Page 109 of We Were Something
Maybe it’s travel exhaustion, or maybe it’s the sudden sugar rush. Or perhaps it’s some emotional combination of acknowledging that my dad barely pays attention to me and my boyfriend broke up with me today.
Whatever it is, I set the spoon on the table and drop my face into my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes to try to keep the tears at bay. I don’t want to stew and cry over this. Any of it. Not my dad, and not Logan.
I feel a warm hand rubbing my back, and then my dad asks, “Brain freeze?”
Chuckling at how clueless he is, how completely checked out and uninvolved, I pull back and nod at him.
But then he gets up and crosses the kitchen, filling a glass with tap water before placing it on the table in front of me.
“Luke warm water helps,” he says.
I nod. “Thanks dad.”
I take a few sips, pretending it takes the edge off my fake brain freeze, and then I pick up my spoon and carton, resolved to sit here and finish off the rest and enjoy the rare time I get sitting next to my dad.
I’ve always known who he is. Have always known the limits of his ability to love me. Instead of crying over what hecan’tgive me, I should just appreciate what hecan.
Same with Logan. So things didn’t work out with us. Before him, that never mattered—why should I let it matter now? I should just enjoy the fun we had and move on. I mean, that was always how I handled thingsbeforehim. It shouldn’t be any different this time.
“Even if my friendswereout having fun tonight,” I tell my dad, referencing his earlier question, “I’d rather sulk at home and sit in the kitchen with my has-been dad.”
He snorts and shoves another bite of ice cream into his mouth then levels me with a stare. “I’d rather be a has-been than a never-was,” he says, a phrase I’ve heard him say a few times over the past few years as his influence and relevance in the entertainment world have begun to dwindle with his rising age.
I take another massive bite of sorbet, wishing I could have deep conversations with my dad about men but knowing the two of us would never be able to go there.
I’m fully aware I have daddy issues. I saw a therapist for a little while when I was in high school, and Dr. Lipinsky’s biggest concern was that I constantly sought validation from older men because I never got it from my own father.
Do I believe her? Absolutely.
Does that change anything? Not in the slightest.
Knowing something is true doesn’t change how it impacts your life. It just means I have to pay attention to it. Make sure I don’t make even more supremely unhealthy decisions that could jeopardize my own mental health and clarity.
Which is why I try to allow my relationship with my dad to be whatever it is, without expectations. Without demands. Without wishing it were more.
I try to have it be that way with the men I date as well. It’s so much less likely to be a letdown if you don’t have any expectations. I allowed myself to forget that somewhere along the way with Logan, and now I’m reaping the emotionally painful consequences.
“You okay?”
I look over at my dad, realizing he’s watching me with concern as I stare at my half-empty carton, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Wiping them away, I nod. “I’m fine,” I tell him, smiling and putting another bite of sorbet in my mouth.
He continues to stare at me for a long moment, clearly not accepting my answer.
“Are you sure?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Am I okay?
My boyfriend and I just broke up.
Ivy’s in the hospital and my friends are prepping for bone marrow donation surgery.
I’m living with a constant fear that I’m going to get cancer again, something I never told my parents about.
And I feel like I’m just…existing here, in my parents’ house, an unwanted guest overstaying her welcome.
