Page 72 of Puck to the Heart
He looked quite distinguished and… rejuvenated.
It was my fault he was so despondent these past months. In trying so hard to keep him safe and whole, I convinced him to stay in this place that sapped all of his energy and turned him into a shell of his former self.
It was so nice to see him excited. Happy, even.
“Hi, Dad! Oof, no don’t hug me yet, I’m soaked!” My uber hit a rainstorm, and I was more drowned rat than human.
He ignored me.
“I am going to hug you, Olivia Elaine. Fancy shirt be damned.”
I laughed for the first time since losing my job, squeezing him in a hug. Comforting warmth and the familiar scent of tobacco and oud wood in his cologne washed over me. And for a moment, I allowed myself to revel in the familiarity of the embrace, forgetting everything else.
“Come on, it’s freezing.”
Together we walked to his room. Thankfully, despite the state of my cheap suitcase, my clothes were dry inside. Dad boiled water for tea in the microwave while I changed. He didn’t have a kettle, so I had to ignore the egregious error in tea preparation.
The scent of bergamot and orange peel permeated the room as our tea steeped. Comforting familiarity settled against my limbs. For so much of my life, it was the two of us against the world. And I missedthis.
“It’s so good to see you feeling better, Dad.” My voice was small, almost child-like. Folding my body into the corner of the uncomfortable loveseat, I pressed my hands into the warmth of the mug.
“I’m happy to be getting out of this place.” Using the little paper tab, Dad plunked his tea bag in and out of the steaming water, looking pointedly at me.
I winced, shifting the mug to avoid burning my fingers. “I thought it would be the best place for you, since I’m not here to stay with you.”
“It was. Until it wasn’t. But it’s okay now.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”
Dad sighed. “I’m still in control of all my faculties, Livy. And I’m stillyourparent.”
“Dad.” I drew the word out like a bratty teenager. “I know. I felt…I don’t know…responsible.”
“Responsible? For me?” Dad’s already creased face deepened. He leaned forward, cradling the mug in his hands.
I mirrored his position, blowing out a breath through steaming tea. “Do you remember that field trip to the ice rink when I was ten?”
A mixture of recognition and confusion crept over my father’s face. He angled his head, motioning with the mug to continue.
“All I wanted was to look like the figure skaters on tv. I was obsessed, do you remember?”
He nodded.
“I was so excited. We made this whole costume from some old prom dress mom left in the attic.”
“I’m still surprised it didn’t disintegrate at first glance. My sewing skills are subpar.”
“Mine too.” Even now, nearly twenty years later, dredging up the memory ached like a bruise in my chest. The little girl I’d been longed to curl up and cry, to hide from the embarrassment. “All the other kids were in regular clothes, but I had on my silly sparkly outfit. Sarah Jessup decided that since it was almost her birthday, I should give it to her. I said no, and she said if she couldn’t have it, then I couldn’t either. And she ripped it.”
“I never liked Sarah Jessup. Her parents were terrible. But you told me you fell.”
“I did… she pushed me down when she tore my skirt, and all the other kids circled around me on the ice and laughed.”
“And that’s when you called?”
Avoiding his gaze, I nodded.
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with you feeling responsible for all this going on with me?”
