Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [124]
“We were so happy to have you.”
“Really?”
He looked at me with surprise. “What do you mean, ‘really’? Of course we were happy.”
“It’s just—” I cut myself off, not knowing whether this conversation was possible or appropriate.
“What, Notso? What?”
“It’s just . . . after Matthew died, I kind of always thought you were too sad to have another baby.”
He inadvertently hit the brakes, sending us both lurching toward the dashboard. After apologizing he proclaimed, “You couldn’t be more wrong! We were thrilled to have you! What ever gave you an idea like that?”
I stared straight ahead.
He took a deep breath but never took his eyes off the road.
“Notso, I know it hasn’t been easy between the two of us, but I want you to know that I have always loved you. I worry about your well-being. I want what’s best for you. I still don’t understand why you stopped running or why you would give up something you were so good at, but I’ve had to let it go. I still don’t agree with your college choice, but I have to respect your opinion. I won’t lie to you, I wish I could still hold you for financial blackmail, but my dear mother thought you needed this. And out of respect for her and you, I have no right to stop you from doing what you want to do.”
This was the most my father had said to me . . . possibly ever. And he wasn’t done yet.
“On the way to the hospital that night, a song came on the radio. Whenever I hear that song, to this very day, it always reminds me of you.”
“What song is it?” I asked, expecting from his tone that it must be something deep and significant.
“ ‘Flashdance,’ ” he replied.
“ ‘Flashdance’? ”
He tried—in vain—to sing the line “What a feeling!”
Our lack of musical ability is something we have in common, so I burst out laughing. As soon as I did, I was afraid it would start another battle about my insensitivity and immaturity. But my dad started laughing, too.
“That movie really tugs on those old heartstrings,” I said.
“I know, it’s really sentimental, huh?” he said, still chuckling. “But whenever I hear that song on the radio, I remember the joy of that night.”
When we pulled into the driveway, I realized I will probably not have another conversation like this with my father for another eighteen years. I didn’t really want it to end, but I didn’t really know what else to say. I guess I could have taken advantage of the moment and tried to explain why I quit the team, and why I’m able to run now, on my own, for myself, without the pressure of having to win, but I just couldn’t. Maybe someday, but not today.
My dad broke the silence.
“It could have been worse,” he said. “It could have been ‘Maniac.’ ”
And we both cracked up some more, enjoying our new—our only— inside joke.
I’d like to think that this is the first of many, but I’m not holding my breath. We’re more alike than we are different, but that doesn’t guarantee we’ll get along. After all, he’s still my dad. And I’m still me.
June 1st
Hope,
Remember when we were freshmen? We thought the seniors were so damn mature, and we couldn’t wait to be them. All of Pineville culture revolved around them—Senior Athletic Awards Banquet, Senior Powder Puff Football, Senior Prom. The seniors ruled the school. So why do I still feel like a clueless freshman? Could it be because I’ve exiled myself to bystander status with all of the above and more? But would participation have given me a sense of belonging? I doubt it.
While I’m happy to be running again, I don’t regret quitting the track team. Even after Kiley went out of his way to tell me that a freshman broke my school record in the 1600. All my records will be broken by someone, someday, whether I ran this year or not. Someone, someday, will break that freshman’s record, too.
And I don’t regret not joining the Powder Puff football team either, even though it would’ve been the perfect school-sanctioned opportunity to slide-tackle Manda and Sara.
As I said on the phone, I don’t regret turning down Scotty,