desertion

89

LYDIA

It had been weeks since the argument, and while Dad and I had apologized, neither of us had dared to dig into the root of the issue. The tension was unbearable, a constant weight pressing on my chest whenever I was home. I hated it. I hated how strained everything felt, how quiet the house had become.

So, I stayed away. I'd been spending more nights at Miles' or Delilah's houses than I had in my own bed. It wasn't that I didn't love Dad or want to be home, but avoiding the suffocating silence was easier than facing the inevitable arguments.

Dad had brought it up a few times-questioning why I wasn't home more-but I brushed it off every time. Addressing it felt like pulling the pin on a grenade.

Right now, though, I was at the arcade with my friends. For the first time in days, I wasn't thinking about the tension at home. Isabelle and I had just finished a game of Dance Dance Revolution, both of us laughing breathlessly as we collapsed onto the nearby bench to watch Nate and Tyler compete at a basketball arcade game.

Tyler was winning by a mile, and Nate was already grumbling about the machine being rigged. Miles stood beside them, laughing at Nate's excuses while Julian shook his head.

"Come on, Nate," Julian teased. "You're embarrassing yourself."

When Tyler scored the winning basket, he threw his hands up in victory, grinning smugly. "Cheater!" Nate accused, though he was smiling now too.

Miles walked over to me, nudging my arm playfully. "What about you, Lydia? Think you can beat me at something?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Depends. What's the challenge?"

He pointed to a ticket claw machine. "How about this? Loser buys lunch for the winner."

I laughed, already walking toward the machine. "You're going down, Miles!"

Miles laughed, following close behind.

********

Of course, Miles ended up winning. I glared at him as we left the arcade, though I couldn't keep the small smile off my face. "Fine," I said with mock exasperation. "Lunch is on me."

We ended up at a local diner, and when the waitress came to take our ordered, Miles smirked. "I'll have the biggest, most expensive thing you've got."

My jaw dropped, and I stared at him in horror until he laughed and said, "Just kidding. I'll have a burger and fries."

"Not funny," I muttered, ordering my own food.

Across the table, Delilah and Tyler were laughing at the face I'd made. "Relax, Lydia," Delilah teased. "It's not like you're paying in gold bars."

I rolled my eyes, explaining, "Money doesn't grow on trees."

Everyone laughed, and soon the table dissolved into smaller conversations. For a little while, I forgot about everything else and just enjoyed being with my friends.

********

When I got home later, Dad and Christopher were in the living room watching a movie. The soft sounds of dialogue from the TV filled the space, and Chris was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

As I walked in, Dad turned to me, his expression unreadable. He motioned toward the kitchen. "Can we talk?"

I nodded reluctantly, setting my bag down and heading into the kitchen. The moment we were alone, I felt the tension in the air shift.

"Where have you been?" Dad asked, his voice low but firm.

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I told you last night that I was spending the night at Delilah's and going to the arcade today."

"Lose the attitude," he said sharply, his tone biting.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm just saying. I told you where I was."

"That's not the point, Lydia," he said, his frustration mounting. "You've barely been home lately. What's going on?"

I sighed heavily. "I just... I needed to get out of the house."

He shook his head, his voice rising. "And why's that, huh? You're avoiding me? Avoiding your responsibilities?"

"I'm not avoiding my responsibilities!" I shot back, my voice matching his in volume now. "I'm avoiding this! This constant tension. It's exhausting!"

"So instead of talking about it, you run away?" He said, his tone sharp. "You think that's helping?"

"What do you want me to say, Dad?!" I yelled. "That I hate being here right now? That I feel like I can't even breathe when I'm in this house? Because I do!"

His face hardened, his jaw tightening. "You don't think this is hard for me too? You think I like feeling like my daughter doesn't want to be around me?"

I flinched at his words, but my anger wouldn't let me back down. "Maybe if you didn't act like everything was my fault, I wouldn't feel that way!"

His eyes widened, the hurt flashing across his face before he masked it. "You know that's not true."

"Isn't it?" I asked bitterly. "Because it feels like it. Every time something goes wrong, I'm the one who gets blamed. It's been like that ever since I was young! Mom has blamed me, Grandma, Grandpa, You! I'm the problem, right?"

"That's not fair, Lydia," he said, his voice quieter now but still tense. "I'm trying my best here."

"Well, maybe your best isn't good enough!" I snapped, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.

He stared at me, the silence deafening. Finally, he shook his head, his expression a mix of disappointment and anger. "I don't know what you want from me, Lydia."

"I don't know either," I whispered, my voice breaking.

Without another word, I turned and stormed off to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Collapsing onto my bed, I buried my face into the pillow, trying to block out the overwhelming guilt and frustration swirling in my chest.

One thought echoed in my mind, over and over again:

I'm the problem.