Just the Beginning [Complete ✓]

Chapter 9

When Adrian and I get to the house, he's already disappeared inside. It's a little odd, since he usually strolled on behind me, and it's not until I'm nearing the kitchen that I hear why.

Dad's home and he's yelling.

Dropping my bag at the doorway, I step inside. Carmela stands straight, eyes gleaming in fear. Her shoulders are stiff, hands folded tightly in front of her. Dad is raising his voice. When her eyes flicker to me, he turns around and for a moment, I'm facing the exact expression Carmela faced before he's face shifts into one of a bright eyed smile. "Princess, you're home."

"Good afternoon," I greet curtly, stepping past him and over to Carmela. "Is everything alright?"

Dad waves a hand in a gesture that says 'it's nothing'. "She was being incompetent, that's all," he explains.

"How?"

Dad shifts for a moment. He turns his head so he's not looking at me as he says, "She was aware of my arrival today, but she did not prepare."

Crossing my arms, I lean against the counter, not once letting my gaze waver as I stare at him, a sign for him to go on which he seems to catch. He clears his throat as he takes a seat on the chair by the counter. "Did not prepare what exactly, dad?"

"She's a maid—"

Without meaning to, I interrupt. "She's a cook. She's not your maid," I say. "She's not a maid, but she is a person."

Dad looks incredulous. He's face is turning red, as though about to burst at any moment. "I hired her, Callan." HIs tone is firm this time, as if he's trying to tell me off. Though almost just as quickly, the anger seems to disappear, at least on the surface, and he leans forward onto his elbow. "Let's drop this for now, Princess."

"Dad."

Without looking at me, he responds,"Yes?"

"Don't call me princess, okay?" This gains his attention as he lifts his head to look at me again. Eyes wide with surprise and shock, his jaw sets and I wonder whether he's really upset or faking it. Nevertheless, I don't wait for him to say anything as I continue. "I haven't seen you in thirteen years. Thirteen years and now I'm here. You call me princess and you act as if you never left, but I have to find out through Adrian and Carmela that you're gone."

"It's business, Callan."

"Business or not, I am your daughter and therefore, you have to tell me when you will or will not be home." There's a shake in my voice which I can't help. It feels like I'm lecturing or telling off my father which is certainly the last thing I mean to do, but now that the words are out there, I don't regret it. This needed to be said. Dad is looking at me again with narrowed eyes; not a glare, but more analytical. His forehead wrinkles as he processes the information. The next thing I know, he's standing in front of me. We're face to face, feet apart and arms crossed. He taps his foot like he's about to give me a scolding, but he says nothing. He stands this way for the next ten minutes (which I'm certain about after glancing at the clock.)

I give in first. "Mom sent me here, trusting you to take care of me—"

"You're almost an adult. You can take care of yourself." Somehow, his words are like a slap in the face. Sure, every other teen would love for their parents to treat them as if they were adults, but when your parent isn't there for most of your life and they decide to treat you like one, it seems unfair. It's unfair how he can call me an adult as if he watched me grow up into one. It's sure as hell funny that he doesn't seem to care or worry when I'm coming home. It's really damn unfair, but at the same time, it cannot be helped. As he stares down at me, waiting for my move, I realize that although I'm his daughter and he took me in, it may not have been his choice. At the end of the day, his whole 'princess' calling and excitement was just an act. An act he wanted to keep up for the sake of himself.

"I can," I reply stiffly.

"And you're not coming to an empty house."

"I'm not."

"So what's the problem?"

I stare at him quietly. What's the problem? Scoffing, I step past him. He tries to reach for me but I pull away quickly.

What's the problem? Cal, what's wrong?

"Nothing," I say, lifting my bag onto my shoulder. "Nothing at all." I passed Adrian on my way to my room. He tries to make eye contact, but I look away and shut the door behind me right before my legs cave in under my weight and I'm on the floor.

Cal, it's your birthday. Why are you crying? Oh. So your dad never came?

"He never did," I mumble to myself. I press my forehead against the door and close my eyes. "Not even now."

It'll be okay, Cal. Hey, how about this? I'll keep the promises he made, so they're not entirely broken. And I'll do it until he shows up. Okay? I promise, I'm not going anywhere.

I lift my hands to wipe at my eyes, body shaking and doing everything in my power to stop from outright sobbing. A sharp sting through my chest, piercing it and pulling at every angle. I want it to stop, but it's been so long and I've come to accept that it may never get better. Not entirely.

It will get better, Cal. That's a promise.