“All the more reason to send them to Eagleton, Polly.” My father’s expression looked like he just ate spoiled jelly. “I can’t help but say this, your kids need stability. A failed marriage isn’t an excuse to drop the ball.”
I can’t test this theory, but if you could see into my brain at that moment, I’m reasonably certain every single neuron would beon fucking fire.
My father had always been strict, but he changed fundamentally after my mother died. He promptly went back to work after three days of bereavement leave when his beloved wife and the mother of his only child,me, died after a brief battle with cancer. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he shut out practically everything that reminded him of her—effectively turning the house into a graveyard of memories, with me inside of it. And a failed marriage? He was part of the reason it broke. I hadn’t realized I’d been so programmed by my upbringing to act perfectly that I fell into similar patterns in my marriage:alwaysacting the part of the perfect, obedient wife,neveradvocating my wants and desires. I didn’t realize what a mess I’d created for myself, until it was too late.
“I would hardly call what I’m doing dropping the ball.” My words sounded weak even to my own ears.
“What would you call sending your children to a public school and not securing something as simple as a full-time job? That’s not to mention how wild your children are. The last time I saw Ryla, she growled at me. And Max didn’t speak to me at all, then disappeared to his room.”
Rage burned just beneath my skin’s surface. It was only through a lifetime’s worth of practice that I was able to bite back my retort, giving the dutiful daughter’s response he expected. “I’ll work on that, Father.”
Mollified, he nodded stiffly as Kathy delivered our plates. I think she could tell things were tense because she gave me a discrete sympathetic glance before turning to leave.
My father cut into his entrée, the hollandaise sauce and egg yolk spurting yellow liquid onto his plate. I went about putting ketchup on my hashbrowns, but my appetite had disappeared. I used to like eggs Benedict. But watching my father eat it every single Sunday this past month made it look like some sort of sadistic egg sacrifice.
“You’ll be getting an email from Jeffrey soon,” he said, referring to his longtime campaign manager and personal assistant. “We have a list of events important to securing my nomination that you and the children need to attend.”
I was well aware my father was being considered for a nomination to the Tennessee Supreme Court this year. I’d been going to campaign events for his judgeships my entire life. My attendance at these functions, even once married and fully financially independent from my father, still hadn’t felt like a choice even if the emails from Jeffrey had become less threatening and more placating in recent years. Now that I was home and underneath my father’s thumb again, I figured my attendance wasn’t optional. Still, his words made me pause.
“Did you say, the children?”
Without looking up, my father continued to saw away at his brunch.
“Yes,” he said around a mouthful of murdered eggs.
The only thing that made me feel better was picturing twirling my fork in his receding hairline and yanking. Asking me to go to campaign events was one thing, but expecting my kids, the grandkids he’d seen once every other year, if that, for their entire lives . . . parading them around like they’re his pride and joy.
No. Just,no.
“If you need me for events, that’s fine. The kids have had big changes this year and it’s not right to thrust them into the spotlight. You’re right. They need stability.” I nodded, my confidence growing as I used his own words against him. “Let me get them settled and into school first, then we can discuss this again in the fall.”
My father opened and closed his mouth, filling me with smug victory that he was utterly stuck by his own words.
“Alan!”
A gray-haired man wearing a sport coat walked toward us along with a woman in an elegant dove gray morning suit.
“John, good to see you.” My father’s demeanor instantly changed, smiling as he stood to shake the man’s outstretched hand.
Poser.
“This is my wife, Elaine,” the man, presumably John, said as he gestured to the kind-looking woman beside him. “Elaine, this is Judge Alberton.”
“I apologize for keeping your husband so busy on the golf course,” my father said as he shook her hand. He pointed to me, and I stood immediately.
“This is my daughter, Polly. She recently moved back to town with my two grandchildren.”
Turning on my smile and extending my hand, I gave both of them a firm handshake. “How do you do?”
“A pleasure. Why, I forgot you had a daughter, Alan,” John said.
I do my best to forget as well,I wanted to retort, but of course, didn’t.
“Polly is a pediatrician who recently started a job with Mercy Health.”
“How wonderful. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Say Alan, we’re suddenly needing a fourth for our golf outing in a few weeks. You interested?”
Elaine turned to me as the men discussed golf. “I can’t imagine being a doctor and a mother with two kids. However do you find the time?”
