As soon as I pull up into the parking lot, Diana, who was walking into Messer Hall for our class, hightails it over to me.
"Woah, woah, woah, Elizabeth Jane," she says, whistling. "Where'd you get this nice car?"
"It's Liz now," I tell her, smiling.
"Huh?"
"I go by Liz. Not Elizabeth Jane. Not Elizabeth. Just Liz."
"Nice," she says. "Liz, huh? I like it. It suits you. Well, at least it does now, anyway. So, what's the story with this car? You go from always needing your mom to drop you off and pick you up, to… a Maserati?"
"Yeah, a lot has changed," I tell her. "What do you think about writing erotica?"
"Huh?" she asks again.
I can tell I'm confusing her more than ever, but the grin on her face lets me know she likes it.
"You've read my diary entries and written some of your own about Dr. Calvert," I tell her. "So why don't we join forces and write erotica? Maybe other people will like it. Maybe we can make a little extra dough."
"Sounds like a good plan," she says, nodding her head. "I'm impressed that you came up with it. And I'll gladly participate. A lot of things have changed for me too."
"That's great," I tell her. "And actually, I'm not the one who came up with it. But that's one of the things that's changed for me."
My cell phone vibrates, and I look down to see the number who's calling.
Oh, my God.
My stomach immediately twists into knots and my heartbeat races.
"I have to take this phone call," I tell her, her face falling because I know she wanted the scoop.
"It's important," I continue. "But we'll catch up soon. I promise."
"Okay, Liz," she says, the smile returning to her face. "I'll see you— and yummy Dr. Calvert— in class."
She skips off, her short skirt blowing up in the wind and nearly revealing her ass cheeks that were already poking out from underneath. There's something different about her, too. Her step is lighter, bouncier. She seems happier.
Good for Diana. I'm happy for her, and happy that I'm happy. At least I think I am, although I'm not sure how I'll feel after I answer this call.
"Hello?" I say hesitantly, into the phone.
"Hello, Elizabeth Jane," the voice on the other end replies. "I was so happy to hear that you had called me."
I gulp, not sure of what to say next.
As if trying to make sure he knows who I am— although I already do— he adds,
"This is your father."
"Yes," I answer, feeling stupid but not knowing what else to say. "Hello."
"I've been waiting so long for you to call me."
"But mom said…"
He sighs so loudly I can hear it through the phone.
"I was afraid of this," he says, before I can even finish my sentence. "She didn't give you my number, did she?"
"Not exactly," I say, half defending her because she's the one who raised me while he split— as she always loves to remind me— and half upset at myself for believing her. "I saw the card with your phone number on it. But she told me she had called it and it was disconnected. I stupidly believed her. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he says, his tone turning gentler. "I can completely see that happening."
"She told me you left us high and dry," I continue. "That you abandoned us."
"Oh, Elizabeth Jane," he says. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I suppose you didn't get any of my letters, then? My emails?"
"Letters?" Suddenly I realize. "No, no letters. And right after I saw the card with your phone number on it— which I've kept in my locked diary all this time, but never dared try to call it myself until now— we moved away."
"So that you'd never get another letter from me," my dad says, sounding sad. I swear it almost sounds like he's crying.
"This is awful," I tell him. "Would she really do this?"
"Your mom is… sick," he says, sounding much nicer about it than I would. But I understand.
"I know," I tell him. "It's like some kind of mental illness."
"Exactly," he says. "I'm glad you understand. I was afraid it would make you too hard, too cynical."
"It almost broke me, but I didn't let it," I tell him. "I still have room in my heart for love.
Room enough to be with Derek, whom I now must admit to myself— even if I can't admit to him— that I love. I try to play it cool about this fake engagement and I do appreciate him helping me during this transition period where I leave my mom's house, but I don't know what I'm going to do after he merges with the new business partners and our fake engagement ends. I guess I'll just enjoy it until then, but it'll be heartbreaking when it's over.
But thanks to Derek's support, I was brave enough to call my dad. Strong enough to open my heart up to the possibility that maybe he and I could have some kind of relationship. Although apparently, he's been trying to do that all along.
"What did you mean about emails?" I ask him. "You said you sent me some?"
"Yes, in one of the earliest cards I sent you, I told you I had set up an email address, just for you and I to correspond, and that I'd be sending you emails. It's . This was back when Greatemail was still popular," he chuckles. "The password is DadAndEJ.
