here without you

55

Sunday. Funday.

Today, it's only my father and me since my mother is busy dealing with something at work. She feels like it would be good for my father and me to spend some time together, which is what she asked us to do. Although I'd prefer not to, I agree on it to make my mother, and maybe also my father happy.

We are sitting in a fancy restaurant, having dinner. Around us are people, all of them talking and laughing. The air feels too warm, the music too loud, and the people too cheery. I don't feel comfortable, and I think neither does my father.

"So...," he says.

"So...?" I look at him, raise one of my eyebrows at him.

"So..." He clears his throat. "On Friday was..."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but of course I know what he's talking about. He has remembered, just like everyone else - everyone else but me. I feel guiltiness shooting through my entire body, making it hard for me to breathe and see.

"Half a year," he says.

"Yeah..." Instead of at my father, I'm looking at my pasta, blinking to stop the tears from coming out.

"How um... How was it for you?"

I look up at him. "Great. It was marvellous."

I see him pressing his lips together. He's looking around the room, as though trying to find something, or someone to make this less uncomfortable. Then he looks down. It almost looks like he's sorry.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I was..." I shake my head. "It wasn't good. Of course it wasn't. It was pretty... tough."

I see the pain I am feeling inside taking shape on my father's face. I don't know what I hate more: To feel it, or having to see it on his face.

"Yeah... I guess it was for all of us."

Silence.

I look down at my plate again. I take my fork, moving the food on it around. I keep doing it for a while, until I say, "But you don't need to worry. I'm fine. I, um, I spend some time with Jade on... Friday."

"That's good. Jade is a really great friend. I'm glad she took care of you."

"Took care of me? Dad, we just hung out."

I look at him. He's looking down at his plate, lips pressed together again. Finally, he looks at me, saying, "Your mother got a call from school."

Fuck.

Could it be possible that they didn't call because of what happened in maths class? I doubt it, but I pretend not to know what my father is talking about anyway.

"Really? Why did they call?"

His eyes are serious and so is his voice. "I'm sure you know why."

I know I can't lie my way out of this, but I guess I can act as though the whole thing wasn't a big deal.

"You mean because I left school during that maths exam? Well, I felt sick, so I left."

"That maths exam was two days ago. On the 18th."

"I know that."