Keychains ✔

IX

His silence used to be telepathic, but now it grated at my nerves. "Talk, Dad. Just say something."

"Your mom and I fought."

I opened and closed my mouth, imagining Dad shrinking under Mom's patronizing rants.

"Sometimes, Dad, I wonder if it's better to let you fight your own battles, or if I should call Mom and give her a good slap in the face."

"Then why don't you—No, nevermind," Dad groaned. I bit my lip. "Nora, you've always been frank. Tell me. What do you want?"

His tone bordered on pleading. As if he would give me anything in the world as long as I gave him an answer. I gave in, because turning him away would be like kicking a kitten.

"Well, let me think," I said slowly. "You told me about Allison, and I plan to visit her grave. The house remains a question mark. I don't know what to do with it. Selling it would feel like a disservice to your sister. Keeping it would be like..."

I waved my hand in the darkness. "What would I do with it? Just let it sit there and collect dust? How is that of benefit to anyone?"

"You can sell it, then," Dad sighed.

"You want me to?" I said, scandalized and relieved.

"I want whatever you want."

"That's a lazy answer."

The sound of a coat wrinkling. I imagined Dad adjusting the phone to his ear.

"Is it really about the house, Nora? I regret even..." He sighed before continuing, "Nora, listen. Try to think from my perspective. Hearing from you after all these years was a big surprise. Because we thought you had gotten over us."

Like a heartbreak. That made sense, but what lingered was the uncertainty if you'd ever find another person. A partner. I was not a sentimentalist, but a future of webbed relationships and myself in the center, with no one who loved me not as a friend, but my other half, was unimaginable. I curled my fingers to stop them from tingling, as if they were unravelling like string.

"That's besides the point. Like I said, if the key hadn't arrived at my literal doorstep I wouldn't have tried any of this. I thought you'd hate me," I said softly, "and I was right."

"But I don't hate you! What made you so convinced of that? Is it because you ran away?" Dad exhaled, and I imagined him running his hand through his hair. "I could never hate you. I love you. You're my kid. I'll always think of you as my kid."

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. "You rarely say things like that."

"It took everything in me," Dad said with a shaky laugh. "I didn't grow up with those words. I mean, I did, but it never means much when—when you don't believe it. I understand what it's like, Nora. I'm sorry I couldn't give you a better childhood."

I nodded. Deep down I knew it wasn't "okay." You couldn't erase the pain regardless of how faded the scars have become. My consciousness ebbed, reminding me that it must be Monday now. "Dad, if it's okay for you, I might sell the house. Gather Allison's belongings. Anything you want me to get for you? You can pick it up here."

"No, wait. What's the sudden rush?"

I wanted it to be over. Contacting Mom and Dad had ripped open an old wound that didn't need any more chafing. Swinging my legs to the floor, I suppressed a yawn. "Why not? What else would I do with it?"

"Allison wouldn't give up so easily."

"Don't compare me to her. Come on Dad, this isn't like you." I walked the perimeter of my living room. My eyes were adjusted to the darkness. There was no mystery, no what-if, only the burdens we carried and the burdens we could choose to crush ourselves under. "Wouldn't you be happy giving it a rest? I'd be causing you more grief, and like she proved today, we're perfectly content."