Delinquent Camp

Chapter Sixteen

Sixteen

        “Gemma, time for dinner!”

            I flop onto my stomach on my bed. Basically for the last few days, all I did was hang out in my room by myself. My dad was either in his office, getting a head start on work or out somewhere, not asking if I wanted to come. Calling me for dinner is the first thing he’s said since out fallout in the living room.

            “Please?”

            Groaning, I pull my face out of my pillow and drag myself through the house. As soon as I’m on the ground, warm smells hit me in waves. My stomach growls as I practically float towards out large, granite kitchen.

            “Surprise,” my dad smiles, gesturing to the large dining table covered in a feast that’s much too big for only us.

            “What’s the occasion?” I ask cautiously as he pulls mu usual chair out for me at the long end of the wooden table. For all I know, this can be a peace offering because Kirsten is coming back.

            “Well, I was talking to Michelle,” he starts, sitting at the head of the table. He leans forward and clasps his hands together. “And she said that I should do something we’ve stopped doing. So I decided to make the big weekend dinner that we used to do before…” He trails off.

            “You got married to Kirsten,” I finish. He nods and starts cutting the large piece of steak.

            As I reach for the big bowl of salad, I check the clock. It’s only four-thirty, which is much too early for dinner. He has something planned for after and I’m pretty sure I know what it is.

            “Eat up, Gem,” my father smiles, calling me by my long-lost nickname. For a little while, I forget about out fight. In fact, I forget about every fight. Things seem normal, like they used to before Kirsten.

            For the first time in a while, I eat.

~~~

            “Way to pick the rainiest day,” I mutter, hugging my navy raincoat tight against me. My dad pulls my hood up before ushering me out the front door and into his Beamer.

            “I didn’t count on the weather being like this,” he says lightly, starting the car. He doesn’t pull out of the driveway right away. First, he drops his hands in his lap and looks deflated. “Look, Gemma, about what happened-“

            “It’s fine,” I tell him, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

            “No, it’s not,” he sighs, meeting my gaze through his foggy glasses. “I’m supposed to help you get better and here I am making things worse. I guess I’m just stressed out and I’m taking it out on you.”