Page 24 of Tough Love
“Well, neither do I.” Her abrasive tone leaves me reeling.
I get she’s frustrated, angry, saddened, but shit … I’m just trying to help, gauge what I can do to lessen the load.
“I’ll head home then.”
She doesn’t say anything further until I’ve crossed through the doorway to the dining room.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. I just need a moment.”
“I understand.”
Because after all, I needed seven years’ worth of them, and even then it wasn’t enough.
I try telling Dad that I can call a cab or an Uber and get a lift home, but he insists that as long as they have a rental car they may as well put the daily rate to good use. I can’t argue with that.
He pulls up outside the gated complex my apartment is in, and lets out a low whistle. “I knew you were doing okay, sweetheart. But….”
“No dependents,” I muse aloud, shrugging. “Seven, nine, two, two.”
He leans out the window and punches the code into the keypad. The solid steel gate slides open almost silently, and we cruise up the lush plant-lined drive to the parking space under my place.
“Why don’t you have a car?” he asks as we get out next to the neighbour’s Range Rover that barely fits in the low gap.
“Pointless extra costs. Why pay registration, insurance, and all that when most places are within walking distance?”
“Fair enough.” He lags behind, letting me lead the way up the narrow stairs to my first-floor door.
The apartments are all two-story buildings—if you include the lower level parking and adjacent storeroom—angled on forty-five degrees so that our balconies are semi-private. Even with the bare minimum two bedrooms, my rear unit is more than I need.
It’s literally somewhere to eat, sleep, and change between work and the gym—that’s all.
I don’t miss the way Dad’s eyes rove over my minimal interior. Everything is basic and bulky. Flat surfaces, and minimalist home décor that’s easy to clean with a quick sweep of the vacuum and duster.
I know what he’s thinking: there’s no personality to the place. No identity.
It’s hard to showcase one when you don’t even know yourself exactly what it is.
“What do you do in your spare time?” He lifts the unplugged power cable attached to the TV.
“I don’t have a lot of downtime. Even then it’s Netflix on my phone in bed, or something.”
“Why buy it then?” he half says, half laughs, wiggling the cord.
“Makes it feel homely?”
The two of us stare at one another for a beat before cracking up into peals of laughter.
We both know this is no home. It’s as far from it as you could get.
“Drink?”
He nods. “Got any beer?”
“Wine?” I wince in apology.
“Water’s fine.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You weren’t expecting me.” His face falls, and we both stand in silence for a moment while the reality hits.
“Ice?” I ask, snapping myself out of the daze.