I Can Explain (Awkward Love 2)

Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I am better off forgetting about Chase and making my mark somewhere else…

As if on cue, my phone vibrates loudly in my pocket. I pull it out, praying that it's Tony with good news and not Jade, wondering where the hell I am. It’s neither, but I grin when I see Dad’s name. I quickly answer it, eager to hear his voice.

“Hey,” I say.

"How's my little girl?" Dad asks, his voice warm. I smile in spite of myself. Even though I'm not having a great day, talking to him always cheers me up.

"I’m okay," I say, trying to sound upbeat. Like always, he sees right through me.

"Are you sure about that?" Dad asks. "Because you sure as hell don't sound okay. Is it work again?"

I hesitate, not wanting to drag his mood down with mine.

"It's fine. I'm just having a rough day," I insist. "How are you?" I ask, changing the subject.

“Same as always. Doing too much, getting too old. You know how it is. Or, at least you will in about fifty years,” he jokes, releasing one of his trademark, throaty laughs.

“Maybe you should retire, then?” I fire back at him.

It’s a conversation we have every week, and he always promises that this year is going to be his last year of work. It never is, of course. I think part of him is afraid to give it up because it’s such a huge part of his life. He’s the kind of guy who always needs to be doing something, and if not work, then what? He’s definitely not the lawn bowls or drinking at the club kind of guy, and it’s not like he has a partner to occupy his time.

“Next year,” he promises. I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “And I didn’t call to talk about me. I called to check up on my girl. Work still a problem, I take it? Want me to come into your office and have a word with this Chase joker? I’ll teach him a thing or two about how to treat people.”

“God no,” I mutter, wincing. That would be brutal. “Trust me. I’m fine. And it’s Thursday already, which means it’s practically the weekend,” I add.

“Okay, if you say so… Can we catch up soon, then?” he asks. “So I can see for myself? And there’s something I want to talk to you about, too.”

“Sure,” I say, with a frown. I don’t like the way that sounds. Nothing good ever follows the words ‘We need to talk.’ “How’s Sunday for you?” I ask.

“Sunday sounds good. Text me the details,” he says, making me giggle. As if he can even open a text. “I’ll let you get back to it. Love you, Lanni. Don’t work too hard. And tell that boss of yours to shove off.”

“I love you too,” I say with a smile.

I hang up and settle back against the tree, taking the opportunity to close my eyes and just relax for a minute. I feel bad for not speaking to Dad more often, especially considering how close we are and the fact that we only have each other.

My mother died when I was only two. I don't remember much about her, other than what Dad told me. You get to the point where you’re not sure what memories are real and what is just the result of him talking about her so often. If there was one thing he made sure of, it’s that she wasn’t forgotten. Even as a little girl, I could see how much he loved her. That love, imprinted in my mind, is a lot for any guy to live up to. Maybe that’s why I struggle so much with relationships. Or maybe it’s just because I pick assholes.

There were never any other women in the picture when it came to Dad. I don't know if that's because he never really moved on from Mom or because he didn't want me to have to deal with feeling like someone was taking her place. Still, I hate the idea of him being alone, especially since I’m moving on with my life and doing my own thing. If he just met someone, then I wouldn’t have to worry about him so much. But, he’s stubborn and set in his ways and no doubt impossible for any woman to live with. A few months ago, Peyton and I tried to set him up on a dating site for seniors. It didn't end well, partly because he’s just so technologically challenged. He can barely manage to change the channel on a remote, let alone logging into a computer to check and reply to emails.

Still, he’s my dad, and I wouldn’t change a thing about him.Finally, after what feels like hours, Tony calls.