Page 71 of Bending Under Pressure

“Can I see it?”

I frown. “My racquet?” I mean, I know it’s new, but he saw me use it when he showed up unannounced at my game.

Dad laughs. “No, your room.”

“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder, seeing Mom on her recliner. She nods that it’s okay. “Sure. Come on.”

He steps into the house. Before following me, he pauses to say, “Hey, Rita. Walter.”

They respond with a hello, and I grab his hand to tug him forward. It’s awkward enough having him in the house; I don’t want him chit-chatting with them. Should it be awkward to have him here? Will it get easier?

“You’ve grown a bookcase,” Dad comments as I grab my things from the bed.

“Yep. Walter said he might turn that wall into a bookcase since I have them lining the wall anyway. I would probably have more room that way, too.”

Dad laughs. Not because I’m funny, but because he obviously can’t picture Walter doing something like that. “Walter can do that himself?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me how he was going to do it.” I want to say yes. I definitely don’t want to say the truth; that no, Walter said he would be hiring someone. He doesn’t know anything about doing something like that. My middle ground white lie answer sounds better. It’s odd that I find myself defending Walter to my dad. “Let’s go.”

He needs to get out of here before I start second-guessing all my positive thoughts about him. He doesn’t get to think badly of Walter or make assumptions about him. Yes, I realize I did the same thing, but I didn’t cheat on my mom and break her heart either. Well, I may have hurt her some with my reactions and behaviors. Either way, I’m not the bad guy when Dad is involved. He wins that title.

Remembering what he did has me on edge as we drive to Elsie’s. Dad didn’t want to drive out of town, just to come back for the courts and to take me home.

“I can’t believe your mother would move to the backwoods country,” he complains as we walk into Elsie’s.

I want to snap back that I can’t believe my father would cheat on my mother, but I don’t. Mrs. Elsie appears with a smile and leads us to a booth.

“How are you doing, Haley?” she asks.

“Good. How about you? Been feeling pretty well?”

Mrs. Elsie rolls her eyes. “Don’t turn into my husband, who has been on my rear making sure I feel fine.” She faces my dad to end the conversation. “What would you like to drink?”

“Tea, please.”

She walks away, still looking light on her feet, so I figure she must be back to normal and feeling well. I don’t glance over the menu because I know what I want.

“Don’t need to look?” I ask Dad. He clasps his hands together on top of the menu and brings his eyes to mine after looking around the room.

“No.” He clears his throat. “I want to talk to you about something.”

My stomach sinks. My gut is screaming, yelling, and throwing a tantrum that this will be bad. I swallow hard as he reaches into his back pocket. He pulls a folded card-stock type paper from his wallet. He hands it to me and I reluctantly take it, opening it. Somehow, I manage to withhold my gasp. All I can focus on is the wedding bells at the top of the page.

He’s marrying her?

He’s inviting me to their wedding?

“I’d love to have you there, Haley. I know I haven’t been the best father since your mother and I split, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to face you, to tell you.” My hands are shaking, so I drop the invitation on the table, keeping my head down while lowering my hands into my lap. “Tonya makes me happier than I’ve ever been.” Happier than when we were a family? “I want you to come to our wedding. I think you would really like Tonya and Carly, too. Will you come?”

When I lift my head, there’s so much hope shining in his eyes. This doesn’t make sense to me. He went from not being around me to inviting me their wedding? In one month? Am I the last to be invited because weren’t these things supposed to go out like months ago?

“Will you?” he repeats.

“Yes, of course. I’d love to,” I lie. Maybe it’s not a lie. I don’t know. The most abundant emotion is shock. I’ll have to sort through the rest later.

A grin pops onto his face, which makes me feel slightly better about my decision. To go. To his wedding. With the woman he cheated on my mother with. Will there be a moment where I can feel sick? How am I supposed to tell my mom what I just agreed to?

“Well, I need to clear it with Mom first,” I hastily add. Based on the date and time, she probably won’t want me to drive home that late.

---