Glide

Chapter twenty-nine

"How are you doing?"

Sophie is sitting at my kitchen table, head in her hands as she watches me cook for us.

She's been here most days for the past week. On the days she isn't, David comes by. I'm beginning to think I'm the one being tag-teamed now.

And every time Sophie is here, she asks me this question.

"I'm fine," I say, straining the pasta. I find cooking cathartic, so I don't mind having a hungry Sophie around.

"Right," she drags out the word, disbelief dripping from her tone. "That's why you've looked at your phone three times in the last half an hour."

With my back to her, I stick my tongue out in annoyance. She's so annoyingly perceptive at times. "I was checking the recipe."

"You are making spaghetti bolognese. That doesn't really warrant following a recipe," Sophie drawls. When I look over my shoulder, she's examining her newly manicured nails, unperturbed by my avoidance techniques. "We can keep playing this game, but eventually, you'll remember that you can't lie for shit, so just answer the question, babe."

I stir the pot, leaning back against the counter. Sometimes, I just want friends who are too polite to call me out. Is that too much to ask?

"He still hasn't called. Neither has my mom," I admit.

I don't know why I expected my dad to have called by now. He's always been stubborn and headstrong - that's where Alice gets it from - but we've never argued like this before; I supposed I thought he'd bend for me.

Usually, he bends.

Mom is more to be expected. She doesn't get involved in stuff like this. She raised Alice and me, but she deferred to Dad's decisions. Despite the utter radio silence from both my parents, I've spoken to my sister a few times. I don't want her to feel abandoned just because I need to make a point to our father.

That point being that I won't bend if he doesn't.

Even if it's killing me.

"What does God have to say about it?"

I carry the pot over to the table, smiling a bit. I went to service this morning. I love the church I've been going to since Darren and I broke up, and the pastor is a younger woman, which has been a breath of fresh air. As always, just sitting in the pews helped calm me, and as I reached out to God, I saw the situation more clearly.

"I'm pretty sure He wants me to forgive my dad."

"Turn the other cheek," Sophie musses, sipping her wine. Despite her qualms with God, she's never judged me for holding on. "Do you want to forgive him?"

"Of course I do, but I think forgiveness has to be earned. I can't just pretend like nothing happened. I finally spoke my mind, and he has to meet me in the middle. God teaches us to be merciful but also expects us to speak up for others."