Page 83 of Expecting an Argument
My face fell as her words carved themselves on the insides of my ribs.
Dad…was never coming back.
My knees weakened. My vision swam and I slammed my eyes shut. The finality of my never-ending search for my father, my hero, crushed me like a giant had his fist wrapped around my chest.
But when I opened my eyes, the nursery looked brighter and more crisp. The giant’s fist released me and I could breathe more easily than I had in years. I didn’t feel the need to run away, or hide beneath the neon lights of a club, or push my body to its physical limits.
I…I didn’t know what to make of it.
I swallowed and looked at my mother. “Mom…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said just now. If I had paid better attention, I would have known that you—”
“Oh, hush,” she scolded. “That’s just what parents do. You’ll find that out soon enough.”
Mom lowered her hand from my cheek and shrugged her purse onto her shoulder. She gave me a pointed look. “Now, take a shower! I’d prefer you after two-a-day football practices than whatever—” she gestured to my pajama pants“—thisis. You’re a Fontaine, damn it. Have some pride!”
I gave her a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mom started to walk out of the nursery, but then she stopped and tossed me a look over her shoulder. “It’s not too late with Olivia, you know.”
My heart skipped a beat. “How can you be sure?”
She paused in the doorway and gave her purse a pat. “Like Isaid…Olivia doesn’t guard her secrets that closely.”
I swallowed, but that fledgling hope that had awoken in my chest didn’t go away.
With a cautious first step, I walked to my bedroom. The tips of my fingers tingled in anticipation as I rifled through the drawers of my old desk.
What I was planning was risky, but I had to go for it.
The night after Olivia left, I had dragged my carcass into the kitchen after staring at the flames in the backyard fire pit and found the keys to the Mustang on the island. Seeing the keys nearly crushed me—I would have let her keep the car, or even one of my kidneys if she wanted—but the note next to the keys had given me hope.
The note scrawled on graphing paper wasn’t from Olivia, but from Tyson, leaving his address and phone number. Olivia might have run away, but I knew exactly where she was.
I pulled out an old red notebook from high school and started flipping through the pages. I’d jot down a few practice proposals until I got it right, and then I was getting in the car. I didn’t care if I had to get on my knees and beg like a worm in front of Tyson Copeland, I couldn’t let Olivia slip away.
As I tore through the spiral-bound notebook, my confidence began to wane. What if she was going to reject me again? Mom said I still had a chance, but I wasn’t that lucky. Hell, the entire reason I was even with Olivia in the first place was because of how incredibly unlucky I was.
I got her pregnant with an IUD after one night together. Then she lost her job and we both struggled with her loss of purpose. We had hated each other so much in high school and now we were irrevocably bound through parenthood.
The portraits of my grandfather on my shelf bore holes into the back of my head. I’d never have anything good happen in my life again, ever. What made me think Olivia would actuallyaccept my pathetic proposal?
I picked up the notebook and sat on the edge of my bed with a dejected sigh. My eyes slowly traveled down the beginning of an essay from junior-year English class.
“The purpose of this essay,”I had written,“is to analyze the author’s choice of certain colors of clothing on the characters as a signal of their intentions. Over the next few paragraphs, I intend to show—”
Oh, dear Christ.
I might have aced the class, but I had been shit with words back then and I was scarcely any better now. How could I possibly win her over when I still didn’t know what she was really thinking?
My hand slipped into my pocket and pulled out the note Olivia had left in the study. Thanking me for taking care of her and assuring me that I would be a great father felt too fake, like writing “Have a great summer!” in a yearbook.
The Olivia I knew would have left a note wishing I would choke on a dick after the fight we had. I tapped the edge of the note on my knee. After all this time, Olivia was still holding back the truth.
Just as I was about to abandon the proposal plan all together, I thought back to Mom’s confession in the nursery. Women had lied to me before, but no one had ever lied for me until now. Who could say Olivia hadn’t done the same thing?
I absently flipped through the notebook as I chewed on the thought. As I turned a page, Olivia’s name caught my eye.
“Why won’t Olivia Adams shut the hell up?”I had written.“If she answers one more question, I’m throwing my desk. I hate her voice. I hate her grungy sweatshirts. I hate her glasses that make her look like a bug. I hate…”
