Without Dad, I haven't been to a single game at Yankee stadium this summer. It wouldn't be the same without him, and Hugh and Raymond aren't sports fans. I watched all the games on television by myself with no one to help me swear at the umpires and chastise the pitchers. It's more than just ball games though. I like knowing Dad is nearby so that when I need him, when I need to go home, I'm just a short distance away.
My father must see my pain because he says in an overly jolly voice, "Andie's very independent. I'm sure she's glad not to have me looking over her shoulder anymore."
"Not really," I say, trying to match his lighthearted tone. "You're the only family I had there, so it was kind of a big deal when you said you weren't coming back."
The looks on the faces around me say I've missed the mark on sounding lighthearted, and I don't care. I've regressed from twenty-eight to thirteen on the drive down here. Maybe there's some time portal you travel through when you reach the Mason Dixon line. Or maybe my rental car is actually the Tardis.
"Isn't your mom still in New York?" Renata asks.
I'm kind of impressed by Renata calling me on my bullshit. She's not going to let me get away with the sulky stepdaughter act.
"She's not too far away. She stayed on Long Island after her most recent divorce. I don't really consider Mom family though, so much as the person who gave birth to me."
Again, my humor falls flat. Dad's expression is both irritated and pained, which is how I'm feeling, too. My pity party isn't going to get him home any quicker.
"My mom died," Harmony says matter-of-factly.
The room falls silent and my chest squeezes until there's no air left. If I'm dying of a heart attack, I deserve it. I'm a terrible person.
"I'm so sorry," I say quietly, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
Harmony goes back to eating her corn, and Michael puts an arm around her and squeezes her narrow little girl shoulders.
"I think I will excuse myself now," I say, and no one stops me this time.
I carry my dishes to the sink and brace myself on the counter for a few seconds before turning around.
"Thank you for dinner," I say, so that the last thing they hear from me tonight will at least be civil.
The longest walk I've ever taken is the one out of that dining room, everyone's eyes trained on my back. I've never felt so small or alone before in my life. I wonder if the blue room has ever seen a grown woman curl into a ball and cry so hard she's spasming soundlessly because she doesn't want anyone to know.
* * *
Years ago,my therapist suggested I take up running to cure my sleep issues. She was right. I'm laughably slow and my max distance is three miles, but I'm no longer a jittery insomniac. My fifty-year-old neighbor who participates in marathons stopped me outside our apartment building once to tell me what was wrong with my form. After about fifteen minutes of attempting to coach me, he sighed and said, "Just do whatever is comfortable for you."
Thanks to the intensity of tonight's dinner conversation, my legs are practically levitating off the bed. There's no way I can go for a run now though. It's getting dark, and I don't know my way around the farm. Even so, I'm tempted go outside, do a few laps around the house and risk twisting an ankle. The alternative is a sleepless night and a bad mood tomorrow.
I know I should return Dan's phone call, but I don't have the emotional energy for that conversation tonight. What is there to say anyway? We took things too far and need to dial back to being work acquaintances. One of us will request a room change, and over time we will forget about what happened at the bar that night. It's better to wait until I speak with Barb and find out why she called me before I contact Dan. Then I'll have a better idea how bad the damage is and whether or not it can be contained. The fallout for him could be much greater. I push away thoughts of his wife Nicky, whom I met at the staff Christmas party last winter. She was perky and sweet, but her smile tightened any time I joined her conversation circle, and Dan spent the evening acting like I was someone he barely knew. My stomach sours when I think back to that night, seeing it for the first time with clarity and honesty. She suspected our mutual crushes even then.
When my father knocks on the door to my room, I'm releasing energy by doing sets of squats and push-ups. They're the girly kind of push-up, but it's working. When I stand up to let him in, my legs and arms are shaking from exhaustion. I'm much calmer than I was an hour ago, which is a relief. I don't want Dad to know how upset I was earlier.
"Hey, come on in.” I step aside so he can enter the room.
He looks around at the furniture like he hasn't been in here in a while. Maybe he's noticing how I've already got clothing exploding from my bag and a bunch of crap strewn all over the dresser and floor. Organization has never been my strong suit. I thought Dad and I were both messy, but after I moved out of the house, I realized it was just me. His place was tidy and clean after I left home, and Renata's house is the same way. A place for everything, and everything in its place, as they say.
"Can we talk for a minute?" he asks.
"Sure," I say, climbing up on my bed.
He takes a seat next to me and kicks his shoes off before pulling his legs up on the bed. He leans back on the headboard and lets out a groan.
"Are you okay?" I say.
"Oh, yeah. Just tired. We usually go to bed early so this is late for me."
Late? It's nine fifteen. Even when he was teaching, he stayed up until ten. Farm life is supposed to make you healthy and hale, but he looks worn out.
"I'm so glad you're here, honey.” He pats my leg. "I know you were upset when I called, and I feel terrible about giving you a shock."
