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Gabi

"Don't throw things at me!"

"It's only popcorn," I laughed, throwing another piece, "That was a good movie,"

"I agree,"

"Thanks for taking me,"

"You're welcome. Want to go for lunch?"

I nodded, and took his hand, swinging it by my side. I didn't care how old I was, I'd probably always hold his hand while walking.

Dad didn't embarrass me much, and he never went out of his way too. Often, I heard people say theirs did, but dad and his friends weren't interested in that.

To be fair, it used to be pretty hard to get me out the house. When I was younger I usually had some form or medical device in me or a wheelchair to sit in, and I used to be jealous and insecure because everyone else was playing.

So I guessed dad made going out a fun and special thing, not a place to tease me.

Plus, I think if I ever stopped holding his hand he would probably just sit at home and cry because he hated me growing up.

"Where shall we go?"

"I want pasta,"

"Okie dokie. We will find pasta,"

It didn't take long to find a place we both wanted, then we got a seat and ordered drinks, putting our phones down.

"We should go and get our nails done again,"

"Maybe,"

"You don't have plans next weekend, right?"

I shook my head and he smiled, tapping his head to make a mental note.

"We can go, I will see if Sierra wants to come. Invite Maddox if you want,"

"Can it just be an us thing?"

He thought for a moment in silence, then did a small nod.

"I like Sierra, I just, I feel like things suck and I need my dad,"

I looked down and picked at my jeans, for talking like this wasn't what I liked to do, but thankfully our drinks came, and we had to order food.

Every time he tried to go back to me, I deflected the conversation to him. And he liked to talk about himself, so it worked.

I thought.

"I know what you're doing, by the way,"

"I'm not doing anything,"

"You're avoiding tricky topics,"

"And?"

"We can always find a new therapist, and all your uncles would be more than happy to take you out and do anything for you. And I am here to talk to, Gabi,"

"Okay,"

"You never tell me how therapy is going,"

"It's fine,"

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. I just hate therapy," I mumbled. It wasn't strictly true, but it kinda was.

"I know it's hard,"

"I don't wanna do it anymore,"

"I think it would benefit,"

"You wouldn't know,"

"I was in therapy for years. I know its hard. It took me months to feel okay about it,"

"I forgot,"