A MANDATORY LUNCH date with my mom is something I try not to schedule until I have every ounce of mental energy available to deal with her questions. However, crappy luck seems to be the theme for this afternoon because when I enter the formal restaurant, my parents are seated at the table.
I halt a few feet from the table, making the server behind me stumble with the tray in his hands. I debate whether my appetite is more important than protecting my sanity. I don’t get to decide because my mom stands and pulls me in for a tight hug.
“It’s so good to see your face. Come, I ordered your favorites.”
I’m so stunned, it takes me a minute to hug her back. I can’t help but melt into her warm embrace. Avoiding my dad has been my main objective, but that means I barely see my mom.
“I missed you too, Mom.” I pull back. “You should have told me he was coming.”
“And listen to your excuses?” She raises a brow. “Your father did call, but you never answered.”
I walk over to the table where my dad pulls out my chair. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“No problem, Sunshine.”
The nickname guts me, and It hurts when I try to breathe again. “Where are Serena and Shreya? Didn’t they come with you?”
My sisters, although much younger, are the only buffer I have between my parents and myself. Without them, I tend to suffocate.
“They couldn’t make it. Your grandparents are staying with them in Toronto.”
I nod, knowing they must be exhausted from all the training. My sisters are training to qualify for the Olympics in figure skating, so they don’t have much leisure time.
When the food arrives, the sound of utensils scraping against plates is our only conversation. My responses to my mom’s questions are limited to yes and no. My dad doesn’t ask me much, and I’m grateful for it.
When my phone vibrates with a text, I grab it like a life raft.
Amara
Amara: How’s it going?
Summer: I’m being held hostage.
Amara: It can’t be that bad. Divya Preston is anything but boring.
Summer: My dad’s here. He’s spoken two words to me.
Summer: Maybe I should tell him I’m pregnant to get a reaction out of him.
Amara: Brutal.
Amara: But when he finds out his grandbaby is the spawn of a hockey player he might rejoice.
Summer: Never say that again.
Amara: Why? Unless you’re finally sleeping with someone other than Dalton’s pride and joy.
Amara: I have the perfect baby names. What do you think of Puckerton? Or Rinkerella?
I snort at the text and put my phone back in my purse. But when I look up my parents are watching me expectantly.
My mom gives me a nosy look. “So, anything new at Dalton?”
“Nope.”
“Any new friends or boyfriends?” The wiggle of her brows only makes my eyes narrow.
“Not really.”
She clasps her hands. “Sampson’s mom said you and him have been quite close.”
I drink my water, hoping I’ll drown. “We’re friends, Mom.”
“Leave the girl alone, Divya. You weren’t telling your parents about us when we got together.”
She smiles sweetly, putting her hand over his on the table.
“That’s because you two were having unprotected sex.”
“Summer!” They both scold in unison.
I laugh, seeing their blanched faces. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret.” I point to myself.
The shake of my dad’s head and the glare from my mom fills me with contentment.
When the server takes my plate, I push my chair back. “Well, this was fun but I need to get back.”
“I’ll take you,” my dad says.
I freeze. A girl can only handle so many awkward interactions in one day. “I already called an Uber.”
“Cancel it. I’m taking you.”
Not having to take an Uber, as a girl traveling alone is a relaxing option, but sitting in my dad’s SUV makes my chest wind tighter. I knew I should have brought Aiden’s truck, but parking that massive thing is a pain. Staring out the window isn’t helping the time go any faster. Neither is counting each rain droplet that pings against the window.
He turns on the radio, and of course, it’s tuned to a couple of announcers arguing about last night’s regular season game.
“Did you watch?” he asks.
“I don’t watch hockey.”
My dad chuckles. “Are you kidding? You would paint your face and make sure I had rink side seats to every playoff game.”
I swallow the thick ball in my throat. “Anymore. I mean I don’t watch hockey anymore.”
The silence after that is so loud, it rings in my ears. Thankfully, my dad feels it too because he turns up the radio volume. The hosts switch to D1 hockey to discuss Dalton versus Dartmouth.
“We got lots of talent coming in from Dalton on this year’s roster. With their star player going pro, Toronto’s never been luckier to be getting a powerhouse like Aiden Crawford.” My stomach has no business dipping the way it does at the mention of his name. “They’ll be talking about this kid for years to come, and I can promise you that.”
My dad glances at me. “You know him?”
Can he hear my heart rattling inside my chest? “Like I said, I don’t follow hockey.”
He sighs. “Right.”
The phone battery is nearly dead, so I can’t bury myself in a doom scroll, leaving me staring out the window for an escape.
“You missed Diwali, Thanksgiving, and Christmas,” my dad says, breaking the running silence again.
“I was busy with my application.”
“How is that going?”
“You should already know, considering you’re a trustee.” He tenses. I found that tidbit out sophomore year and my dad received a very angry text about it.
“I told you I’m going to make sure my daughter is cared for.”
“If you ever bothered to listen to what I wanted, you’d know that is the last thing you should have done.” I pause, controlling my volume. “I worked hard to get my scholarship. I don’t need you acting as my safety net. But you don’t know that because you haven’t spent a day getting to know me since I turned nine.”
“Summer, you know that I love you.”
I scoff. “You have a hell of a way of showing it.”
“Your sisters have seen me show up.”
“That’s great, Dad. I’m glad you’re finally showing up for your daughters, but I guess it’s too late for me, right?”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
My blood boils. “I am genuinely happy they got the dad I’ve always wanted. I truly am. But I’ll always remember that you chose not to be there for me. You treated me like a mistake.”
“Summer!” My dad yells pulling over when the campus comes into view. “You know damn well you are a blessing to me and your mother. We were young and scared, but we have never blamed you for anything. We made a choice when we had you.”
“Yeah, and then you made a choice between your career and your family. Take a wild guess on which one you chose.” I unclip my seatbelt and open the car door. “Next time you want to help, try being a dad instead of a cash register.” I slam the door shut.
Rain mixes with the hot tears that pour down my cheeks, soaking my achy chest.
When I cry over my father, I wonder if eight-year-old Summer, the little girl who thought that if superheroes existed, her dad had to be one, ever feels disappointed.
