Last thing I want to do is leave my room. If I stay in bed I can continue to close my eyes and relive my night with Jesse. His hands on my body, his lips on mine, the perfection of his land that breathes. The memory causes my pulse to quicken, my skin to flush, and I’m torn between lying still and sprinting across the road to lose myself in Jesse’s arms again.
Freedom. It’s several months away. It felt impossible weeks ago, but now I can practically taste it. I shift onto my back and stare at my ceiling fan. My lips squish to the side as anxiety sets in. I’m assuming Jesse will want to kiss me again. Jesse and I have always been confusing. What if last night was a last night thing? He said he cares, but does that mean we were a couple last night and today we’re friends again?
Ugh. I place a pillow over my face and scream into it. For a brief few seconds, I consider smothering myself with it. Overanalyzing is, unfortunately, one of my best talents.
My cell vibrates, and I groan. It’s been vibrating all morning. Mostly my friends who want to know what I thought of my date with Stewart. A few from Stewart asking if I want to go out again, and I am not looking forward to turning him down.
Mom: I made something special for you. You can find it in the kitchen. Yes, you’re allowed to have it for breakfast. F04A I’m running errands this morning, but will be home for lunch. Your dad and sister are playing in the backyard. They’d LOVE for you to join them.
Huh. Dad let Mom go someplace on her own on the weekend. That’s impressive. As much as I hated the date, it’s also impressive that Dad gave the date his blessing. Maybe he is changing.
I contemplate this as I roll out of bed, change clothes, run a quick brush through my hair, do all the essentials in the bathroom and make my way down the stairs. I enter the kitchen, and happiness causes me to smile.
On the counter is hot peanut butter cookies and a notecard with my name written on it propped up next to the platter in my mother’s cursive penmanship. At my place at the table my sister has left me drawings of me and her holding hands against the backdrop of a rainbow and unicorns.
That is definitely love.
I nibble on my lower lip as I notice the menu from my favorite pizza place and a note scribbled from my father that tonight’s my night to choose the toppings. That tonight’s my night to choose the movie. A note that hints he’ll give me those rights this night, tomorrow night, whatever night, if I’ll participate in family movie night with him again.
The real question is, should I believe him?
A squeal from the backyard and through the windows I watch a memory in real time. Except the little girl with long black hair isn’t me, but my sister.
Isabelle wears this brilliant smile as she races around my father’s car with the hose in her little hands. Shockingly, my father allows her to spray him even though the morning is full of crisp autumn air. He fights past the mist of water to scoop her up and hug her as if she’s the most precious person in the world.
Seeing them together, seeing them happy, causes heavy sorrow. She’s happy and she believes my father loves her, but being her age once, having experienced that pure joy with my father, I can say it’s easier to believe him when you have no other basis of comparison.
My father releases Isabelle, and she scurries away in a fit of giggles to behind the garage, no doubt planning her next phase of attack. Laughing to himself, Dad turns for the house and looks up faster than I can turn away. Our eyes meet, and I hate how his smile fades.
Part of me wants to retreat, sprint back to the safety of my room, but I don’t. I slink to the fridge and pretend to study it as Dad enters the kitchen. He’s slow as he walks toward me, and when he stops by the island, he shoves his hands in his pants pockets.
He smells wet, as if he’s been caught in a summer storm, and I’m surprised to see him relaxed in clothes that are so drenched that they stick to his body. Maybe he has changed because while Dad did play with me like that as a child, he wouldn’t have stayed such a mess for long.
“How was your date?” Dad asks.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge then hold the bottle with both hands. I squeeze it tightly, as if it were a bomb and if I let go it would explode. “Okay.”
“Isabelle and I are washing the cars. Do you want to join us?” He offers a hesitant grin full of desperate hope.
“I need to finish some schoolwork,” I lie to him and myself. I would love to believe he’s changed and be as carefree as Isabelle, but I’m terrified of letting my guard down because what if this is just an act. What if he hasn’t changed?
His grin flickers, but he forces it back as if my rejection didn’t sting. “We might be at this for a while if you change your mind. Isabelle thinks it’s fun to spray me more than the car.”
I used to do that, too.
“Stewart seemed like a nice kid. Do you think there’ll be a second date?”
I shake my head no, and Dad deflates. “Your mom told me you didn’t want to go, and I’m sorry. When your friends came up with the idea, I assumed they picked some guy you liked. I’m sorry I pushed this on you.”
The left portion of my brain tingles as if I’m having a stroke because I don’t think I heard any of that right. Did Dad apologize?
“Your mom and I feel bad,” he says. “It was suggested in counseling that I give you some space to show that I trust you, and hopefully you’ll come to trust me. Your mom and Isabelle are coming with me on a few weekend business trips. You’re more than welcome to come. In fact, I’d love for you to come, but I understand that you may need some space. So if you want to stay here, by yourself, then I’ll allow it.”
My eyebrows raise because beyond a few hours here and there, I’ve never been allowed alone, and the idea sounds like heaven. This means unlimited time away from him. Unlimited time to work and make money. Unlimited time to search for scholarships. Unlimited time with Jesse. Warmth spreads along my cheeks at the idea of being alone with him, and I drink my water to hide my reaction.
“Your mom and I would appreciate it if you tried talking with Pastor Hughes again, but I’m not going to push you. Isabelle has missed you hanging out with us so maybe if you participated in family movie night as a favor to her—”
“Okay,” I say, and Dad’s eyes snap to mine as if he is shocked to hear my voice.
“Okay on what part?”
I shrug as if I don’t know or don’t care. “To the movie tonight.”
Dad beams, and he claps his hands together. “Pick the movie and pick the pizza.”
I wish he wouldn’t make this a big deal. Dad seems to read my mind and says a few other random things before he walks out. The moment the door shuts, my sister blasts him with the hose, and I’m surprised by the faint but real smile on my lips when he yelps in surprise.
Off balance, I touch my face. Is it possible my father has changed?