No.
“Of course I am,” I replied.
Mr. Connelly smirked and nodded.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Ask me anything.”
“What do teachers do on the weekends?”
“Drink. Heavily. From Friday afternoon to Sunday morning.”
I cocked my head and raised my eyebrows.
“Oh, you mean me specifically?” he asked.
I nodded.
“All kinds of stuff. Sometimes I go to concerts or check out new restaurants. I grade tests. Read. Hang out with friends at local bars. Do the New York Times crossword puzzle—”
“No you don’t,” I interrupted.
Mr. Connelly looked amused. “You think I’m not smart enough to do the New York Times crossword puzzle?”
I shrugged. “I guess you are. You seem very trendy.” What a stupid, random thing to say out loud.
Mr. Connelly grinned. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
I was itching for my orders so I could go. I was uncomfortable standing beside him. He was too cool for me, and I didn’t want to learn any more about his cool life. I don’t know why I asked him in the first place, and I’ve no idea why he told me. He should have said, “That’s none of your business, Cadence,” to which I would have replied, “Why did you touch me the other day?”
“Coffee and café latté!” the barista shouted.
“That’s me,” I said, relief evident in my voice.
“Caffeine addict?” Mr. Connelly asked.
I looked down at the drinks. “Oh, no. One’s for my dad.”
He nodded. “Well, have a nice afternoon, Cadence.”
“You, too,” and I let my eyes linger for just a moment on his face. He looked at me expectantly.
Ask him! my brain screamed. Just do it before you lose your nerve!
But I couldn’t, and hurried out of the coffee shop instead.
***
My father. I wasn’t allowed to hate him because I’m pretty sure that was a sin. Plus, honoring your parents was the only commandment that came with a promise: obey them (which I figured included loving them) and you’ll live a long life. I wanted to live a long life, so I had to follow the rule.
But Dad didn’t make it easy. Actually, that’s not true. He did make it easy for most of my life until I landed behind bars. I cannot fault him for being angry with me, but I could complain that after months of showing him I was reformed, I still couldn’t so much as go to the gas station after school to fill up without calling him.
I don’t know why I was so desperate for his forgiveness above anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because he always looked at me a little differently from Oliver. I was your typical first born: mature, unfailingly obedient. I never questioned my parents. I did what I was told. I took on responsibilities at a young age and matured faster than many of my peers. My virtues earned me respect.
Now my father saw me differently. I wasn’t a good teen. I was just a teen. I think for him it was more disappointment than anything else. He didn’t want an ordinary daughter. He wanted an extraordinary one. But I wasn’t that. I was a fallible, brain-not-fully-developed typical teenager who made mistakes. I guess Dad would shift his energy to Oliver now in an attempt to mold him into what I couldn’t be: the perfect super teen.
I dropped off Dad’s coffee and lingered in his office for a while. He was an accountant, his world filled with numbers. It suddenly occurred to me that Dad could have easily offered to help me with calculus. He was a whiz at math. So why didn’t he extend the offer? Not that I’m complaining. Attending tutoring sessions was the reason I was driving three days out of the week. But why did he never ask me if I wanted his help?
“Don’t touch that, Cadence,” I heard from behind. I froze, my finger poised above the cactus needle.
“Why?”
Dad sat down behind his desk. “First, because I said so. And second, because you’d hurt yourself.”
“I wasn’t going to impale my finger on it,” I said, chuckling.
It was a big ass thorn—about three inches long—and I simply wanted to see how sharp the tip was. I had no plans to hurt myself, but I did imagine for a moment that I was Sleeping Beauty about to touch the spindle of the wheel—my desperate hope being that I would fall into a deep sleep and disappear from my reality.
“Are you going home?” Dad asked.
“Trying to get rid of me?” I replied lightly.
“I’m busy, Cadence.”
“I know.”
Man, he really did not like me at the moment. Well, I thought now was as good a time as any.
“Why am I going to tutoring when you could help me with math?” I asked.
Dad cleared his throat. “Huh?”
“You work with numbers all day,” I said. “Why didn’t you offer to help me?”
Dad looked annoyed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You never asked.”
Fair enough. But I wanted to get out the words while I had the guts to say them. Yes, I risked being grounded or punished in some way for being disrespectful, but I didn’t care. I think it was the caffeine from my latté. It made me bold.
“You can be honest, Dad,” I said. “You just really don’t wanna spend any time with me.”
Dad looked stunned. I turned around to face the cactus once more. I touched the thorn before walking out of his office. He said nothing, and I didn’t go to sleep as I’d hoped.
***
“I want to start visiting Fanny Burken,” I said over dinner the following week.
“Who?” Mom asked.
“The lady whose house I cleaned during that Saturday service project Avery organized,” I clarified.
Mom nodded.
“Why?” Oliver asked.