Pushing back my chair. It scraped the floor louder than Dad’s microphone. All heads turned to me.
I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want him to see me breaking up in front of his gorgeous new family. I left.
As the cool air struck my face, I realized I’d been holding my breath. My hands shook. “Hey.” My pallid brother Tommy appeared beside me.
“You okay?”
Half of Dad’s family chased us before I could respond. Aunt Linda, Uncle Mark, and two unknown cousins. Their accusatory words were harsh.
“Why’d you make a scene like that?” Aunt Linda snapped. “It’s your father’s wedding day.”
“I made a scene?” I asked with a weak voice. “Did you not hear what he just said to me?”
“It was obviously a joke,” Uncle Mark added.
“You’re being too sensitive.”
Tommy stepped up. It wasn’t. He was heard.
He—”
“Go back inside, Tommy,” Aunt Linda said. “Celebrate. Avoid aggravating this.”
Tommy apologized to me before leaving.
Yes, he did. He was 14. He was expected to do what?
They faced me. “You should come back inside, too.”
“I’m going home,” I said. “With Mom.”
Everyone stared at me like I was crazy.
“You’re being dramatic!” Linda yelled. Maybe I was. But dramatic or not, I knew what I heard.
I couldn’t watch him play happy family with everyone else again. I called Mom on my phone. “Please come get me,” I begged when she replied.
“Don’t ask questions, I just… I need you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She was. Twenty minutes later, her car rolled up to the curb, and I entered without looking at the reception hall. Mom drove home without inquiries.
She let me watch the window while turning up the radio. When we came home, she prepared me a grilled cheese sandwich and turned on an old comedy movie we used to watch as kids, making the world feel safer. It broke me that night.
I collapsed on the couch while Mom held me and didn’t repair anything. She let me cry till I was empty. I told her everything a few days later when I could talk about it without melting.
“Why would he say that, Mom?” I requested. Is it true? Am I to blame for your divorce from Dad?”
Mum was quiet for a while.
As she sighed, I could tell she was considering telling me something. Finally, “Honey,” she continued, “you should know. A major reason your father and I separated was that he wanted to give up custody of you after Tommy and Jessica.”
Words hit me like cold water.
“What?” I fixated on her. “But he fought for our custody. He sued you.”
“He did.” She nods.
“I believed he cared about you when he included you in the custody struggle. Maybe he changed his mind.”
I thought I’d become sick. “He probably only fought for me to avoid paying you child support.”
Mom accepted that.
She needn’t. We both knew I was likely right. “Sorry,” she said.
I should have told you sooner. Just hoped… I hoped he’d parent you well.”
Three weeks since the wedding. Dad hasn’t called.
He didn’t text. My siblings see him every other weekend, and Tommy says Dad never asks about me. Not once.
His family texts me, though. Complaints that I “ruined” his special day. I was “selfish” and “dramatic.” How to apologize to dad.
Part of me doubts their accuracy, but most of me knows better. In front of a room full of people, your father believes you ruined his marriage and couldn’t wait to get rid of you. Walking away silently is the least you can do.
What was the alternative? Sit and grin as he told me I didn’t belong? Act like it didn’t hurt?
No. I’m done. I’m done justifying someone who’s stated his opposition to being my father.
Actually, he probably never did. You know what? That describes him but not me.
I’m now grasping that. A wedding speech revealed it.
