Grace

Four

Grace

My father finally responded to me.

Not by call, but text. A simple text that told me to meet him at our usual hole-in-the-wall diner that was really only good for one thing: the fact that it was a halfway point between our homes. Just about.

I got dressed in one of my best blouses and wore jeans that didn't have rips in them. Most of them did and I liked that, but for some reason when it came to seeing my dad I needed to look different.

I needed to prove that Mom was taking care of me, even though I'm sure he knew the truth. That we were sinking and the only thing holding us up was Reece. He was the life vest that we both shared, our weight almost too heavy to keep us both above water. But we were managing.

I just need to look okay without him.

I slide into the booth seat across from him, my eyes scattering over his face like they always do on the rare occasion that I get to see him. Searching for changes, noticing new flaws. New signs of age that I don't actively get to witness because he's got his own life that I'm just no longer apart of.

I watch him skim over the menu, my eyes marveling at his skin. Mine wasn't anywhere near as rich and dark as his, but I always wanted it to be.

I always wanted to be a deeper color, but most times I was pale like Mom. And I was okay with that too.

He keeps his hair cut shorter these days, the longer parts are still weighed down in a flat wave across the top of his head, and I can imagine him with his wooden brush in the morning, sweeping it forward and explaining that's what kept it that way.

He used to be nice. He used to take my side even when I was lying, he used to sneak me ice cream after dinner even when Mom said no, and he never denied me a thing. Even the most ridiculous request always got me a, "One day, Grace. I'll make it happen."

That's all done now.

"How's your mother?" he asks me from across the table, his eyes not bothering to lift to mine.

It's a loaded question—a rational one—but also one that just isn't really his business.

The same way you left her six years ago. "She's fine."

He finally looks me over like he's questioning my answer. I don't care, he knows the truth. Nothing's changed.

I've heard her talking to him on the phone at times. The only reason I know it's him is because his name slips out of her mouth more times than it should for two people who consider each other dead.

I know she begs him for money when she's at her worst, I've seen it. I've watched her work him over on the phone while I kept hidden the hall.

Since Reece has been back it's been much less often. Now she only calls Dad on the occasion that Reece put a stop on handing over every dollar he had to his name. Usually after he's slammed the door and disappeared for the night too.

I always wonder where he runs off to after they argue.

"How's Tessa?" I finally lay open my menu, too afraid for the eye contact after a loaded question of my own. I still feel his eyes. "And the girls? What are their names again?"

He clears his throat in a grunt and as our waiter approaches, I can see how relieved he is to have escaped that question.

But why?

He married right away. Had a new daughter right away and the other wasn't too long after. A whole new family, and I was just left behind like I never mattered.