"Wow, Dad, that's so nice of you," I tell him.
"I had told you that if you wanted to tell me anything at all, you could drop me a line. And that I'd let you know what's going on in my own life. I've sent you emails there at least weekly since then. If you'd like, you can log in and catch up on everything you've missed. Even though I've lived a pretty boring life, so you might not be able to stay awake."
I laugh. But then I grow serious.
"Thank you, Dad," I tell him. "I'd love to check it out. So, what exactly happened between you and Mom, then?"
"I didn't leave her like she told you," he insists. "To be honest, I'd thought a lot about leaving her, because she could be so cruel and…"
"Crazy?" I venture.
"Something like that." He pauses. "But I wasn't sure I could go through with it. I had taken vows. I believed in commitment. She joined a cultish church, though, and became obsessed with trying to save me from hellfire and damnation."
"Wow," I tell him. "She's still pretty religious now, but we go to a Presbyterian church. It's nothing that crazy."
"It's because the church she was a member of was driven out of town," he says. "They were advocating for the literal stoning of anyone who disagreed with them. They were going door to door and leaving hateful messages on the doorsteps of anyone who refused to repent."
"Oh, my God," I say. "I had no idea."
"Yeah, it was pretty bad. Obviously, I didn't agree with any of it. They had someone from CPS come talk to us, because they thought your mom might be poisoning your mind with that stuff. It was a fine line between religious freedom and emotional child abuse, but in the end, they told your mom she had to go to parenting classes and agree not to take part in the hateful acts towards others."
"And how did they determine…?"
"What was hateful and what wasn't?" Dad asks.
"Yeah, exactly."
"Good question. But at about that same time, there was a local petition going around and anyone associated with this cult was being shunned. So, the cult moved to a different location— where, believe it or not, even more people who believed in this hateful stuff lived— and your mom didn't go with them. She said she never meant to be hateful. She wasn’t apart of the super nasty stuff, more like, a churchgoer. So, she switched churches and toned down the fire and brimstone rhetoric."
I'm silent, letting all of this soak in.
"So," I finally say. "How does this explain what happened to you and her? I mean, other than the fact that she was nuts?"
"Well, she was insistent I join that cult at first. Obviously, I refused. So, then she said she just wanted me to believe in her religion and forsake worldly ways. I tried to do it, but I don't really know what she even wanted from me. Nothing seemed good enough."
"I know what you mean," I joke.
But in reality, it's sad.
"She gathered my entire record collection— which I've had since I was a kid— and burned them all," he told me. "And my concert t-shirts too."
"That's horrible!"
"I know. I went and downloaded some of the music, to salvage what I could, and that was it for us. She said I wasn't honoring my commitment to her to forsake all worldly ways, and that instead I was insistent on listening to the devil's music. She told me she wanted nothing to do with me. She left me."
"Wow."
I shouldn't be surprised. My mom has acted in similar ways against me. I should have figured she was lying and playing the poor victim when really it was the other way around. But it's still a lot to take in.
"I'm sorry that happened, Dad," is all I can finally think of to say.
"It's all right," he says. "It's not your fault. I feel bad for not being in your life. I tried to call, to file court papers so I could establish paternity and pay child support and get some visitation, everything. But she just kept moving around and sporadically answering but then disappearing again."
"That sounds like her," I agree.
"In the end, once you were old enough to— in my opinion— start making up your own mind, I sent you that card. Your mom called the number and told me that you had received it but didn't want to talk to me. She said that if you changed your mind, one of you would let me know."
"Of course, she did," I tell him. "She lied to both of us."
"I'm so glad you called me though," he says. "I thought I'd never hear from you again. I live in Chicago now— I moved out here for work— but I kept this number just in case. And I'd love to meet up and talk more."
"I'd like that too," I tell him. "I have to go to class now, but I'll call you this weekend and we'll set something up."
"That sounds great," he says. "And, college classes?"
"Yeah."
I realize I can tell him the name of the course—something I was never able to do with my mom.
"This one is Evolutionary Psychology."
"Sounds interesting," he says, and it's refreshing to not be judged by one of my parents at least. "I'm proud of you for being in school. Have a good class."
"Bye, Dad," I say, and head to Messer Hall after I hang up.
Now I have even more to tell Diana. Not to mention Derek. I'm so grateful my mom made him give me a mental exam as well as a physical exam. Both experiences have completely changed my life.