Page 139 of Almost Not Quite Engaged
“If you must.”
“I must.” He straightens a pretend tie. “If Zane saw all of that and still loved you, isn’t that more important than trying to become a version of yourself you don’t even like? Or he doesn’t need. Or some big ridiculous story you’re telling yourself. So damn complicated, my girl. You always make it so damn complicated. Love is simple.”
“He doesn’t love me.”
He laughs so loudly people turn around and stare at me. “Bullshit. I’m getting a pastry, you in? These people have been doing pastry since 1652, it’s gotta be good.” He walks toward a bakery that’s just opening and already has a line.
I photograph all of it and the street while my father waits in line. I wander down the street telling today’s story. With each click, set up and shot, I feel myself sliding into place and kicking out all the doubt. Except the one person I want to show all these pictures isn’t available to me. How did we get here so fast? How do I love him so much it eats away at all the parts of my soul? Fuck that guy. I’d like to fuck that guy but I can’t.
I sit on a fountain’s edge and wait for him. He comes out with two drinks and three bags.
“I mean, when are we getting back here? We really should try one of everything.” He bites into one and shakes his head and spits it into a nearby garbage can. “No. Hated it. Gross.” I laugh.
The cup dribbles down and lands on my shirt. Which sadly, is his. I tried not to take any of his clothes but this shirt slipped through and it smelled like him and it was a whole thing.
I try to rub the spot where the coffee dropped. My father sits down next to me. He takes my camera and places it in the bag at our feet and pulls a Tide pen from his pocket. I start to work on the stain and my butt slowly slides backward and before either of us see it, my ass is dunked into the fountain. Like a quick dip, I stand up with my wet ass and twirl around looking for a napkin or something. My father is howling with laughter as water sprays people around us like a dog shaking after a bath.
“Dammit. I can’t even eat pastries right.”
Without missing a beat my father slides his ass back until it hits the water then stands up and turns around shaking his booty for everyone around us.
“Paint your bootie girl!” I laugh so hard at him.
Everyone’s laughing at him and not me. That’s who he is. I start shaking with him and then he pulls me into a hug.
“Ok, where to next, my perfect daughter?” he says as I huff out a quick laugh.
“Prague.”
“Yeah! I love Prague.”
I pause before saying this but I need it. “Dad, I think I need to go by myself.” For a trip to find myself, I’ve not been alone for like any of it. Except for like an hour in Bangladesh.
“Probably a good idea, I’d probably just slow you down with my dance moves. I’m proud of you, honey. It’s never easy to reject the easy. We all struggle with it but the other side of hard, that’s where the real fun begins.”
I’m overwhelmed and tears flow out of me as I clutch my father. “Sweetie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He consoles me.
“I’m okay. It’s a mix of sad, scared and really fucking excited.”
“Congrats you cracked the code. That’s life.”
After I change my pants my father decides to take a nap before we go to dinner. I can’t help but write to him in my eternal draft email. He’s on my mind more than when we were together. Which was like two days ago.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Things I hope I’m brave enough to say someday
Such an Asshole,
Sweet fancy fucking dammit. You seem like a really good movie I once saw. A montage of our hike in Hawaii or laughing our asses off in Venice, kissing on every bridge we could find. I know that wasn’t real life and I know Boston wasn’t real life either but I hope we exist somewhere in the middle of those. Wouldn’t that be amazing?
I know you don’t want to hear from me. And that’s cutting off the oxygen to my brain. I live in this hypoxia state where we still write and talk. And I still have you. Where the possibility of a life together still thrums through every beat of my heart. Oh, how I love you. I know I’ve never written or said it before but it’s there on the end of every sentence like an ever-present period. No pause, no comma or em dash - plain and simple. I love you with all I’m ever going to turn out to be.
You’re the period on the sentence of my heart. I’ll have to mourn that quite a bit. I was hoping to leave some of the painful angst here in Copenhagen but you’re an asshole and have your stamp all over it. And you didn’t even have the courtesy to FaceTime booty call me while I was here like I did to you.
I was dumb to come here to think it would be different but I’m afraid to leave the path. You’re an asshole but you’re mine or you were my asshole.
