Chipped Heartz & Broken Smilez

Father and Daughter

I glanced at the number beneath the door's peephole; '412'. I heard children's laughter, my brother and I giggling as we chased each other around with sticks while my mother chided us. I remembered my father lifting me over his head and swinging me around. The brass knob was cold against my palm. I took a deep breath. This was my home; at the end of the day, it was the only place I belonged with all my imperfections.

And though my mother had been erased, this place kept her memories. Her swearing as she tried to wipe off the words I had written on the wall with a pen while learning to read. It also had my father; the savoury scent of the food he cooked to rouse me from sleep. His low, monotonous singing that my mother likened to that of a robot. Inside this apartment, we had experienced some of our best and worst times.

I twisted the knob, pushed the door open and stepped inside. My father was sitting by the kitchen counter, with a plate of pancakes in front of him and another where I usually sat.

"Hi," I said. My voice was so soft I didn't think Father heard me until he turned around and nodded.

"How did you know I was coming back today?"

He shrugged. "I didn't. But I'll always cook for you. You're my daughter, and it's my job to look after you. If you didn't show up today, then there was a chance you would come back tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. So even if you're not here, I'll keep making food for you like usual. If you don't eat it, I'll put it in the fridge and share it with the family next door. Their children like the same type of food you do. They appreciate it." He stabbed his fork into the centre of his pancake and twisted it.

I took my seat next to him; my chest squeezed uncomfortably. I wasn't sure if I owed him an apology or if he owed me one, but I thought it better not to bring the matter up.

Syrup spread across the flat brown cakes; golden rivulets spilled down the sides. I cut a slice free and pushed it into my mouth; it was as sweet and soft as I remembered. "It's delicious."

My father said, "You're not going to tell me where you went, are you?"

I shook my head. It was better if he didn't know about Bella. The last thing I wanted was for him to get involved in my mess.

"Did you get into any trouble?" he asked. "Do you need money or anything?"

I shook my head.

He sighed. "I wished you wouldn't keep things from me."

"I know."

"You always know. You know everything," Father said, unable to hide the faint trace of annoyance in his voice. I covered his hand with mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. His tense demeanour lost some of its rigidness, and he mumbled, "I'm happy you're back."

"Me too."

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