The Art of Yearning

All I Wanted

"Bye, dad." You chuckled, feeling your dad's hand squeeze yours in rhythm with I love you's.

You remembered the summer before your first day of law school. Letting yourself enjoy the little moments before you'd be entirely focused on your studies. The weeks away from home as you stayed at a beach house with your classmates, your father was so interested in your travel   stories after you came back. Then on your first day of law school, he stopped talking to you in the way he used to.

The clock ticking in the room you were in felt miles away from you. The vibrations on your chest each second that passed. Each slam of a car door made your heart skip. Waiting for the door to unlock, your father walking through the door frame before each truth unraveled itself with each letter he spoke.

At this moment, every memory of your father raised to the surface that you repressed. Finding situations you both were in that made your heart physically warm with love and burn with lies. If almost the man that raised you was a complete stranger to you.

With the sound of a car pulling into the driveway of your parents' house, you stood up. Your damp hands wiping on the side of your jeans, not being able to count the beats of your heart from how quick it was. This was a bad idea, you thought to yourself. Being completely alone in your parents' house. The walls calling you to be more vulnerable than you ever been with your father.

The door opened, your breath catching in your throat as the sight of your father walked through the door, closing it quietly behind him. He looked older, his peppered hair laying neatly combed on his head, his short beard sitting nicely on his face. He looked fine. And that made you upset.

"How have you been?" He questions, walking past you into the kitchen, the smell of food traveling to your nostrils.

You shake your head, your throat burning. You couldn't tell if you wanted to cry or yell. "Apparently worse than you." You spoke through a quiet breath, your footsteps automatically following his.

"I bought us food. I'm not sure what you wanted, so I just got us a couple of choices. Do you want wine?"

You part your mouth, your eyes widening with the way he is acting. This had to be a joke, you thought.

"You're kidding? Dad, what are you doing?"

He presses his lips together, not once looking at you. "I'll get us white wine. I know you like it."

With that, he walks away, leaving you alone, the sounds of the clock even farther than it was before. If he was this difficult already, you might as well grab your bag and keys, going back to the people you wanted to spend time with. Hoping their day was going better than yours.

His footsteps are near you again, remembering the times where your parents would argue, the silent treatment being with them until one of them spoke. But this was different. If you both were silent, nothing was going to happen.

"Fine. You want us to eat together, then we will. I need to know if I'm going to be wasting my time?" You question towards him, finally seeing his eyes look into yours.

"No." He says quickly before clearing his throat. "We can eat and talk. Please?"

You slowly grab the bags of food, placing them on the table before you sit down away from where you knew he was going to sit. Looking at the time on the wall, you bit the inside of your cheek.

"This can't take long. I have somewhere to be."

"With Charlie?"

"Yes, with Charlie and his son."