Volume 1: Twelve Years Was A Long Time (4)

VOLUME 1: TWELVE YEARS WAS A LONG TIME

 

 

CHAPTER 4: THE AWKWARD MOMENT WHEN

You can’t heal what you refuse to confront…

 

PREVIOUSLY...

 

 

“Don’t forget your purse!”

“Th-thanks. For the help. Turns out I need it.” I snatched the back of my head and gave him a shy smile.

“Just lock the door on your way out!” I called, hoping he heard me.

“Cute dress! You look so different!”

“Thanks!” I blushed.

CRASH!

“Miss, are you okay?”

I opened them and met straight into a pair of bright green eyes.

“Hi, I’m Timothy but people call me Timmy.” chirped a cherubic face in front of me. He had the most adorable British accent.

“I’m William, and my friends call me Will except for my baby brother here who keeps on calling me ‘Lim’ instead of Liam.”

“Thank you!” I said to the driver as I passed through them.

I glanced at the backseat window. It was barely a second when my eyes met the same vibrant green eyes from before. I swore for a moment there, I saw a man with William’s face.

I carried on my way. At the corner, I heard a low click and turned just in time to face a camera. I watched the guy toss me a mischievous smile as he aimed the camera at me. I scowled and turned away.

I waved at Martha who waved back from the inside. I smiled and watched the customers talk and sit while sipping iced tea. And met a green-eyed stare - well two, in fact. It turned out that Martha wasn’t the only one to notice me. I saw one of them stare at me longer with those emerald eyes. Somehow, it made my pace slower - captivating me.

“Look out!”

“Oof!”

He grunted as I knocked into him. I touched my forehead after heating his hard wall for a chest. I looked up to him. He did the same by looking down at me. And we stayed like that. 

Hurriedly, he grabbed my hand and carried us inside the alley’s dark confines.

“F*cking sh*t. F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.”

“Why do you keep swearing?”

I glared at him. He scowled back.

"What are ye looking at?"

"Stalker?! You're the one who dragged me here in the first place!"

"Just admit it. You are just another one of my crazy fans who just can't get enough of me."

He scrutinized me, eyeing me from head-to-toe.

"Normally, I wouldn't bother with your lot but with you, might as well be. Maybe." He smirked.

He was about to lean in towards me when I sidestepped him. 

"Look, as much as I would want to know you - can't say that I really do - but I have to go. Hope you can find a sense of humility - though I doubt it."    

I tightened the hold on my clutch. At the open platform at the front, seated on one of the wicker chairs I saw him. My father.

Here's now or never.

Freedom, here I come.

 

 

AND NOW...

 

 

And then I'm back.

I was wrong. I couldn't do it. Twelve years and I still can't face him. Especially not now. Not when there are people around us consisting of families - of fathers and their daughters. Freaking Fathers' Day.

I took a step back and began to turn around when I heard him call me.

"Princess!"

I froze. The hair on my neck stood up. Too late now.

I turned around and stalked towards him. I nodded at the maître d by the podium and stopped by the round glass table. He stood up.

I made a quick assessment of him as I made my way to him. His jaw and chin still had that short stubble.  His blue eyes still the same deep blue as the ocean while his hair was still thick of long dark wavy locks that fell just above his shoulders. Even his tall height from before was still imposingly. Now, I knew that he and mom were young when they had me, but still, he looked the same as his handsome self from my youth - as if the years that gone by were nothing but days. I guess there times where age skips other people.

Nonetheless, they were still changes about him. If one would look closely.  I noted the wrinkles and laugh lines surrounding the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair had some few grey strands in them. His face was sharper now, his body leaner and his stance more refined that suited a man of his age.

How could I know this man as my father and still not know him?

I brushed off the notion as I reached him.

"Dad." I greeted curtly. I held out my hand.

He stared at it, making me feel uncomfortable. He reached for it and grabbed my wrist instead. Suddenly, I found myself engulfed in a bear hug.

"Princess, I missed you so much!" He cried. As in really cried with tears on his face.

I wanted to push him off but I didn't want to make a scene. Instead, I sighed.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. I saw the curious looks from the other customers and grew conscious. I struggled in his hold.

"Uhm, Dad. I can't breathe." I threw in some gagging noises for an extra touch.

He stared down at my flustered face and slowly let go of me.

"Sorry, I just got carried away there. I really missed you, Princess." He explained and gestured for me to sit.

I took a seat, not bothering to let my back touch the chair. I don't plan to stay here for long or to be too comfortable. I couldn't let my guard down.

"It's alright. I understand."

He gave me a thoughtful look before his face spreads into a wide smile.

"I can't believe I'm finally together with my princess. I was so excited when the Child Services told me you would meet with me. I had been looking forward for this day ever since." He babbled unconsciously.

"Dad." I started.

He carried on talking, too caught up to even bother listening to me.

"Dad." I tried again.

He was now in the middle of narrating my 2nd birthday and some embarrassing stories of my childhood. A waiter appeared and served us each a bowl of soup and a basket of sliced bread, breadsticks, butter and pesto. He turned to my dad only to be ignored and left. Reluctantly, I started on my soup, realizing there was nothing better to do. Disappointingly, I managed to finish them and still my dad was talking.

