"It was definitely a shock.” I pick at the seam in my pajama pants and wondering if Renata is still glad I'm there. After my behavior at dinner, I doubt it.
I'm not going to launch into a talk about his relationship the first night. Not only am I physically and emotionally exhausted, I don't want to upset both of us right before we go to bed. There will be plenty of time for deep discussions tomorrow, when I have a better grip on what I need to say.
"I should have been more aware of how upsetting this would be for you. I feel like you've been going through a rough patch lately, and I haven't been there. I feel really guilty about that."
I narrow my eyes. "A rough patch?"
"You haven't seemed happy for a long time. I know you've been at loose ends since Hugh moved out, and you got that weird new roommate."
I'd learned a hard lesson, advertising for a roommate on Craigslist. Marly is indeed a freak and not of the "cool and eccentric" variety. She's a plant hoarder who feels more comfortable interacting with succulents than with humans. But once a roommate is in, it's nearly impossible to get them out.
"And frankly, I've been worried that maybe you're feeling unfulfilled with your job, too," he says.
"Teaching is exhausting, that's all. You know how it is."
"Yes, of course, it's tiring, but I loved it. It was my calling. I'm afraid that you feel like you have to continue with it, even though maybe it's not your passion. I don't want you to think you'll let me down if you decide to do something else. I just want you to be happy."
So much for leaving the heavy talk for tomorrow. His comments about my job are so out of the blue, it takes me a moment to process what he's saying. Dad always acted thrilled that I followed him into the teaching profession. He encouraged me to get an education degree in college and apply for jobs in the public school system. It was my mother who thought I was throwing my life away by becoming a low-wage state employee.
"What other job would I do?" I ask, feeling betrayed.
If he wanted me to prepare for other options, it was a little late to tell me now. I couldn't just snap my fingers and become an attorney or a journalist, two careers I'd considered back in the day.
"There are a million other things you could do," he says. "You're so smart. And I could help if you wanted to go back to school, get your masters in something."
I wasn't sure how this conversation became about me. He was the one who'd gone off the rails. Surely, he must see that. He was the unstable one who’d quit his job and moved in with a woman he'd known for only a few months. I hadn't done anything wild recently, other than the Dan incident and driving down here without giving him notice. Okay, maybe I did seem a little unstable.
"Don't you think I'm a good teacher?" I ask.
"Yes! Oh, honey, you're an amazing teacher. I'm not worried about what you're giving your students. I'm worried about whether the job is feeding your soul."
Feeding my soul. At what point in history did jobs become more than a paycheck? I can't imagine anyone in a mill or factory questioning whether the job "fed their soul." It put food on the table, that was the purpose of working. Now we're supposed to find jobs that fulfill us emotionally, leave a positive impact on the world, pay enough to cover our college debt, and make us sound cool at our high school reunions. It's too much pressure.
"Okay."
I'm wary of continuing this chat and having flashbacks to my last doomed conversation with my mother. She actually asked me my age (normal mothers know these things), then proceeded to tell me how I should consider freezing my eggs, since it appeared there were no marriage prospects in sight. Marriage is my mother's cure all. Things not going well? Why not get married (again)? When I said I didn't plan on having kids, she said that was probably a good idea, since I was a lot like her, and we just weren't maternal types. She suggested that I still get married to someone with good earning potential because, god knows, I'd never make a decent living as a teacher. Always a joy, those talks with Mom.
"We have plenty of time to talk about it," he says. "You'll stay for a few days at least, right? I'd like you to get to know Renata and her family. It will be great. I can show you around the farm, introduce you to the chickens."
"Fantastic," I say unenthusiastically.
He laughs and kisses my head. Dad is well aware of my fear of birds.
"Everyone is so glad you're here.” He climbs down from my raft-like bed. "Oh, and I hope Seth didn't upset you. Renata lit into him after dinner. I don't know what bug got up his ass tonight. He's actually a really good guy. You'll like him once you get to know him better."
"Sure, Dad," I say. "Don't worry about it."
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
Dad isn't lying. He truly believes that they're all thrilled about my arrival. Renata, once she got over the shock, did seem pleased that I was here, until the dinner incident. She was responding to how happy it made Dad to see me, and I assume that will be enough for us to find common ground. Michael was friendly, and I know he has bigger fish to fry than worrying about me, what with being a single parent. Seth is another story altogether. We didn't click from the moment we met. After our face-off this evening, I can't imagine things will get better. I didn't come here to make friends with these people anyway. I’m here to convince my father to come home.
Shortly after my mom left my father for a dermatologist named Phil, I began having anxiety attacks. Someone recommended that Dad send me to a therapist, and I was finally able to voice the fear that I couldn't tell my father: he was going to leave me, too. My therapist reassured me back then, and over the many years that I saw her, that no one could ever separate my father and me. He wasn't like my mom, and he'd proved that to me every damn day. Well, it took him twenty-three years, but here I was, in a small Southern town, watching Dad build a new life without me. He had a fiancée, stepsons, and even a beautiful step-granddaughter. He probably never thought he'd be a grandparent, considering I'm single and apparently don't have the maternal gene.
I would cry again, if there were any tears left. Instead I crawl under the covers and listen to the settling noises of the house until I fall asleep.
Three
The birds.The fucking birds. Why in god's name are there so many of them singing outside my apartment?
