Sundae Girl

"No, it wasn't like that," she repeats quietly.

He doesn't even seem to notice that she has spoken as he leans against the back of the booth, spreading his arms wide across the top of the padded vinyl with a self-satisfied sigh. Supremely confident that his version of events is the only correct one.

She stands and begins to gather her things, stuffing them back into the shabby cloth bag. Why did she even bring the tablet to show him photos from her trip. Did she really think he’d have ten seconds spare to look at them?

"What's this? Not going already? You just got here!" he blusters. Too loud as usual. A couple of people turn to look. The shame! Why can’t he just act like a normal person?

"There's no point," she mutters. Irritated now by her disappointment. What had she been thinking? Why even show up when this was the most likely outcome. That stupid spark of hope dammit. Still! After all this time and all these let-downs.

"Will you be wanting anything else? I'd like to say it's nearly closing time... but that's not how it works at the All Day All Night Diner Delight!" The words trip off the waitress’s tongue with only the slightest trace of irony.

"No. No, thanks. Nothing for me," she answers, when it seems like he is not going to respond. Lost in thought.

"Hey, I know!" he says suddenly. "She'll have one of those chocolate nut sundaes. Do you still do those? In the big tall glass? No nuts mind, she just picks them off and puts them in her pocket to feed the squirrels later. It's a waste of good food."

The server looks at her shrewdly. A questioning eyebrow, a hint of sympathy. "We do a much better one now," she offers, mediating like a pro, "a magic mocha sundae. With a real espresso, chocolate ice cream and salted caramel. Nuts optional." The description gives the young woman a chance to recover herself. To process her astonishment that he knew this detail - any detail - about her.

Slowly she sits back down. “I didn’t think you ever noticed that.”

He seems surprised by this and she feels obliged to justify her position.

“I mean you always seemed so distracted. Always on your phone. You’d say yeah, yeah, yeah, when we talked but like you weren’t remotely interested in us and the trivial details of our lives. Not like work,” she added bitterly, drawing out the word with mock respect, “Work really mattered. We all knew that. Our stuff was just the crumbs you swept off the table.”

For a flash of time he looks crestfallen and she relishes it. Take that, she thinks. Maybe there’s a human being in there after all. Someone I can hurt for all the times he hurt me. She’s not happy with the snort that comes out of her though. A snort? Derision maybe. Damn, no. Grief. She is suddenly filled to overflowing with grief as she remembers those family outings. Her dear sweet mother over-compensating. Full of cheeriness and Keeping The Peace. Is this how it’s going to be now. Without her to brace them together?

She needs to waylay the feeling. This is not the moment for grief. This is the moment to make him see. To make him pay.

“You were so not there,” she continues, “You didn’t even notice that time we put a paper serviette inside your bacon sandwich. You just ate the whole thing up!”

Again that look. Like he woke up in the wrong film.

“Ginny,” he starts, then stops. Then starts again, trying to catch her eye. “Look, wouldn’t it have kind of ruined the whole thing if I’d noticed? Wasn’t that the point?”

She looks up at him sharply. Surprised now, that in all this time, it never once occurred to her that he might be a collaborator in the joke rather than the butt of it.

“Look,” he says heavily, arms down on the table now, “I know. It didn’t go well. I was scared.

“It was ok when you girls were little and we could fool around and I’d set up obstacle courses and you’d laugh at my jokes. But then you got bigger and smarter and I just didn’t know how to be your dad anymore. I didn’t know what I could offer that you’d want. Except money of course. Make more money. That’s what I decided my job was. Leave the other stuff to your mother. Especially all that girl stuff. Heck I didn’t want to think of my little girls becoming women – far less what men might do to them, with them, when they did. It made me feel so uncomfortable. So… inadequate.

“I had been your daddy when you were little. I knew how to do that. I was supposed to be your father later too, and I didn’t know how. I wanted to freeze you in time, splashing in the paddling pool, rapt at those bedtime stories. Now what? Was I supposed to threaten any boys that came round or just wait for my next job of walking you down the aisle? I was lost. My own parents were no help. I was too ashamed to discuss it with my mates at the tennis club. I didn’t want to let your mother down. It just seemed easier to back away. To be the guy who made the money. The guy who let himself be the butt of the joke. At least I knew I still existed as part of the family then.”

The sundae arrives. Glistening and swirled.

She can’t eat it now. She can’t believe this. He was supposed to be In Charge. He was the Grown Up who always had an answer and knew how to fix things. And all the time he felt like that? When she and her sisters were sneaking around laughing at him behind his armchair thinking he was oblivious, had he really just felt this pitiful gratitude for their attention? When they were scared to show him a report card, was he scared too?

Why did nobody ever tell her this? Her whole world has been upended. Spinning on its back. Nothing is certain. Nothing is sacred. And fear. Is this what will happen with her own sweet toddlers?

She calls the waitress back. “Can I have another spoon please? My dad’s gonna have to help me with this.”