A Bad Boy in my life

Twenty two

When my father's call came through this morning, I didn't hesitate to answer. It had been a while since we last spoke, and the growing distance between us made me long for the sound of his voice, even if our relationship had become somewhat strained since my arrival in Toronto.

"Hi, Dad," I greeted him, trying to hide the mix of emotions stirring within me.

"Hi, Margo," his voice responded, a hint of warmth tinged with a touch of uncertainty.

We exchanged pleasantries briefly, with him asking about life in Toronto and me providing a simple overview. Then came the question I knew he wanted to ask, the one we had both been avoiding.

"Margo, I'm sorry," he finally confessed, his voice betraying a sense of remorse. "I know I haven't been the best father these past few months while you were here, and now that you're gone, the weight of guilt has become unbearable."

I listened intently, my heart both hopeful and guarded.

"I've made some changes," he continued, a mix of excitement and vulnerability seeping through the phone. "I landed a new job, even better than the old one. The Xbox you've always wanted? It's sitting in the living room. And I've made sure the fridge is always stocked," he chuckled lightly. "But none of it feels right without you here. The house feels empty, too big. It just doesn't make sense. So, I have to ask... Are you truly happy living there? Because if you're not, I would really like you to consider coming back to Seattle."

Silence enveloped the airwaves, as I grappled with conflicting emotions. My father's sincerity was undeniable, but the path forward remained uncertain. I needed time to process, to consult with my mother, and to find my own voice in this pivotal moment.

"Um..." I hesitated, clearing my throat to steady my thoughts. "I appreciate your honesty, Dad. This is a lot to take in. I need to think, and I need to talk to Mom about it."

"That's okay, Margo," he reassured me, his voice filled with understanding. "You don't have to decide now. Just know that I want what's best for you. Call me if you want to discuss it further or if you need anything else."

"Okay, Dad. I'll keep that in mind. For now, I have to go. Goodbye."

"Okay. Goodbye, sweetheart. I love you."

With a heavy sigh, I ended the call, allowing my back to sink into the softness of the mattress as I held the phone tightly in my hand. The weight of my father's words hung in the air, mingling with a mix of uncertainty and hope, as I contemplated the choices before me and the impact they would have on my life.

***

For the next two hours, my mind remained consumed by the weight of my father's words, yet it offered no guidance on how to respond—to him or to myself.

"Do I still want to go back?" I mull over the question incessantly, my hands instinctively folding towels on the pantry counter.

The sense of rejection I felt when I had to leave my father's house in Seattle to live with my mother in Toronto lingers, and now he wants me to return as if I were a mere object he can pick up at his convenience.

Perhaps if he had made this proposal a week ago, I would have eagerly accepted, without a second thought. But now, just as my life is beginning to find stability again?

A knock interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see the cause of my insomnia leaning against the open door.

"Did I startle you?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

"No." I reply.

"Great. Because another cut on my face is the last thing I need right now."

I let out a chuckle.