Fire and Freedom - Book One of the Café Latte Trilogy

Chapter Ten - Ross

CW: parental issues, mentions of past emotional abuse (not graphic, just hinted at).

Chapter Ten – Ross

I hesitated, and then got out of the car. Never before had walking into the lobby of my flat seemed so unappealing. Knowing that just inside the doors possibly awaited the man I hated more than anything in the world, made me want to get back into my car and drive into an oncoming train. I sighed, and walked inside the lobby casually, all the while my eyes staring firmly at the lift doors. That was my goal. If I could get there, then I'd be safe. Maybe he wouldn't see me. Maybe he'd gone home.

"Ross?"

Fuck. I turned around, pretending to be surprised. "Dad?"

My father was standing a few metres away from me, not exactly how I remembered him from my childhood. He looked smaller. He looked old. Worn out. Every so often I'd see him on the street, accidentally run into him somewhere completely random, but I'd never look properly. Aside from those chance encounters, I hadn't seen the man since I'd left home all those years ago, and now I was staring at him. Staring down at him, even, because now I was taller than him.

"Hello, Ross," he said briskly, awkwardly standing too far away from me, as though he was afraid to take a step closer. "I've been waiting for hours."

I nodded. "I was at work. Busy day, and all. Sorry."

"No matter, no matter," he said, and then shoved his hands in his pockets. "So... how's work going? It must be busy if they're keeping you in on Sundays."

I nearly told him about the promotion. I nearly bragged about the pay rise. But I caught myself just before I did, reminding myself that I didn't need his praise. I didn't need anything from him - and he sure as hell didn't deserve to know anything about my personal life. I had to shut this down quickly, and exchanging pleasantries was not going to do it.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him tiredly. "What do you need?"

He looked startled, his eyes alarmed. "I just... Just thought I'd check in, see how you were doing."

"Well, you've done that," I replied, and then indicated the lift doors. "So I'm going to go up to my flat and settle in for the evening. Goodbye."

As I walked off, I heard his voice call out, "We're holding a memorial service for your mother next week. We... there were some people who couldn't make it for the funeral. They wanted to celebrate her life, so I... I organised a sort-of belated wake."

"Delightful," I replied coldly, but with the mention of my mother I could feel my will crumbling. Once again, I was becoming a teenager again, standing in front of my father, terrified to make one wrong move in case it provoked his anger.

Immediately, whatever happy atmosphere he was trying to recreate dissolved. His smile faded and I knew that the façade had indeed crumbled. Not that I wanted him to continue pretending that everything was fine. I didn't want him acting all sweet and kind, as though the last ten years wasn't an insurmountable void between us. As though he hadn't done everything in his power to rid me from his life.

"Ross, you didn't go to her funeral," he began, but I cut him off.

"I didn't want to go," I told him. "Just because you fed and housed me for the first couple of stages of my life, doesn't mean you get the right to pretend you know me now. I'm twenty-eight, and I haven't seen you in ten years."

"You owe us-" he began

"Don't say it," I said flatly. "Don't say anything about me owing you anything. You gave up the right to hold family obligation over my head the second you told me never to come home again."