“Hey Dad,” I said, weakly.
My dad dressed like an academic, with pressed khakis, a forest green sweater covering his button up and tie, and a tweed jacket. He kept his neatly trimmed, straw hair combed to the side.
“Genevieve, what are you doing here?” my dad commanded, his voice dripping with disapproval.
This was too much. I knew my dad would be ashamed of my actions at the matchmaker, but he has no right to pass judgment on my life I’d built here.
“I’m working, Dad,” I said, and brushed past him.
He gripped my arm. “Genevieve, I promised your mother that I’d bring you home.”
His eyes fixated on mine with determination, but something else lurked behind them. Was it desperation? Fear?
I shook off his hand. “Looks like you’re gonna have to disappoint Mom once again,” I said, and hastened out of the door into the winter air. Something that old Genevieve never would have done.
Old Genevieve and my dad were best friends. He was the doting father while I was the perfect child. I did everything he asked of me to gain his approval.
But Old Genevieve is dead. New Genevieve has a new life. One thatwasn’tcontrolled by her parents.
“Genevieve, wait,” he called from behind me, as his leather shoes smacked the pavement. “You don’t belong here. You belong back in New York with me and your mom.”
“So, I can stay home, cook, clean, and be the perfect domesticated housewife you always dreamed of?” I didn’t spare him a glance as he fell into pace beside me. “Do you even know what state your other daughter is in?”
“Lucy’s dug her own grave,” he said, and that was too much. I stopped and rounded on him.
“That’s all you have to say?” I asked. “She’s yourdaughter.”
He rolled his eyes while his mouth tightened, as though overcome with a bad taste. “Please. She was always getting into trouble. Always sneaking out, always coming home smelling of booze. She threw away every opportunity your mother and I provided to her. Just like you’re doing.”
“Every opportunity? You gave each of us one opportunity and expected us to take it with a smile on our face.” I couldn’t take any more. I turned away and continued to the supermarket.
“Genevieve, be reasonable. I can’t go home empty handed,” he said, but I dismissed him and huffed into the grocery store.
“How’d you even find me?” I asked him, as I turned onto the paper goods aisle.
“Genevieve, I’m your father. I––”
I didn’t have time for one of his bullshit stories about fatherly intuition.
“Dad?” I cut him off.
Cheese cloth. Cheese cloth. Cheese cloth.
He sighed. “Madame Levie called and let your mom know. Do you know how embarrassing it was for your mother to find out from herseamstresswhere to find you? I don’t think Margaret can ever go back.”
I picked up the cheese cloth and headed to the register. “Probably a lot cheaper for you.”
My dad’s mouth fell open. “That’s hardly any of your business.”
“Thank goodness,” I said, and placed the cheese cloth on the counter. “Just this for me today.”
Marlene smiled at me and the man next to me. “Fifteen cents.”
“Here, let me,” my dad said, and pulled out his wallet.
“No,” I said, more emphatically than I meant to. “This is covered by work.”
“Please, Genevieve, you can’t expect me to believe that––”