WhenIwalkintomy parents’ house, Papa is sitting on the stairs at the entrance, waiting for me. He must have heard me get out of the taxi. I drop my jacket and purse from the fright of finding him there in complete darkness, making no sound other than his loud judgment and frustration.
“Good God, what are you doing up?” I ask because it’s midnight, and, most nights, he goes to sleep at ten.
Papa gives me a disappointed frown, which I see when I turn on the light in the foyer.
“Oh no, stop that. I hate that face. It always appears a moment before you say, ‘I can’t believe you chose to go to the Nashes instead of your own home.’ I've heard it often enough,” I complain and take my shoes off so I don’t have to keep looking at him.
“Actually, Nevaeh, I was going to tell you to grow up. I’m sick and tired of you disappearing whenever you don’t like what I have to say. I am your goddamn father, and you show me no respect! How do you think that makes me feel?” he asks, and anger fills me from bottom to top until it overflows.
“No, you know what, Papa? I’m tired of you treating me like a child when I try to keep things civil between us. I was mad earlier, and, frankly, fucking hurt from what you said. Distance was the one thing that kept me from yelling at you, from telling you that while I’m proud of your career, I’m angry with you for missing every important event in my life. I’m angry because work is always more important. You have no idea who I am, but you pretend like you do to make yourself feel better. That needs to stop. You need to observe for once in your life. Even when you’re here, you’re always busy. So, hear me now: get to know your daughter before you try and make her feel like crap about who she is.”
I’m not entirely sure where this came from, but it lifts a weight off my chest, shoulders, and heart.
My father runs his hands over his face before pointing at the ground in front of him, telling me to sit. If I hadn’t thrown a lot of bad words his way a second ago, I wouldn’t do as he wants. However, I did, and guilt forces my feet to bring me to where he’s signaling.
Papa waits patiently until I’m sitting before opening his mouth again.
“You’re right about everything you said, but you left something out, Vaeh. How can I get to know you when you barely share anything about your life? When you won’t tell me what happened between you and Lincoln?”
I stare down at the floor, ready to retell the one story I’ve never shared with anyone, not even Nova.
“You called me immature for my relationship with Lincoln earlier, and that was a shitty and unfair thing to say,” I point out, and Papa leans back on the stairs, his careful gaze on me.
“Tell me what he did.”
“Four years ago, when my rotator cuff tear happened, you weren’t there. It was just Mama, Lincoln, and me.” He nods once to acknowledge my words. “It was the final game of the season, the one where all the sponsors and recruiters attended, remember?”
Papa nods again, his fingers intertwining as he pays close attention to me.
“I was in the lead when it was my turn to serve. I felt the rip as soon as my racket connected with the ball. Then followed excruciating and unbearable pain. My scream rippled from the court through the crowd as I sank onto the floor, holding my shoulder and crying.”
Tears fall down my cheeks, and I see pain shoot through his eyes.
“They took me to the hospital where I got the emergency surgery that sealed my fate as the woman who failed to make her dream come true, even though I was a hair’s width away from making it.”
This one single sentence always makes me feel lost and helpless. I bring my mind back to the facts instead of the feelings.
“Right after I came out of surgery, the doctors warned me that it is highly unlikely I could ever become a professional with my busted shoulder.” They also didn’t do a good job fixing it, in my opinion, but whatever. “Lincoln came to visit me after my surgery. Do you know what he said to me?”
Papa shakes his head, and I look at the ceiling, searching for courage.
“He said, ‘It’s a good thing this happened now before you wasted your time in a career you couldn’t have gotten far in any way.’”
My heart rips apart a little because saying it out loud for the first time since it happened is more painful than I thought it'd be.
“So, you see, Papa, it’s not a childish quarrel. It’s a broken heart that got trampled on at its weakest.” My father wraps his arms around me and holds me close, letting me weep like a little kid.
“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you before, but I do now. What Lincoln said is inexcusable, but, for your sake, you have to let go of your anger, sweetheart. It’s breaking you, not him,” he says, and I nod.
This isn’t news to me, but things feel different now, at least a little. The pieces of my life are falling into place, and I have to get rid of the negativity holding me back. That means forgiving Lincoln for being the biggest idiot on the planet. I hope I find the courage to let go of my anger because I know it’s much easier to hold onto it than to let it go.
Papa releases me, and I turn around to see Mama standing in the doorframe, tears in her eyes. Out of the both of them, finding out what happened between Lincoln and me probably hits her the hardest. She’s the one who never took me seriously, never took a moment to ask why I hated him, and, now, I can see regret written all over her aged features.
“Nevaeh, I—I have no words. I’m so sorry, honey.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me too tightly.
“Wait, it’s hugging time?” I hear Nova call out from upstairs before she storms downstairs and runs against me to join the embrace. Papa does the same, and we end up standing in the middle of the entrance, looking like a family that doesn’t have a thousand problems.
In other words, the complete opposite of us.
