Daddy rubs his hand across his forehead. A vein stands out on the side of his neck, but then he relaxes. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Whatever makes my girls comfortable.”
I stare out the back window for the rest of the drive. Exhaustion lulls me into a sort of trance, and my mind is so busy trying to make sense of this new world. Mama, Daddy, and I are all vastly different people since the last time we were in the same house together. Can we even fit in it now? Will everything break apart once we walk through the door?
Will our family break now that we’re finally together if the dream doesn’t turn out to be everything we’d hoped?
Once we pull into the driveway, I see a few neighbors have put signs out on our lawn and they mill about on our front porch. The signs are the opposite of the messages they’ve been sending Mama and me for years. They say, “Welcome Home!” and “Congratulations!” The neighbors welcome Daddy home with open arms and it’s all I can do to not roll my eyes in disgust. A few have left baskets of food or bottles of wine on the front porch to celebrate, and I wonder how many of them are driven by guilt about the way they’ve acted. I watch my parents walk beside each other as they talk to the neighbors, but they don’t touch. This is definitely going to require an adjustment—and sleep. We should all sleep. A month’s worth of exhaustion has caught up with me, and my whole body simply yearns for bed.
It feels like I haven’t slept well ever since I kicked Jordan out of my house.
Walking to my room, I glance at my phone and see no missed calls or texts. My heart shatters all over again when I think of him, so I do my best not to. He’s done as I asked, and other than the look we exchanged at the funeral, I haven’t seen or heard from him since.
I miss talking to him, the way he challenges me to see things differently. The way he makes me laugh.
Jordan’s voice is only a piece of what I long for. I miss his touch, his smile, his smell, his kiss—God, I miss him kissing me, holding me.
I’ve questioned my decision to make him leave a million times. Sometimes I’m just furious with him for bringing up the doubts that I’m trying to let go of. It felt like he wasn’t just reminding me of everything that could go wrong, but he was also rubbing it in my face. Other times I feel like such an idiot that I swear if I have a brain cell left in my head at all it would be long dead of loneliness. Maybe I’ve made a huge mistake and now I don’t know how to fix it or take it back. And Daddy being home only further complicates our situation.
As I turn off the light and walk toward the living room, my phone dings once and lights up from my desk in the darkness. I freeze, not sure if I’m strong enough to handle turning Jordan away again.
His text somehow makes me feel better instead of worse like I’m expecting.
Jordan: I promised I wouldn’t leave you and I’m keeping that promise. Let me know when you need me.
Let him know when I need him? I groan to myself at the yearning that fills me just to be near him. I always need him. When I turn to face my doorway, Daddy’s standing there and I jump.
“Oh. Hi.” I stuff my phone into my pocket and smile at him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to see my daughter’s room.” His words are kind, but he doesn’t look at my room at all. His eyes watch me too closely to see anything else.
“Well, this is it.” I flip the light back on and gesture around at the walls that have been a light yellow since Mama and I painted them ourselves the summer after sixth grade. Looking around, I realize this place is filled with memories of Mama—and nothing of Daddy. He looks like a square block we’re trying to fit into a round hole.
I sigh at the lost expression on his face as he finally looks at the room around me. I step forward, grab his hand, and pull him in toward my closet. Opening the door, I show him my stacks of shoeboxes, but he simply frowns in confusion.
“These boxes are filled with all the letters you wrote to me. I’ve never thrown any away—not a single one. There are more boxes in the attic,” I state simply, and when I glance over at him, his eyes are watery. “This is the part of my room that has always belonged to you.”
Daddy pulls me into a tight hug and seems too emotional to respond. I hug him back as tight as I can, closing my eyes and trying to memorize what he smells and feels like outside of a Polunsky jumpsuit. I’m determined to make new memories with my father that will never fade, even if I can’t store them safely away inside any shoebox.
He kisses the top of my head softly and whispers, “Thank you, Riley. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve missed, for the lies.”
“Let’s just start over,” I say back. “I’m happy you’re home, Daddy.”