiped.
Lifted it to my ear.
“What took you so long?” blasted through the speaker before I even had a chance to open my mouth and say hello.
“Hi, Da?—”
“I was sitting there listening to the phone ring,” he snapped. “I’m very busy and I’m taking time out of my day to call my daughter—who, by the way, never calls me—and I’m just standing here with my dinner getting cold, twiddling my goddamned thumbs, and listening to the phone ringing, and—Jesus Christ, Kailey, just say something.”
Just say something.
A familiar sentiment.
But, God, so fucking hard when he was always like that.
Impatient. Snapping. Expecting.
My kryptonite.
“I’m here, Dad,” I managed to croak out.
“I know that,” he said. “I called. You picked up. Now my dinner is getting cold. Tell me about work and what you’ve been doing with your time.”
Okay, I’d forgotten about commanding.
A command to speak was just as bad as the impatience and snapping and expectant tone. The four coming together to form a quad-fecta (was that a word? I didn’t think so, but it fit well enough, anyway) of anxiety-inducing gloriousness.
