There was nothing else I could do. There were two towels jammed in the crack on my door. My music was turned up as loud as was reasonable. I glared at my computer screen. The time read 11:53 PM, and I wasn't even close to finishing the first page. It was finals week, I was behind on a huge research paper-- in French, no less-- and my dad had been screaming on the phone for the last two hours. Maybe, I thought for the hundredth time that evening, living at the dorms wouldn't be so horrible.
But there wasn't much that could be done at the moment. And unless he started screaming at my mom about classic French cinema instead of money, the house, my sister, and me, my dad's weekly phone argument wasn't helping me at all. I grabbed a highlighter and tried my best to tune him out while I scoured my notes again, looking for anything that might carry me through eight and a half more pages of this bullshit.
After submersing myself in obscure facts about Jean Renoir for at least a half hour, I turned down my stereo. Silence. Finally. I stood up, stretched, and was cautiously hopeful that I could finally get something done. Time for a smoke, and then down to business, I told myself. I grabbed my pack of Camels and made my way downstairs.
"Those are bad for you, you know." My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, a mostly-full bottle of beer in his hand.
"Hey, Dad," I said, glad to see he was off the phone. "Everything okay?"
Dad sighed, and took a small sip of his beer. "Not really."
"Oh no. What's up?" I was always ready to commiserate with him, even on nights like this. I was just as fed up with my mom's demands and tantrums as he was, which is why I went with him when he moved out. The fact that he lived ten minutes closer to my college was a fine excuse.
"Nothing, sweetie. Go have your smoke. Got that paper done yet?"
"I've almost started!" I told him with a grin. "Come sit outside with me. It's nice tonight."
"Maybe in a minute," he said. "I gotta go charge my phone. Or maybe just flush it down the toilet."
"Okay. The plunger's in the garage," I advised him, and walked outside.
It was a nice night. If a nine-hour deadline weren't looming over me, I'd crack open a beer myself. But no, just a smoke, and then back to work. I lit my cigarette, and took a deep, soul-cleansing drag, all the while cursing myself for procrastinating that damn paper. What a perfect night to sit out under the stars.
I heard the front door open, then shut. My dad sat down in the lawn chair beside mine, with two beers in his hand instead of one.
"Oh, no, Dad. I can't. I wish, but I've really gotta get cracking on this thing." I felt horrible. My dad wasn't much of a drinker, so I knew he must've really needed it.
"Well then just hold it, Claire. At least give me the illusion that I'm not drinking by myself." He smiled, and handed me the opened bottle.
"What's going on?"
Dad sighed. "She's leaving. I mean, leaving leaving. For good."
"Oh, really? Where to?" This was a big deal, and it was certainly the first I'd heard about it.
"Vegas. That's her crazy idea of a new life. Vegas." He was trying his best to hide it, but I could hear his voice cracking.
"Is she taking Leah?" As much as my dad and I were inseparable, my mom and my younger sister were worse. I knew it was a dumb question before I asked.
"Of course. You know your sister. Hell, you know both of them." He paused. "She wants you to come. After the semester's over."
"She's insane," I said. "I haven't lived with her for two years. What makes her think I'd wanna live with her in Vegas?" Giving into its siren song, I took a gulp of beer.
"I don't know. I told her you wouldn't, and she said you were an adult, and you'd make the right decision. I know you can't afford to live on your own, sweetie, but--"
"Oh, hush." I stopped him. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. I like my school, I'm finally getting somewhere with my degree, and I like living with you."
Dad turned toward me, his head leaning against the lawn chair. "You do?"
"Of course I do. And maybe now I'll have some peace and quiet once in a while!" I smiled at him, trying not to notice the tears in his eyes. With the light shining from the kitchen, even in our dark front yard I could see his face-- his thick mess of auburn curls, bright hazel eyes, and more freckles than I could count. Our eyes were almost the same (his were a bit closer together than mine), and I'd also inherited his mahogany hair, but without the curls. I kept mine short, like he did. Enhanced by the fact that we both wore glasses, nobody ever doubted that we were father and daughter.
I took another drag of my cigarette. "So it's finally done, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Dad said quietly. "Yeah I guess so."
"It'll be okay, I think. This is for the best. We'll be okay here, don't you think?" I put my hand on his shoulder, strong and toned from his insatiable surfing obsession.
"Oh, Claire. I know we will be. It's just... I dunno. I guess I always had hope." He took another swig of beer, and looked pointedly at the stars. "She was beautiful, y'know. Different. She wasn't stopping traffic, but there was something about her. It was that hair, definitely. She had it short, and you could see the back of her neck... I found that so sexy."
I caught myself feeling the back of my own neck, wondering if anyone ever thought the same thing about me.
"I'm sorry, Claire. You shouldn't have to see me like this." He was no longer making any efforts to hide his tears.
"Nah, Dad. It's okay. I understand." I rested my hand on his shoulder again. "You did good. You were a great dad, you still are. It just didn't pan out the way you'd hoped."
He put his hand on mine, and smiled at me. "Go finish your paper, girly. Don't be up all night."
"Yeah, I really should. If you wanna hang out, I'll be in my room. I can't promise I'll be very good company, though."
"You're sweet to offer, but I think I'll take a shower and go to bed. The harbor's supposed to be pounding tomorrow." The prospect of a good surf session brought back a hint of his usual self.
"Sounds great. Back to French cinema for me, then!" I put out my cigarette, ruffled his hair, and returned to my room.
I was impressed at how well I had put my thoughts aside, and when I finally heard the shower running across the hall, I had six pages done. I sat back and stared at the ceiling. It was a little odd, sure, but sort of sad to think of my dad as a love struck young guy. Even when they were together, there were never really any signs of romance between my parents. They got along most of the time, and made sure my sister and I were happy and fulfilled, but I guess that fire had burned out long before I was old enough to notice anything. Before tonight, I'd never thought of my dad as being capable of being passionate about anything he couldn't ride waves on. But there he was, crying, pining for a long-dead romance. I shook the image out of my head. He'd get over it. He'd be okay.
After a few minutes, the shower stopped. I kept writing, pausing to conjugate some verb or another, and then writing some more. My thoughts, now mostly in French, kept creeping back to my dad's description of my mom. Like her, I never stopped traffic either. I was moderately built, and never paid much attention to whether or not I was sexy. If anyone ever complimented me on something other than my brains, it was my butt. It was nice, round, and really did fill out a pair of jeans. Other than that, though, years of academia had left me pale, not very toned, and sort of boring. Even that night I was just wearing a pair of sweat shorts, an oversized Metallica shirt, and no bra. At a 36 B, I could get away with that from time to time.
Focus, Claire! I was almost done. I read through my notes one more time, slapped together a rather weak concluding statement, cited my sources, and I was finished. Finished! I looked at the time-- 3:26 AM. That still gave me about four and a half hours of sleep, and I was grateful. I stretched again, let out a very audible exclamation of relief, and went across the hall to brush my teeth. As I stepped out of my room, I heard my dad's door open.
"Hey, everything okay?" He was wide awake, and just in his boxers.
"What? Oh, yeah Dad. I just finished my paper, and I'm heading to bed."
"Wait, you're finished? Good job. Let me see it!"
