Page 249 of Tell Me I'm Enough

“That’s how you greet your old man?” he asks, pulling me into a hug.

I almost throw up at the contact.

I don’t know if it’s the amount of alcohol in my system coming back up or the repulsion from his touch.

This is the first time in my entire life that he’s ever hugged me.

And it’s for show.

I force a smile to cover the way I’m holding back a gag. “Hey.”

“Well,” he says in the fakest cheerful voice I’ve ever heard from him. “Show me around. I didn’t get to come last year, so this time around, you gotta really give me the full experience.”

My brows knit in confusion, and my nose almost scrunches up from being so taken aback.

“Um, yeah,” I say warily. “Sure. Come on.”

As we start walking through the house, my dad puts his hand back on my shoulder and leans in, lowering his voice just for me. “Put a smile on your face, and fix whatever is stuck up your ass. Got it?”

I clench my teeth, breathing through the annoyance. “Yes, sir.”

Someone shoot me now. Please.

The rest of the day drags with every minute I’m stuck around him. Every conversation we have with the other guys and theirparents seems lighthearted on the outside, but the jabs he slides in every chance he gets are just for me.

Who would have thought my biggest bully in life would be my own father?

By the time all the parents leave and head back to their hotels, I’ve been called every name in the book, I’ve been made to feel small in every way compared to him, and I’ve had to listen to him every time he pulls me aside to tell me what I’m doing wrong.

I’m mentally over this day, and I just want a drink.

While everyone is hanging out in the backyard, I grab several bottles from the kitchen and take them upstairs.

I pull out my phone and text Simone as soon as I sit down on my bed.

Mason: How was today with your parents?

I tuck two of the bottles down beside my bed—hidden from view—and open the one in my hand. It’s warm as it slides down my throat. And when it hits my stomach, the sensation blooms outward, rushing through my entire body with relief.

My phone buzzes, and I place the bottle on the bedside table to grab my phone.

Simone: It was really good. My dad actually seemed interested in my life here. It was kind of amazing

I smile, loving that for her.

The bottle ends up back in my hand quickly, though, needing to stop the pain that’s also creeping in from her text.

I roll my eyes, annoyed with myself.

This isn’t about what you don’t have. Just be happy for her.

And I am.

But I’m also mad.

A small, bitter laugh escapes me in the quiet room.

Why does it even matter? Why does having one person’s love and attention in life matter that much? Why should I even care?