Even having a root canal is better than having nothing to do right now.

I helplessly turned to my right and I noticed a couple of eavesdroppers from the next table, laughing at my expense.

I clenched my fist, trying to not to feel irked.

"Dad," I tried again, this time he must've seen my face forming a dark expression and stopped.

With a panicked wide-eyed look, he leaned over to me. "What is it, princess?" He asked in a worried tone.

"You have some snot dripping down your face."

He paused for a moment of hysterics, shock frozen on his face. He turned his back to me and mumbled incoherent cries. I sighed. It’s not like he actually had snot on his face. I just wanted him to stop talking - apparently it had an adverse effect. I waited for him to wipe the non-existent dirt off his nose. He took a deep breath and turned back to me.

I glanced at the other customers, wondering if they also they think if my dad' crazy. Yup. Definitely.

I guess age does take its toll on a man. I frowned at the thought.

This was so unlike him. Last time I checked, he was the most sensible man I knew. I remembered it too clearly. After all, he was - had been - my role model of responsibility and practicality while my mom was the model of childhood mischief and sentimentality.

Of course, I had to admit I was a daddy's girl and even then he had always wanted to spoil me. He was the one who made sure I was well-fed, well-rested, protected, academically well-versed and even properly toilet-trained. He had been there to help me take my first baby steps, my first bike ride and my first day at pre-school. He was a doting father to me and a doting husband to my mom. Even so, he can also be stern when needed to be - especially on mom when she was up to her childish antics. And as a timid child, he was the only I could talk to - the only one who understood me. The one who starts my day with pancakes and tucks me in the nights never failing to whisper ‘I-love-yous’ in my ear.  Pretty much, he was the ideal dad. I loved him so much.

And that was what made it even hurt more.  The day he left was probably the end of my childhood rationality. It marked the later part of my childhood in a sepia-colored tone.

My mom had to start looking for jobs, barely having time to cry over his sudden desertion. I had to learn to grow up early, to do things for myself so that I’ll never have to bother her. We both immersed ourselves in our tasks, hoping that maybe the pain and the memories would be forgotten. It placed me and mom on an even keel for a while. Yet, the scars never left. There will always be something to remind me of the pain.

The abandonment. The rejection.

I was so caught up in my past that all the while, I didn't notice my father was continuing on with his ramblings.

"Sorry about that. It's just that ... You know this one time... Yeah.... But its nothing compared to... It's kind of funny actually... I know it's embarrassing... But well.... The point is... I'm not trying to... Well, yeah it’s kind of confusing... All in all... And yeah.... I guess that...."

"Look dad," I cut him off.

I waited for a moment or two as he braked post-sentence.

"Were you saying something, princess, dear?"

He looked at me curiously. I gulped and took a deep breath. I looked at him with a solemn look.

”We don’t really have to do this. We both know the only reason I came here is because I need you to sign the-"

"The emancipation papers." He finished. As if like lightning, his persona changed. I noticed his straightened back while his fingers intertwined in a business-like manner.

I nodded. I straightened my back, too.

He seemed to ponder about this. I looked down on my hands. My fingers fidgeted.  I steeled myself for his reaction.

"You mean these papers?"

I made an inaudible gasp.

I quickly looked up and saw the papers he held up in one hand. I reflexively tried to reach for them but I restrained myself.

"Yes, so if you could just sign-"

"Oh, look. Our meal has arrived." He enthusiastically stated, changing the course of his attention.

Just on cue, two silver platters were placed in front of us. And that was the end of our conversation. For now.

 The waiter, a different one this time, probably no more than a couple of years older than me, lifted the metal. The aroma inside emitted a response from my stomach. I sighed in appreciation.

I heard a male voice chuckled. I looked up and met the waiter’s gaze. I noted the glint in his eyes and somehow it made me conscious of any dirt on my face. Instinctively, I placed a hand on my face, inconspicuously rubbing off any dirt on the surface.

I inspected my hand and saw nothing on it. I knitted my brows in confusion. I could still feel his heated glare on my face trailing down past my shoulders until the stopped on my lap.

My dad must’ve noticed my discomfort as he gave loudly cleared his throat. This made the waiter leave his eyes from me to my dad. My dad arched a brow, his eyes cold and critical like a hawk on its prey. The young waiter made a small cough. I noted his pallor turned a bit pale as he silently excused himself. My dad chuckled as the waiter hurriedly walked away, almost bumping into another server.

I blankly stared at my dad. He simply gave me an innocent look.

“Must be a full house tonight.” He shrugged.

I let it go seeing as the food in front of me was too tempting to ignore any further.

On my plate was a big succulent piece of steak. On the side was a reasonable amount of mashed potatoes - perfectly mashed and scrumptiously designed like a flower.  There were also lettuce, carrots and corn garnished with a delicious dressing.

I glanced at dad’s meal and realized he also ordered the same meal as mine.

Just as I was about to dig my knife into the heavenly piece of meat, he stopped me. I watched him sprinkle a healthy amount of pepper onto my steak before also sprinkling on his. My lips twisted at the gesture.

