Page 43 of This for That (The Edge of Retaliation 1)
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, to be honest. You could have picked up a phone. Written a letter. There are a million things you could have done. You chose not to. Instead of blaming everything on how crazy things were out here, maybe try owning that.”
He goes to open his mouth, but the front door opens, and two incredibly beautiful women walk in. Ah, they’re here. The perfect children. Their eyes immediately go to me, and Crystal, the youngest of the two, scowls. Oh, she doesn’t like me. Well, the feeling is very mutual. Shirley gives me a small smile, but she still looks like she’d rather I was anywhere but here.
“Daddy!” Crystal cries, rushing over and hugging my father when he stands.
Daddy. He’s not her god damned daddy. She probably has a daddy somewhere who couldn’t deal with her stuck-up mother, so he ran off with another woman. Oh wait; that was my father. Ten bucks says their stories are scarily similar. I watch as my father hugs the two girls like they’re his own daughters, and when he pulls back, I see the pride in his face.
It hits me like a punch to the stomach.
An unfamiliar longing grabs at my heart, and I hate it. I despise it. Because it means it still hurts. It means I still care.
“Crystal, Shirley, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Callie.”
I nod at the two girls, who are both studying me. Taking me in as if I’m some sort of street scum. Damn them. Who do they think they are anyway?
“Is Max coming?” Crystal asks, not even acknowledging me.
“No, he couldn’t make it. Let’s sit down.”
We all go and sit at the table, and it’s the most awkward feeling of my life. I want to scream and claw my eyes out just to make a scene because it would probably be more comfortable than the one I’m sitting in right now.
“So, Callie, have you found a job since being let out of prison?” Crystal asks, her voice snippy.
Bitch.
Rude bitch.
“Yes, actually, I have. People are very forgiving of us criminals.”
She scowls.
My father gives her a look, as if to tell her to stop. That’s right, Daddy dearest. Keep your child in check.
There is that pain in my chest again. That feeling I don’t want to surface.
“How have you been enjoying living in the city?” Shirley asks. At least her question is kind.
“I like it. I’ve made a few friends, met a few guys. It has been good.”
“Have you told those guys you killed someone? I’m sure they wouldn’t want to know they’re putting it in an ex-criminal,” Crystal snaps.
“Crystal!” My father admonishes. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy, but I don’t like her. She killed someone. You can’t expect me to sit here and be okay with her being in my house.”
Her house. Jesus.
“Crystal,” Deanne says, walking out of the kitchen. “That’s enough.”
“Oh, like you can talk, Mother. I heard you talking earlier, and you don’t want a killer in your house, either. You said so yourself. Then, you proceeded to tell us to put away the valuables because she could be a thief, too. You never know what they’re taught in those prisons.”
My cheeks burn and shame stabs at my chest. I feel stupid, and hurt, and incredibly embarrassed.
Of course, that’s exactly what Crystal wanted. I can tell by the triumphant smile on her face. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids, tears I’ve managed to keep hidden for such a long time. But knowing that my father allowed this kind of talk, that he didn’t defend me—that hurts me. It hurts so badly.
“Crystal!” he growls. “That’s enough.”
I stand, tossing my napkin down. “You know what?” I say, staring at my father. “I don’t deserve this. I’m not going to defend myself to a bunch of stuck-up assholes who have never experienced anything outside of a hair salon. You want to judge me? Go ahead. I’ve heard far worse, but you, Dad, you can stay out of my life. You proved to me what I meant to you when you abandoned me. I don’t know what I thought I was going to get out of coming here tonight, but it certainly proved to me that I was right about you, about this . . . I deserve better. I deserve family. You’re not that.”
I pick up my phone and my purse. “I’ll see myself out.”
I turn, even when he calls my name, and I leave. My chest burns, my throat tightens, my nostrils ache, and tears push at my eyelids, threatening to escape. I walk out of the huge house and down the front path to my car parked on the street. I unlock it and go to get in when I see a piece of paper stuffed in the windshield wipers. I reach over with blurred vision and pick it up, turning it over.
