2

And that was part of my problem. Because, originally, I had been daddy's little girl. After mom died, my dad had been such an integral part of my life. I owed most of who I was to him, in my opinion. And way back then, things had been different. He had been warm toward me. We did everything together. Of course, those few years after my mom passed, it was just my dad and my two little sisters. Despite being seven when we lost her, I tried to step in and fulfill the role of "mom" where I could. Looking back, I doubt I did a very good job. But I had meant well. I took over taking care of Ally. It was usually me who changed her diapers, gave her baths, got her to bed. Monica, fortunately, outgrew the need for diapers by the time she was three, so there wasn't much need for my assistance there.

Those next few years as I approached my teens, I thought my dad and I were tight. I can remember many nights where he would help me put my sisters down for bed and then let me stay up for hours with him, watching movies on tv. He always made me laugh at the stupidest things. And I had a way of getting him to laugh, too. I loved him so much, and I was certain he loved me back. There were even times when I would wake in the middle of the night feeling scared and alone, and I would go crawl in bed next to my dad. He never protested. And when I would turn my back toward him and snuggle back against him, he always wrapped an arm around me, which made me feel safe and warm. Of course, all of that was before he started to detest me.

It started, apparently, the moment I turned thirteen. Something about our relationship changed. It felt sudden to me although, in hindsight, I think it had been building slowly for a year prior to that. By the time I was fourteen, I could hardly call myself "daddy's girl" anymore. He barely gave me the time of day and seemed to have turned his fatherly services exclusively toward my younger sisters.

I grew very introverted about it at the time. I wanted to understand what I had done wrong. It must have been something. A part of me started to wonder if it was because I looked too much like my mom. Maybe as my body matured, so had my facial features. True, I resembled my mom more than either of my sisters. Both of them were taller than me, for starters, whereas my mom had been my same height according to my dad when I asked him once. Maybe that was it, though. That I was like a constant reminder to my dad about what he had lost. In any case, I spent the better part of my teenage years trying to figure it out. Trying to figure out how to win daddy's affection back. But try as I may, I was unsuccessful.

And so, when the opportunity presented itself that I could go far away to college on a scholarship, I jumped at it. Anything to get myself out of that house where I wasn't wanted and clearly didn't belong.

The plane jolted me out of my thoughts as the wheels touched down on the runway. A quick glance out the window showed me the ground leveling out as the plane tipped forward. I hadn't even realized we were so close to landing, as engrossed as I was in my thoughts. The lights alongside the runway whizzed by in a blur as the plane slowed down. I sighed, closing my eyes. This was going to be a dreadful summer, I could already tell.

[ Arrival.]

Twenty minutes later, I stood at the curb in the arrivals area outside the airport. I had texted my dad that I was there, and he answered that he was a few minutes out. It was oddly disappointing that he wasn't there on time. He knew when my flight got in and it wasn't like it was early. If anything, we had landed a few minutes late. By the time I saw his black Audi pulling into the pickup area, I was feeling nervously frustrated.

My dad stopped a little ways back and I had to walk to his car, dragging my suitcase behind me. It wasn't too heavy, but I thought he might have at least gotten out to help me with it. Then again, why was I surprised at all, considering how he felt about me? It was just one more discouragement to my ephemeral happiness I had experienced while away at college. The trunk made a noise and lifted slightly. Yanking it the rest of the way open, I threw my suitcase into it, harder than I meant. It slammed against the inside of his trunk. I couldn't even care whether it scratched his precious car.

As I walked around the side of the car, I briefly considered hopping in the back and just treating him like an Uber driver. You didn't have to talk to Uber drivers. With a sigh, I opened the passenger door and slid into the leather seat. Without looking at him, I said, "Hey."

"Hey," he answered back. That was all he said as he pulled out into traffic and started driving us home.

We drove in silence, which I expected. I spent a lot of time staring out of my window. It was oddly stuffy in his car, reminding me of how it was sitting next to the overweight dude on the plane. It was like my dad's loathing of me was pressing into me, shoving my face against the glass.