A memory of him and I eating in a diner flashed through me. We would always eat in a diner near our apartment building every Sunday and order steak with mashed potatoes. It was a tradition of sorts between us. Back then, we used to call it Steak Sundays.

“I remember you always wanted to have your steak peppered. You liked the taste so much you would sulk whenever the diner ran out of pepper.” He laughed at the memory.

I blushed and started to eat my food. I hummed in approval as each morsel entered my mouth. The spicy taste played with my palate. I heartily devoured my meal until all that was left was a bit of sauce on the side. I tucked my utensils on the side and faced my dad.

He was already finished, his eyes watching me with a fond expression.

 “You look just like your mother when she was your age.”

I bit my lip and crossed my ankles under the table. My back stiffened at the mention of my beautiful late mother.

“And yet you are so different from each other. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if you took after me.” He smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

“So, tell me. What were you up to these last few years? Your studies? Any boys I should look out for?”

He clasped his hands under his chin, his elbows leaning on the table. His whole attention was on me.

I hunched my shoulders a bit.

“Nothing much.”

“Come on, there must be something you want to say. I want us to reconnect.” He carefully spoke the last word with a hint of certainty.

“Come on, tell me.” He patted my hand.

I immediately recoiled from the contact. I moved my hand out of his reach and clenched it into a fist.

 “Mom died.” And pretty much nothing else, I wanted to add.

I know it was tactless, harsh or whatever. He wanted to reconnect, didn’t he?

I watched his face for any hint of emotion. Instead, all I saw was a calm façade.

“Yes. I’ve heard about that. I was in business overseas.  I’m sorry you had to go through that alone. I wished I could come.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I asked, not a second later after he spoke.

My curiosity prompted me so. At the back of my head, I hoped to find an answer as to the cause of his sudden disappearance from my life.  That, maybe, finally a confrontation was about to happen.  But it dimmed as soon as he became silent. His silence made me irritated, planting anger in its wake.

And so I continued, “No one said you couldn’t come - or that the funeral was a black-tie event or it was a funeral at the sea - so why didn’t you?”

His expression became pained.  “It’s complicated.” He huskily replied. And nothing else.

“Of course, it’s complicated. I mean, how could it be not complicated, right?” I said sarcastically, spoiling for a fight.

He remained silent and it spiked my anger. A few moments passed and I decided it wasn’t worth the time.

 “Just forget about it. You don’t have to explain anything.”

“Alyce,” he softly spoke. “I’ve always loved you and your mother - you, especially. I never wanted to leave you, but there were circumstances that forced me to be separated from you. If only, if time would’ve let me, I could’ve gone back for you. Believe me, I would. And now, to see you have grown…” he trailed off.

I turned away and bit my lip. Blood trickled in my mouth from the bite but I ignored it. I still couldn’t look from. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear more.

“Alyce,” he softly spoke again.

I reluctantly turned to him. 

He smiled, though not quite reaching his pained eyes. “Would you like some dessert?”

It was then I was aware that the young waiter from earlier was in front of our table, his eyes gawking at me.

“No, thank you.” I politely declined. I wasn’t in the mood nor do I have the appetite for food.

“Just some coffee.” Dad ordered.

The waited nodded and with a last look on me, disappeared into the kitchen. Minutes later, he came back again with two cups of hot coffee.  He placed them on the table before scurrying to another table.

I traced the rim of the cup as if they were the most fascinating thing to do.

“About the papers…”

He paused from drinking his coffee and cleared his throat. “I already had them signed.”

That perked me up. Finally, something good coming from this meeting.  I glanced at him in surprise.

“Really?” I asked to confirm. Finally, I was eager for this awkward meeting to end.

He caught this and frowned. Still, he nodded. That was good enough for me. I was about to ask for the papers when he beat me by speaking first.

“I heard you are a scholar in your school. Is that true?”

“Yes.” I simply replied, unsure of why he asked so suddenly.

“And that you live in a studio far from it?”

“I take the subway.” I shrugged.

“I see.”

He pondered over this while drinking his coffee. I eyed him suspiciously. What is he getting at from this?

He gently placed the empty cup on the table and sat back on his chair. His hands were again clasped and folded under his jaw. He regarded me with a cool and calculating look.

“I’ve decided to give you the papers.”

I wanted to jump for joy at that. Finally, he was handing me my key to freedom.

I should be relieved. I should be happy. And yet, I felt something was about to happen. Something I’ll surely dread. Instinct told me to skeptical about it.

“Let me get this straight. You’ll give me the papers. That’s it. Just like that?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You know. No catch or anything? Nothing?”

My unimpressed look revealed nothing of tremors inside of me or my suspended breathing.

“Trust you to be shrewd to catch on that.” He grinned.

I was right.  There is a catch.

“Yes, you were right. There is a catch.”

I scowled inwardly. I didn’t realize I said the words out loud.

“Then what is it?” I impatiently asked.

“I will give you the signed papers but only if you agree to live with us for a year.”

And here it was the final blow. The dreaded feeling coming true.

All other notions breezed through like a spectral. All but one thing to voice out. 

“What do you mean by ‘us’?”