This World That Divides Us

CHAPTER 5

I'm laying on my bed, my legs crisscrossed behind my back as I jot down a to-do list for tomorrow, when I hear my dad come through the front door. I haven't seen him since lunch. He was still at Sinclair Prep when I went to EJ's, so I scurry down the stairs and meet him in the kitchen, where he's unpacking a few grocery bags.

"You're home late," I tell him.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says. "I know, Dean Hemmings had me go over the menu for this week, so I left work later than expected." My dad walks over to me and gives me a hug. "How was your first day?"

"Good," I tell him, then make my way over to the countertop to help him unpack. The grocery bag that I opt for has several cans of tomato sauce and some produce in it. I wave one of the jars in the air and ask, "Pasta tonight?"

"Yup. That okay? I was going to make a sea bass, but I'm exhausted."

"I'm always okay with pasta. I'll get the water boiling."

"Thanks, honey," he says, and I head for the bottom cupboard to pull out a stainless-steel saucepan. "So...how were the people? Make any friends?"

"A few. We actually hung out after school."

"How wonderful. I'm so happy to hear that."

"There's this party Saturday night, but I don't think I'm going to go," I say as I bring the saucepan over to the sink.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It doesn't really matter, anyway. I have my college essay to write."

"Anastasia, we talked about this. I thought you were going to enjoy yourself this semester."

"Dad, the semester just started. I have the next 10 months to enjoy myself." I walk over to him and pat him on the shoulder. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Need any more help before I head upstairs?"

"I got it from here. Thanks, honey," he smirks at me, though I can tell he's somewhat concerned by my decision not to be social.

Once I get out of the shower, I roll my light-brown hair up into a towel, slip my robe on, and then apply my nighttime skincare routine. My friend Arlee from back home would always tell me that she's never met anyone more regimented than me.

After I slip on my PJs, I head back downstairs to find my dad plating the penne alla vodka.

"Smells good," I sing-song as dad hands me a plate. He topped the dish off with some grated parmesan.

My dad takes the seat beside me, but I know that there's something on his mind when he doesn't dig in right away.

"Yes?" I ask before bringing a forkful of penne to my mouth. If I don't ask him what's on his mind, he won't tell me.

"So, I spoke to a friend...," he begins as I dubiously chew my food, "...he knows a really good family therapist that he thinks I should put you in touch with."

"Dad...," I interject as I straighten my posture.

"Just hear me out, Anastasia. There is nothing wrong with going to therapy. I think you could benefit from talking to someone about your mother."

"Don't call her that," I assert. "That woman was the farthest thing from a mother."

"Anastasia, your mo-," he pauses, closing his eyes for a second before opening them, "...Lisa left when you were 3. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for you all these years growing up without a mother."

"It's been fine. You've been the best dad a girl can ask for."

"Thank you, sweetie. But that doesn't negate the fact that a child needs her mother."