Bulletproof (#1) ✔

3: Franny

    The floor is covered in red tiles. There's a large counter in the corner where people sit on high stools, drinking, some of them eating. The rest of the room is surrounded by large booths adorned in red with light wooden borders and white tables.

    My dad slides into one side of the booth and I sit opposite him. I look to my right and the sun is still shining, glistening against the large window beaming down onto the table in front of me. I lift my hand and press it onto the table, feeling the light warm my skin.

    A waitress comes over before I have to try to make small talk with my dad. I smile at her and she smiles back.

"Welcome guys. Are there any drinks I can get you to start off?"

I look over at my dad then turn back to the woman, the tight smile still on my face. "I'll just have a Coke."

    She nods and looks at my dad. He runs his hand over his stubble and frowns a little, as if he's only just noticed that the facial hair is there. "I'll have a Corona."

    The waitress smiles quickly and then turns around, walking over to the main bar. A silence encases us then, and I just look down at the table, letting out a quick, short breath.

    "This is nice," my dad says, and I take pity on him for a moment and nod, giving a forced smile.

    "Yeah, it's nice," I say. "We haven't done something like this in a while."

    My dad leans back against the seat and sighs contentedly, his muscles relaxing and his shoulders sagging as the tension in his body is released. The waitress comes back after a few more minutes of silence and places my Coke in front of me and the beer in front of my dad. My gaze lingers on the beer but I force myself to look away, realizing that I'll just have to bite back any snide comment I have and keep going.

    "Are you ready to order?" the waitress asks, and I look down at the menu that I haven't even opened yet. I look over and my dad doesn't seem in the slightest bit ready yet, so I shake my head.

    "No. Can we have a few more minutes?" I ask.

    "Sure," she says. "Just call me over when you're ready. My name's Kate."

    Kate walks off and I open the menu, flicking through until I get to the dinner meals. My eyes don't go to what's the most appetizing or what makes me hungrier. Instead I look at the prices in small print at the end of each description. Everything is relatively cheap, but I pick the cheapest option anyway. It's just something I do to help my dad out, even though I know that a few dollars off a meal won't make much of a difference.

    "Decided yet?" my dad asks. I nod.

    "I'm gonna get the pasta," I say.

    "You always get that," my dad comments. "Must really like it."

    I must.

    I swallow and reach over to grab my drink. I move the straw around and take a long sip. The shaky breath I let out directly after is not from nervousness but from the complete awkwardness of the moment. I feel like maybe it would have just been easier if I'd stayed home and had my dinner on my lap while my dad watched television. But there's no food at home, and the guy needs to actually get up and go somewhere at least once a week.

    I sigh and move the drink further away from me, watching the line of water appear underneath it as it moves. I look over at my dad and give yet another forced smile, which makes me feel guilty. It shouldn't be this difficult to talk to my dad. We should be able to just talk like a normal dad and daughter. But that isn't how it works with us.