Misbegotten

Twenty-Four

The next two weeks went faster than I ever could of imagined. It consisted of a lot of paperwork, a lot of boxes and a lot of tape. Packing up my life proved to be a testing but exciting experience. 

Now, everything was finally packed and ready to go, and there was nothing left to do but wait for morning to come so I could finally move on, literally and figuratively.

But for some reason, sleep evaded me. By one in the morning I had given up and decided to head downstairs. I grabbed a glass of water in the kitchen and leant against the bench. I couldn't decide if I was more nervous or excited. There was still a small part of my brain that was nagging me about talking to my dad. He and Florence had made up and recovered from their fight. She had forgiven him. I would never understand how she could forgive him over and over and over again. Love must be some crazy shit.

I hadn't spoken too much to my dad, he had helped me pack a bit and went through some paperwork with me and even had offered me money, which I politely refused. Thinking about him made my heart sink. I still didn't know if I would ever have the guts to talk to him about what happened in Tahiti, about what he said about me.

Pushing the thoughts from my mind I walked out from the kitchen and decided to take in the house for one last time. It was large and overbearing and intimidating. It screamed wealth and I could see Florence's flare in all of it. In each artwork or throw pillow, and everything else. But somehow in its ridiculousness, it all felt familiar. Not homely, but like something that was calming, something that you could depend on. I didn't realise how often you can be somewhere but not really notice things, or what those things mean to you. I suppose that went for the people in the house too. I went to head back upstairs, but took a detour past my dad's office, but I did a double take when I saw some light peeking out underneath the door.

I didn't even hesitate, which shocked me to no end, but I knocked softly and pushed it open. My dad was sitting at his desk, his lamp on and bunch of papers in front of him. He had on a pair of pyjamas and his glasses sat at the end of his nose. He looked up, surprise crossing his features when I barged in.

"Sofia," he raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," I shrugged, sitting down on the chair on the other side of the desk. "You?"

"Sleep hasn't been a friend of mine lately," he replied. "Are you excited for tomorrow?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think I made the right decision."

"Yes, you probably did, some space from all of this will be very good from you. But you know there is always room for you here, if you do change your mind."

I nodded again. I didn't really come in here with a plan, obviously, so I just sat quiet trying to take it all in. It was pretty much the first time we'd been in a room alone together, and I wasn't sure what sort of conversation I had just walked into.

"Sofia, about that night in Tahiti."

Oh, that conversation.

I really should've seen that one coming. 

My eyes snapped up to his and I stared at him trying to read what he was thinking. His green eyes, the same as mine, were remorseful and I knew I had to give him a chance to explain, despite how much I wanted to just walk out and never deal with this, I stayed put.

I pushed my hair from my face and gave him a nod to continue.

"I don't know how to make it up to you. What I said was unforgivable, the minute I said it I wished I never had, you have to know that." He rubbed a hand down his face. He was just as nervous as I was which for some reason settled me a little, at least I wasn't the only one that was uncomfortable.