Love, Dad | ✔️

16 | HAVE THAT CONVERSATION

"It's Lewis. L-e-w-i-s." I spell my name out for the post office clerk, tapping my foot nervously.

"Ah, yes, Lewis. Here we are..." A middle-aged man stares at me with a steady gaze, and a no-nonsense demeanor.

He totally looks like someone who's seen it all. But kinda also like someone who's helped countless people send money home, support their loved ones or... simply manage their finances.

As he checks for information, I observe his workspace cluttered with forms, calculators and a stack of foreign currency exchange rates.

Dave squeezes my hand. "You OK?"

He's obviously noticing my distress, and sooner or later, I will have to fess up what's on my mind.

"As soon as we get this money we so desperately need, I will be."

"That'll be eight hundred dollars," the clerk announces.

"I'm sorry, did you say...?" I can't quite believe my ears. Did Mom really send me all that money?

"Yep. Eight hundred dollars," the man confirms and begins counting the bills with forceful precision. There is certain efficiency about him — a calm, practiced routine in his movements.

"We're golden," says Dave. "That's more than enough for four days of a return trip to New York. We might even be able to give some of the cash back to your mom."

I like that thought. God knows she isn't earning nearly enough at Pete's Pizza as it is, and she just saved our asses.

When we get back into the blue Pontiac, it's like arriving to a safe space that's only ours. The morning sun paints Dave's face in hues of gold and amber as he stirs leisurely by my side.

He seems so relaxed, a total contrast to the turmoil churning within me.

"Time to go home, beautiful." He smiles, and those words are everything to me. "Now that we are officially road trip veterans... Someone give us a medal, am I right? I feel like nothing will go wrong on our way back."

But that's just it. I can't go home. Not yet.

I came here to find Dad and even if nothing went as planned, today, I must face him.

A conversation with Dad that I've been wanting for weeks, is now going to become a confrontation with the past. But there is this growing sense of resolve within me, a determination to face it all head-on.

"Well," I reply, a forced cheerfulness masking the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. "I actually need to do something before we leave."

His brow furrows. "Everything alright?"

I nod, trying to sound reassuring. "Yeah, just want to clear my head."

Dave sits up, pulling me into a gentle hug. "Whatever you need to do, I'm here for you."

"I need to talk to him, Dave." The words have been building up inside me for hours, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest.

Dave's hand finds mine, squeezing it gently. "And by him, you mean... To your dad?"

"I've come so far, gone through so much. I don't want it to be all for nothing. He should know that I know. What I think about it. How I feel. Everything."

His grip tightens. "I understand. It's a good call. When you feel something needs to be said, it needs to be said. Don't let it fester inside you."

"But what about Mom?" I ask, a flicker of doubt creeping into my voice. "She's been through so much, too."