How to Fall Apart

Chapter Twenty-One

Clark was hesitantly excited about seeing Dad. His eyes lit up when Mom told him that he called and when she said that he wanted to see us Clark looked to me to gauge his own response. I tried to fix a neutral expression on my face so he wouldn't know that I'd rather rip out my own fingernails than spend two awkward hours sitting around a table pretending to be a family with Daddy dearest.

    We both had our mom's last name on account that Scott Westling, aka Dad, failed to make an appearance for our first appearances into the world. When Mom was pregnant with Clark I overheard a conversation between her and her friend Leah where she mentioned Dad trying to deny that I was even his for the first year of my life. That was laughable now, if anything it was questionable if I was really Mom's. The only physical attribute I'd inherited from her was her big brown eyes.

    Dad drove down from North Dakota in a very uncharacteristically caring move when Clark went in for his heart surgery right after he was born. Ten years later he still liked to remind us all of the one time he was actually there for anything important. Never mind the fact that he missed our first words, first steps, he never spent a sleepless night with us when we were sick, or taught us how to ride a bike. He wasn't there to see Clark win the state geography bee or for any of my art shows. He never wiped tears or kissed boo boos. He only occasionally remembered birthdays, but when he did he would go big, rough necking paid well. Not well enough to be consistent with child support though. He assumed that was something Mom shared with us but she had never once uttered a single negative word about him in front of us. Not knowingly anyway. I'd overheard my fair share of conversations but mostly he gave his shortcomings away himself.

Mom did her best to shield us from what a poor excuse for a father he was, but he had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth when we actually did see him. Letting us know that he would try to be better about paying child support and all the times he'd called Mom wanting to see us and never showing up that we never knew about because she would always wait until the last minute to tell us. I'm sure after the first few times she got tired of dealing with our disappointment. I suppose once upon a time I actually wanted to see him and would get excited, but now I was just really hoping he would cancel.

    He didn't cancel but he was twenty six minutes late. Clark had been waiting at the window from the time he was supposed to be there. After fifteen minutes he gave up waiting and buried his nose in a book, trying really hard to pretend not to care. Dad pulled up in a massive, loud black Dodge pickup. We stood inside the window watching him hop out of the truck and I wondered about the saying of men compensating for other things by having big trucks. I chuckled out loud and Clark looked up at me. Mom was at work, she had offered to let me take the car so I could just meet him but I wanted to make him work for it.

    He didn't look any different from the last time I'd seen him except he was now sporting a goatee. His blond hair was closely cropped and styled with gel and his extra long legs were clad in expensive looking jeans. He had broad shoulders and big arms from many years of physical labor and was wearing a nice white button up shirt that emphasized his tan. I looked down at myself, I was wearing a white sweater and a pair of my expensive jeans. I ran down the hall to change my top quickly before he made it to the door. He knocked as I was pulling a burgundy knit top over my head. Clark reached for the doorknob and looked to me for approval. I nodded and he opened it. Scott was a very good looking man, despite my reluctance to admit it. He was only in his late thirties but didn't look a day over twenty nine. In the past when he actually did spend time with us he loved how people would ask him if I was his little sister and get all kinds of surprised when he'd tell them he was my dad. Clearly nobody ever told him the real definition of the word dad or he would stop trying to claim that title.

    He didn't say anything at first, just looked back and forth between Clark and me. It had been nearly a year since we'd seen him last and while he looked the same I imagined we had changed a lot. I felt a surge of anger that I had let Mom manipulate me into agreeing to this. I glared at him as angry tears welled up in my eyes. I refused to let him see me cry because I knew he would confuse the emotion for something softer than anger. I blinked them back and looked at my little brother instead. Do it for Clark. Mom's words echoed in my head and I steeled myself and walked up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder reassuringly. I'm not sure who I was reassuring though, Clark or myself.