London Calling

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Don’t care,” said Eliza, tonelessly, over her coffee mug. She hated the taste—always had—but she’d lauded the drink in an attempt of maturity years ago and was in far too deep now to give. Few traits came even close to her obstinacy, and she liked it that way.

“Come on, El; you’ve always got an opinion on everything–it’s my favorite thing about you.”

Eliza glared at her dad. “Fine. Bacon. What does it matter, anyway?”

Her dad sighed and shifted in the booth. His coiffed blond hair moved with him, an artificiality molded into it that Eliza resented beyond explainability. “You’re upset.”

“Stunning observation.”

Visage darkening, he leaned forward on his arms, which bracketed his own mug of coffee; it had three dollops of creamer and a packet of sugar stirred in, and Eliza felt a maudlin victory over what she believed to be a demonstration of her own superiority à la her black coffee. “Eliza, don’t get snappish with me. You’re too old to be sulking like a teenager.”

“I am a teenager,” she shot back. Not for too much longer, but certainly in the eyes of the law, sixteen was still not yet an adult. “Why’d you pull me out of class, anyway? Thought there’d be some huge deal.”

“I thought teens always wanted an excuse to leave school,” her dad said wearily, but he backed off. “I suppose I’ll be blunt with you, if that’s what you prefer.”

It wasn’t, but she also hated the alternative.

In timing she’d find funnier if she were watching from the outside, the waitress interrupted them at that moment to take their order. Spitefully, she ordered a side of sausage with her eggs, not entirely knowing why. Her dad watched the scene with a melancholic gaze, and a prickle of unease twitched at the base of her neck.

“So?” She prompted once the waitress stepped away.

“I’ve been offered a promotion—one that requires me to move to the new office in London.”

“Oh.” Suddenly her black coffee and order swap appeared so feeble and infantile. Shrinking a bit, Eliza tugged at the end of her ponytail, aimlessly searching for some sense of solidity.

“Barbara and I discussed it, and we wanted you to have your choice of location, now that you’re older.”

Eliza hated when he spoke of mom as though she were a stranger; that betrayal alone made her mind jump instantly to loudly professing her desire to go absolutely nowhere with her dad. But as quickly as the feeling came on, it vanished, and left her chest hollow. “Right.”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up unless there’d be plenty of accommodations available,” he continued. “We found a nice high school reasonably close to the office, and you could start your senior year there; I wouldn’t be moving until early August.”

She wondered how many minutes, perhaps even hours, they’d spent discussing her future in her absence. At a loss, she repeated, “Oh.”

“You don’t have to make a decision immediately,” her dad assured. “It’s only March.”

She abruptly and uncharacteristically wished they had made an unanimous decision on her behalf, if only to allow her to direct her discontent at them and not herself on the chance of choosing poorly. But she knew then she would have remained unsatisfied from the lack of autonomy—a reflection she normally was not apt to make. It embarrassed her a little, and left her wondering how shallowly she had assessed a number of details in the past.

“Eliza?”

“I need to pee,” she managed and slid out of the booth. She hid her shaking hands in her hoodie’s pocket and studiously avoided eye contact. Despite her age, she was not often self-conscious, but as she trekked to the bathroom, she was certain all eyes were on her in a mixture of pity and impatience.

The bathroom was empty, so she stood in the middle of the room and stared at her displeased reflection in the mirror. Her lips had fallen to a childish pout, and her ponytail was drooping a bit from her ministrations. She wished her mom was there to deliver the news, too; at home, preferably, like how she’d made a nice homemade dinner for the three of them when the divorce was first announced. It seemed cheap, now—her dad snagging her out of second period to usher her into a mediocre diner and drop such unsuspecting and intense information upon her.

Eliza wondered if her mom even knew she was here, or if her dad had acted spontaneously. She couldn’t bring herself to dwell on the question, though, so she tugged her ponytail tighter and left the bathroom.

Eggs and sausage were waiting for her, and she poked around the food, imminently aware her dad was waiting for her to speak. It was only fair that he floundered for a bit, though, after what he had thrown at her. Sure, he and her mom had plenty of time to meditate on the topic, but she’d been half-asleep in Calculus when she’d received the message that her dad was waiting in the office for her. Her initial reaction had been one of fear, that something horrible had happened to her mom; but that fear ebbed as her dad had chatted amiably in the car and asked how her mom was.

“Does mom know you’re here?” Eliza asked promptly.

Her dad faltered. “Well, we didn’t specify an exact date to tell you… and one of my meetings got canceled this morning.”

Eliza gave a faint nod. It was a fairly respectable answer, and that annoyed her all the more. She wanted her dad to have acted against her mom’s wishes, to have responded selfishly and cruelly enough that there became a clear right or wrong answer for her to provide.

“Like I said,” her dad continued, her initial willingness to speak giving him confidence, “you don’t have to make a decision right away. But tell me what you’re feeling. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

And she knew his request was in earnest, for he really did enjoy her opinionated rants and raves. Such knowledge tempered her, and her expression softened.

“I think you’re asking a lot of your sixteen-year-old daughter at eight in the morning,” she said with an edge of teasing.

He returned her smile.

“I’ll think about it,” she added, taking a bite of the sausage. “There’s a part of me that always wanted to be a posh British girl. Maybe we could visit the London Eye.”

Her dad reached across the table and swiped at her nose, playful. “No matter your choice, we’ll still stay in contact, okay? There’s this wonderful new invention called the Internet.”

“Ha ha, dad. I get it; enough with the sappy.”

He shrugged and finally started on his breakfast. “Just making sure my favorite girl is happy.

She thought for a few minutes as they ate in silence. Finally, she said, “Do you know how long you’ll stay? Is it like, a permanent thing?”

“At least a few years. I’m sure visits could be arranged, too.”

Eliza nodded. “Can we talk more about it this weekend?”

“Of course.”

As her dad continued eating, Eliza studied him and tried to imagine him in London, herself in London. Her imagination failed her, though, and she was acutely aware of their existence being in a Midwestern American diner instead. Dropping her gaze, she stabbed at a rolled away sausage, guiding it back to where the other one lay.

She had time, she reminded herself, even as her eyes drifted back to her dad and tried their best to memorize the lines and features of his face.