"Guess I came at a bad time," he says with an unsure smile.
"That’s an understatement. Seriously, you could’ve texted or called," I snap. "We saw each other last week. You really missed me that much?"
I see the way my words sting. His heartbeat picks up, but I don’t care.
"Actually… I did," he says quietly, brushing the side of the pot. "I made your favoritelecsó. Thought you might miss some home cooking after a week of dorm cafeteria crap."
"I don’t miss anything, Dad. Martin takes me to the best restaurants. World-class cuisine," I sneer. "Puts any homemade food to shame."
He stays quiet.
And fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. I love home cooking.
But my head’s a fucking storm right now. I’m pissed at Martin. I’m over him. I’m still shaken from that dinner. And I’m just… tired. Tired of beingangryall the damn time. Angry at this bullshit life that hands everyone else so much, and can’t give me the one thing I actually dream about.
Every time I look at my dad, I see a man who started off in a horror scenario but found his heaven, his perfect mate, built his perfect family.
That’snevergonna be my life.
And that’s why I feel this seething rage. Maybe I shouldn’t take it out on him, but he’s the symbol of everything I’llneverhave.
"I’ve been worried about you, Sun," he starts. "I’ve had this weird feeling for days, like something’s not right."
"Come on, Dad," I cut in. "It’s just 'cause I moved out for the first time. All parents freak out when their kid leaves the nest."
He hesitates. "I don’t know. When Skye went to college, I didn’t feel like this. But now I wake up at night with this… unease."
I feel this fucking anger bubbling up inside me. Irrational, maybe, because he's just worried, just looking out for me. But I really don’t need it right now.
"Everything’s fine, Dad. The only issue is, I’m probably breaking up with Martin. Things have gotten worse between us."
"Didn’t look like it," my dad says quietly. I see his nostrils twitching again, so I walk over and throw the window wide open to air out the reek of sex.
"Just because I’m fucking him doesn’t mean we’re good," I mutter.
I can tell that hits him hard. His shoulders slump a little. Then he takes a deeper breath.
"That worries me, what you’re saying. Sex should be something intimate, shared between two people who love each other. Not just a way to burn off frustration."
"Maybe that’s how it is for you," I shoot back, folding my arms, "because you’ve got yourperfectmate. I’ll never have that, so… I take what life throws my way."
Dad looks at me like he’s trying to stare straight through to my soul, like he can see all the hidden corners I never show anyone.
"I still wish more for you."
"What does that even mean—‘more’?" I ask, my voice sharp. "You’ve got such an old-school view on sex. It doesn’t have to be all"—I lift my hands and do air quotes—"‘loving relationship’. That’s a really outdated mindset. Sex can just be fun. And I’m not gonna deprive myself of that."
He bows his head, eyes on the floor for a long moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, calm.
"Still… there’s nothing like sex when you’re in love. It’s like this whole extra octave. A whole new level opens up, deeper emotions, a different kind of fulfillment. The kind that reaches places nothing else does."
I roll my eyes. "Come on, Dad. Don’t preach. That sounds like something out of a cheap romance novel. Don’t turn sex into some grand emotional fantasy."
But even as I say it, something tightens in my chest. Because fuck, I used to have that. I know how much better it is whenlove’s involved. But I’m not going there again. I’m not telling him that deep down, I probably agree with half the shit he just said. I’ve got too much pride for that.
"Seriously, Dad, I’m not having a heart-to-heart about sex with you. And next time, can you just text or call before coming over? I might not even be home. No point wasting your time." I tack that last part on to soften my tone a little.
He nods slowly.
