The Delivery Girl

64. Support

Callen

"How have you been since the, err.. accident?" Dad asks.

"I'm fine now." The answer comes out automatically.

Dad had texted me the morning after, asking if I was ok. Julie scolded me when she saw all I had responded with was, Yeah.

Apparently that's not an appropriate response after getting shot.

"Julie too?"

I hesitate for a moment. She saw a therapist for a couple weeks and was cleared to return to work recently. On the surface, she seemed mostly normal again. Smiling and laughing, but I could tell something had shifted inside her after that night. Every conversation about the future seemed to make her quieter. More uncertain.

"Yeah, she's fine." My dad is the last person I want to open up to about this right now. "She wanted to join us for lunch, but had a meeting."

"No problem, I'm free whenever both of you would like to get together," he says. "I'd like to get to know my soon to be daughter in law."

"Right."

The conversation quickly hits a lull. We both avoid eye contact, silently looking around the room. I came to this country club a lot as a kid, and it hasn't changed much. The summer I turned sixteen, dad got me a job here as a valet. It'll teach you the value of hard work, he had said. Really, it taught me how to survive on caffeine and anxiety while trying not to scratch six figure cars.

A server comes over and takes our order, giving us a needed distraction from the awkwardness.

Dad eventually speaks first. "Some of my old connections have mentioned you're harder to get a hold of these days."

His expression is neutral, but I catch the slightest bit of disappointment in his tone. And just like that – deep down, the twenty four year old version of me begins to stir. The version of me who was afraid of disappointing anyone. Terrified of letting my family down. Willing to do anything and everything to ensure Sterling Studios stayed afloat.

But that's not me anymore.

"I've drawn some boundaries," I finally say. "I work from eight to six. If someone wants to personally meet with me, they schedule something within those hours."

It was hard at first. Feeling the judgement when I responded to calls and emails that requested to meet after hours or on weekends. Declining invitations to speak at conferences overseas. The safety and comfort of a routine I knew so well was suddenly stripped away.

Dad looks at me blankly. As if the thought that work doesn't have to come first is incomprehensible to him. "But...why? I don't understand, don't you care about our company? All our hard work?"

For the first time in my life, I don't feel angry. I actually feel sorry for him.

"Of course I do," I say. "But I want to have a life outside of work. I don't care about leaving the company behind as my legacy. I want to have relationships, travel, get back into photography. And that's just the start."

Dad continues to stare, confused. It's like explaining calculus to a toddler. It's almost surreal, seeing someone who genuinely can't comprehend wanting something outside of success.

"I was sick of being a robot. A heartless slave to the company," I say. "And whether you meant to or not, you hurt mom. That wasn't ok. I refuse to do that to Julie."

Dad's shoulders slump a bit. "I wish I could take it all back."

"You were a pretty shitty dad."

He winces. "I won't lie and say I know exactly how you're feeling, but I know you've resented me for a long time. I'm sorry, son. I shouldn't have put the company ahead of your and the family's well being."