Page 79 of Rush

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Me: Don't be controlling.

Dad: I'm your father.

Me: And I'm an adult. Back off.

He doesn't respond and I know I've pissed him off.

Good. I'm pissed off too.

My phone buzzes again, but this time it's Rush.

Rush: I'm sorry.

I stare at the message and my chest tightens.

Sorry doesn't fix this, sorry doesn't change the fact that he backed off the second my dad pushed.

I don't respond.

Another message comes through.

Rush: Can we talk?

Me: No.

Rush: Please.

Me: You made your choice.

Rush: I was trying to do the right thing.

Me: The right thing would have been not running.

He doesn't respond and I set my phone down.

I finish my wine and pour another glass. My mind is racing.

This is exactly what I was afraid of—that Rush would find a reason to push me away.

And my dad handed him one on a silver platter.

I hate this, hate feeling like this, hate that I care so much.

My phone rings and it's my dad again. I answer it.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Then don't call me when I'm pissed at you."

"We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. I like Rush, you don't approve, end of story."

"It's not that simple."

"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."

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