Autumn

Dad eyed the cigarette in my hand with disappointment.

“You really shouldn’t be doing that,” he said.

I blew out a puff of smoke and said nothing right away. We sat in chairs on opposite ends of the front porch, partially because I wasn’t allowed to smoke in the house, and partially because Mom didn’t like Dad in the house. It was a nice day anyway, so I didn’t mind.

Worry lingered in his eyes, so I said, “I know the statistics. On smoking, I mean. I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not.” He crossed his arms.

Dad came early this year, though he dressed as though he was arriving at his usual winter time. Despite that the trees were just beginning to wither into reds and oranges, and that there was nothing but a lukewarm breeze to cool us, he wore a long, leather coat. The only flash of color on him was the shining watch on his wrist. 

I hoped our neighbors didn’t think he was a hitman.

After the divorce, he and Mom agreed that he would visit me once a year. It wasn’t a court order; Mom may not have wanted him in her life, but they both thought he should get to have some role in mine. He never asked for more, though in recent years he had begun showing up earlier and earlier. That was fine by me, even if it annoyed Mom to no end.

The yearly visits meant little to me, for better or worse. It wasn’t like we had a strong relationship to begin with. He usually brought a present, probably to make up for my birthday, or as an offer of remorse. We would chat about whatever I was up to at the time. Occasionally I tried asking about his life, but I was met with a sentence or two in response before he changed the subject.

Dad cleared his throat and stared down at the porch. “I want to be better about keeping in touch.” He looked back at me, his face softening with attempted tenderness. “You’re leaving for college soon. That’s a pretty big change.”

“We can still do our visits,” I said. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t make time for him once a year. “That won’t change.”

“I mean I’d like to keep in touch more,” he clarified. “Not necessarily in person. We could call sometimes.”

“I called you once,” I reminded him. I had been ten years old at the time, and I was pissed at Mom for whatever reason, so I tried calling him just to see what would happen. His secretary picked up with the terse answer that he was busy and if I could call back. I hung up. 

“We can set up a routine,” he offered. “I don’t want to take up much of your time.”

A routine. Like that worked out for him and Mom. I leaned forward with my elbows pressed against my legs. As I adjusted my arms, the flower tattoo on my wrist showed. He noticed it with a frown.

“Could we not make this so...formal?” I asked. “If you want to call, just call.”

I understood what he was getting at. With me leaving soon and being away from Mom, there was more potential for visits. I could decide what role he would play in my life without having to cater to her. Granted, I knew better than to suggest he come down to school for parent’s weekend, but we could stop meeting just once a year like he was an escaped convict.

Despite my attempts to alleviate the awkwardness, he still nodded with tight shoulders. “Yeah. That sounds good.” Again, his eyes flickered to my cigarette. “Does your mother know that you smoke?”

“She doesn’t like it either.” Considering how little I saw him, I wasn’t going to sit for another lecture when Mom was available day and night, so I was eager to get the conversation back on track.

“And the tattoo?”

“Of course she knows about it.” I didn’t add that since the divorce, Mom and I never kept secrets from each other. We didn’t always agree, but we had that. 

I decided to bluntly change the topic. “Look, when I leave for college, it doesn’t have to be random phone calls and yearly visits.” His brows creased, stressing the wrinkles that had recently appeared. “You can come visit me. It’s just a few hours drive from here. Or you could fly.” I knew he hated traveling.

Rather than respond, he looked at the ground, and only the tapping of his finger against his hand indicated that he was thinking. Stupidly, naïvely, I hoped that maybe he was working out the logistics of travel.

Finally, Dad met my stare again and said, “Ingrid, I don’t think that’s possible. You know how work gets.”

“So take time off.” I let out a short laugh of frustration. “You’re the boss. You can take time off every once in a while.” Before he could tell me how it was more complicated than that, I went on, “I’ve heard the work excuse before. And I get it.” I leaned forward, pointed towards the house, and said in a quiet voice, “You want to give Mom space. I understand. But I’m an adult now. You can come see me and it’s not her business.” Not that I was suggesting we not tell her, of course.

“This isn’t about your mother. I just can’t make that work.”

“Typical,” I muttered. I stood, unable to sit any longer. “It’s always about you. You think you can show up once a year with a gift and act like we’re father and daughter for the day. Having a real relationship takes actual effort.” I stepped forward and jabbed a finger at him. “I’m just a check off your to-do list. You work a soulless job and I’m your attempt to make you feel better, like - like donating money during the holidays. It’s never been about me.”

I forced myself to take a steadying breath, remembering Mom’s warning not to say something I didn’t mean when my temper got the better of me. “This isn’t some business negotiation. You don’t make the rules here. You can either put in the work to be my dad or you can be the guy who visits once a year. Your choice.” A leaf fell from a tree in the yard, taking its time to drift to the grass. 

There was still an unyielding sadness in his eyes, but the apologetic look turned to something harder.

Dad stood from his chair and held out his hand. Sealing the deal.

I shook it.

“I love you,” he said. “I’ll see you next year.”

He didn’t wait around for a goodbye, or for me to take back my words, not that I planned on it. As he walked away, he dug out his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. Then he got in his car and drove away without a second’s hesitation.

The moment the sound of his car died down, the door opened, and Mom came outside, looking around as though checking to see if a storm had passed.

“How was it?” she asked me, straightening her dress with an ease I hadn’t seen on her all day.

I shrugged. “He doesn’t really ever change.”

“I’m with you there,” she agreed, raising a brow in contempt. “Hades never changes.” She narrowed her green eyes in the direction he left, then shut them and shook her head. Her eyes opened and she regarded me with warmth. “Come inside before the chill sets in.”