Page 76 of Robbin’ the Rich

The fact that he didn't return the greeting told me everything I needed to know. He wasn't here as my father. He was here as Pastor Nottingham. The distinction had become harder and harder to ignore over the years.

We stood facing each other beneath the porch light. From a distance, it probably looked like a normal conversation between a father and son. Up close, I could already feel the weight of expectation settling over the interaction.

"You missed church."

There it was. Not How are you? Not Is everything okay? Not even I was worried about you.

Just the accusation.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. "I know."

"You missed family dinner too."

"I know."

His jaw tightened slightly. The expression would have intimidated me once.

When I was younger, disappointing my father felt like the worst thing in the world. I spent years trying to avoid it. I’d spent so many years saying yes when I wanted to say no, convincing myself that if I just worked harder or showed up more often, eventually I would become the son he wanted me to be. The problem was that the finish line kept moving.

"You let a lot of people down today, son."

I waited for the familiar guilt of his words. Only this time it didn’t come. There was no guilt, just exhaustion of having the same conversation over and over again.

Dad continued before I could respond. "When people are counting on you, you show up. That's part of being an adult. That's part of being a Nottingham."

A Nottingham. The family name carried enough expectations to fill a warehouse. Every Nottingham served, sacrificed, and put the church first. At least that was the story.

“Do you understand what it looks like when the pastor’s own son can’t be bothered to show up? How do you think that makes the family look? I am the shepherd of this church. People need to trust me.” Dad kept talking, droning on about responsibility and family.

I’d heard every word before. For the first time in my life, though, I wasn't absorbing them the way he intended.

“Micah, are you even listening to me? When you behave so irresponsible you let us down. But more importantly. you let God down.”

I had to stifle a laugh at that. I seriously doubted that God cared whether I played guitar in the church band, but I knew better than to say that. I would much rather have a guilt trip than a power trip. Making my dad angry always ended poorly. Because of that, in the past I may have taken his words to heart and berated myself for not being responsible, but responsibility wasn't the issue.

I was responsible. I showed up for my students every day. I showed up for my friends. I showed up for people who needed me.

The problem was that my father only seemed to recognize responsibility when it benefited the church. The realization made something hot and unpleasant twist in my chest.

My father had spent years making me feel guilty.

This was the first time I'd looked at the situation and thought maybe he was the one who should feel bad. Maybe he should be asking why his adult son felt trapped every time his family called.

"You're part of this family, Micah."

Dad's voice pulled me back. I looked at him with his expensive coat and luxury car while the people living in Lantern House were barely getting by. The part of my itching to tell him exactly what I thought was there, just beneath the surface, but I could do nothing but look at him.

"I know," I said quietly.

Dad seemed satisfied by the answer. He thought we had come to an agreement, but the truth was, we were further apart than we'd ever been. Because I didn't want the life he'd built, or the expectations that came with it. And for the first time, I wasn't willing to feel guilty about that.

Eventually he left, climbing back into the Mercedes with the confidence of a man who believed he'd made his point. I watched the taillights disappear down the street before turning toward my front door.

My phone buzzed as I pulled my keys from my pocket.

Robin: I think I killed my last zombie of the day. Goodnight.

And somehow, after the evening I'd had, seeing her name on my screen felt more like home than anything else had all day.