Straight To You

thirty-three

Inside my mind, something shifts. Instead of feeling anxious at the thought of facing the consequences of my actions, I find myself thinking: Who cares if he knows? I skipped for a reason; a reason that has a lot to do with his actions.

Out of nowhere, Jack's voice abruptly enters my mind. I recall the story he shared with me just a little while ago about how his family went about moving on from Haleigh's death. My train of thought soon shifts to the advice Jack had given me about my dad and his possible moving on from my mother. Clear as a bell, I can hear Jack saying: Only he can decide when he's ready to start seeing other people. Whether that time is now, years from now, or never. It's his choice, and he's only going to go through with it when he's ready.

Before I have the chance to come to terms with the fact Jack is right in his words and that I should probably listen to his advice, my dad is speaking again. This time, he isn't nearly as calm as he was before.

"What were you thinking, cutting class like that?" Dad's voice echoes in the silence surrounding us like a gun shot, his voice the trigger and his words the bullets. "I can't believe you would do something as irrational as what you did today. Do you know how irresponsible your actions were? Storming out of school, ditching class, ignoring my calls . . . it's all so unlike you. I thought your mother and I raised you better than this. I thought we—"

"Oh, that's rich!" I retort sarcastically, hardly realizing I've even spoken until bitter laughter bubbles in my throat and manages to escape my lips before I'm able to silence it. I'm aware of the gleam of frustration burning in my father's gaze, yet his glare doesn't stop me from continuing with, "We. As in you and mom together, right?"

Dad blinks, clearly taken aback by my question. I watch as his mouth opens and closes repeatedly as he struggles to find an answer to my accusation, appearing lost. "Yes, Morgan," Dad finally manages to say, gripping the back of a kitchen chair as he keeps his ocean-like eyes trained on me. "Your mother and I together. What else would I be referring to?"

"I can't believe you're going to stand here and preach to me about right and wrong when you crossed the same line I did today!" I've never risen my voice at either of my parents in my entire lifetime, until now. I've never felt even half as upset as I do in this moment before either, white-hot anger pulsing through my veins and threatening to take me off the rails.

Pointing an accusing finger at me, Dad bellows, "Do not turn this around on me! We're talking about you and your actions right now, do you hear me?"

"Well, we should be talking about what you did!" I counter, blurting the words before I'm able to think better of saying them. "I saw you, you know! In the front office with Elena this morning? How could you, Dad? Were you even thinking of Mom at all, or were you too busy staring into Elena's eyes to remember the woman you're supposed to love?"

I want to take the words back. I want to go back in time and prevent myself from saying them. I wish I'd never spoken at all. Unfortunately, none of this is possible. I did speak, and now my hurtful words are out in the air. For the first time today, I realize just how immature I've been acting. Throwing Mom in Dad's face the way I just did was unbelievably insensitive of me. I've never acted out in such a way before, and I instantly hate myself for it.

I watch as Dad deflates. His anger seeps from his features, an expression that can only be described as guilt taking its place. The finger Dad had previously been pointing at me slowly falls to his side, his blue eyes no longer a personified stormy ocean, but pools of never-ending sadness.

"Morgan . . ." Dad trails off, voice breaking. Shaking his head, I watch as he purses his lips like he's just swallowed a bitter pill. My words. "Morgan, I—What are you talking about?"