Beloved Nothingness

C06 // white gown

"Annabel," my dad began, neatly cutting a cube of chicken and raising it to his mouth. "I had an interesting patient today."

My eyes flitted up to meet his. My legs were jittering under the table; I'd forgotten how quiet and still it was in my father's home. It was as if everyone treated time as peanut butter, thick, sticky, and slow to wade through. How had I survived here? "Really?" I asked, the sound of the clock ticking boring into my skull. "Who was it?"

"A young man," he began, taking another neat bite before continuing. "He didn't know that I was your father right away, but he passed by my office and saw that picture of us at your high school graduation."

I froze for a moment, my fork clanking against that pristine white plate. "Did he have a Russian accent?" I knew all too well that Garald wasn't afraid of going straight to my father about what he wanted.

"Yes, in fact, he did," he retorted in a way that let me know just what Garald discussed with him. "So he is not just a secret admirer, is he?"

"Did you invite me over for dinner just to confront me about this?" I whispered, as if a low volume would guarantee respectfulness.

He shook his head. "Of course not, Anna, I wanted to spend time with you. But I thought that this would be a good time to discuss this man with you. He seems....rather fixated on you."

Did Garald even need a doctor? Since I ignored him as much as possible at school, and if he wanted me badly enough, I didn't doubt that he would go straight to the man with the only influence in my life. "What did he say? Please just get it out of the way, I'm already mortified."

"What, you don't like this young man?" He questioned, standing to refill my water glass that I'd gulped down. "His English was perfect, he seemed intelligent, he was polite, thorough, direct, and Annabel, I did raise a teenage daughter, I know you would think that he's handsome. What's the matter with him?"

I pressed my fingers into my temples, and tried to take deep breaths to slow my erratic heart rate. "Daddy, we got in a stupid argument and I thought I ended it."

"Oh, he told me all about that argument." He smirked, as if he was enjoying my torture. "And he asked me for my advice, Bella, can you imagine that? A young man asking me for my advice about you? Maybe they do things better over in Russia."

My cheeks flushed as red as the geraniums in the vase on his table. "I know, dad, I know that he's like that. Will you please tell me what he said and what you think about it?"

"Well, he directly asked me if he could take you out," he began, his smile only growing. "And I told him that he could, as long as you wanted him."

I just nodded a little bit, hardly able to swallow with the ball of panic in my throat. "Of course."

"Just be careful, Bella," he replied, sobering up as his voice grew a little nostalgic. "Please keep me informed so I can help you. I know how hard it is for young girls in the world." He squeezed my hand once more, and I'm sure he talked throughout the rest of dinner, and I'm sure that I responded to my father, but I couldn't tell you one word of it.

-

Two weeks later, after easing myself back into Garald, I stepped into my father's house to find the two of them sunk into his leather armchairs drinking mugs of coffee like old friends. "Bella," my father greeted me, and I froze in taking off my coat when I saw that Garald's cup was the one that had my first-grade handprint art on it. "Garald stopped by again and I invited him over, I hope you don't mind. We started discussing Tolstoy and Turgenev and we just lost track of time."

"Your father certainly has an impressive taste in literature," Garald assured me, rising to help me out of my coat when he noticed my hesitation. "I enjoyed him showing me the library in your home."