Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I honestly didn’t think losing RJ would hurt this much. Who saw that one coming.
All I want to do when I get home from school is throw on some loud music and sulk in my room, so of course my dad is waiting for me in the kitchen with a perturbed look on his face.
“What?” I say, dropping my bag on the dining table.
“You know I don’t like that.”
I muffle a sigh. “Can we not tonight? I’ve got homework.”
“No, I think we will, Sloane.” He nods toward a chair to tell me sit. All evidence suggests this will be an especially unfun conversation.
“Want to tell me why I watched Casey pull up in an Uber?”
I lean back in my chair, annoyed with the question because it’s clearly a pointless one. “I’m going to assume you already know the answer to that.”
“St. Vincent’s called to inform me you’ve been given detention several times recently.”
“Is that a question?”
“Let’s try to dial back the attitude.” Unmoved by my clear indication I’m being involved in this under duress, he reaches for his cup of tea. “What’s going on, Sloane? It isn’t like you to act out in class.”
“How would you know what I’m like?” I demand, laughing darkly. “When’s the last time you asked me anything about myself?”
The last reinforcement of my patience snaps. Like the hairline fracture in a bridge support that endures years of relentless traffic, weather, and neglect until it dumps the morning commuters into the ravine.
“You suddenly decide to show up to parenting and start taking an interest in my life like I haven’t already become a whole functioning person with minimal involvement from you?”
Teacup still hovering in one hand, Dad is visibly stunned by the outburst. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’ve got a better question. When’s the last time you asked me how I like school? Or if I’ve made any new friends. Would it surprise you if the answer was never?”
“Sloane—”
“No, you dragged me in here, Dad.” I’m hyperaware of the heat soaking into my pores. My ears burning red. Years of neglect and resentment springing up from a deep well of some serious father-daughter shit that’s been a long time coming. “You’ve always made it obvious my feelings don’t matter in the house. I’m expected to shut up and play my part. Be the strong one who never asks for help or lets the mask slip because God forbid I not shoulder the burden of everyone else’s needs at all times.”
His eyes widen. “I’ve never asked you to—”
“Seriously? ‘Sloane, Casey is your responsibility. You’re her big sister.’ Which is fine. I want to be there for her. Of course. But what’s your job in all of this? Who’s responsible for me?” I’m mortified to hear my voice crack. “Sure, sometimes you play the part. You act all protective and scare away my boyfriends as if you’re actually concerned about my virtue when you’re probably just terrified one of those rich boys will knock me up and then you’ll lose your job, am I right?”
His jaw falls open. “That’s not—”
“But what about my feelings?” I interrupt. “When do those get to count?”
“If you’d come to me,” he starts, all furrowed brow and clasped hands.
“I’m not one of your students. I’m not making an appointment to get my father’s attention.”
“Maybe I’ve been preoccupied,” he admits in what feels like an attempt to placate me, but it still doesn’t sound like he gets it. At all. “That doesn’t mean I’m not interested. You’ve always preferred to have your space. Communication is a two-way street.”
Right. Of course he’d find a way to make this my fault. Couldn’t possibly be a deficiency on his part. No, I’m the one who wasn’t sufficiently forthcoming.
I stumble to my feet.
“Where are you going? We’re not done talking, Sloane.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder. If I have to sit here another minute, I’m going to throw something. “Here’s an update for you, Dad: I was dating RJ Shaw behind your back. I really liked him. But now we’re broken up and instead of being allowed to be sad and dig into a pint of ice cream, you expect me to put on a smile and pretend nothing’s wrong. Well, I’m sick of it. Consider this me clocking out. I’m done.”
“I had no idea you felt this way.” On a deep breath he clears his throat. “You’re right, perhaps. I’ve always been confident in your ability to take care of yourself. That you didn’t need me.”
I stare at him, allowing years of resentment to show on my face.
“A girl always needs her father,” I say before walking away.
In my bedroom I slam the door behind me. I toss myself on my bed and pull at a pillow until I hear the seams begin to tear and my fingers go numb. Then I bury my face in the stretched fabric and sob.