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“Are you asleep?” Milla’s quiet voice sounded from somewhere close by.
Opening my eyes, I found her standing by the kitchen counter. She was back at her station with a half chopped onion on a cutting board.
“I’m not sleepy,” I said, sitting up straighter in my chair.
“Good,” she said, keeping her gaze down as she chopped the onion like a pro chef. “We need to talk. Why are you guys looking for a place to stay?”
“Don’t you want to live with your father?”
“I do,” she said, mincing garlic. “But that doesn’t mean you guys have to leave. From what I’ve seen, it’s a massive house. Heck! It’s a mansion. There’s plenty of room for everyone. We’ll all fit in without getting in each other’s way.”
“You hated living there with us.”
A loud hiss shattered the quiet stillness of the room as she put the chopped-up vegetables in a pan. Giving them a stir, she wiped her hands on a napkin, and looked up at me.
“I hated it because you guys were doing your best to get me to leave,” said Milla in a grim tone. “You tormented me every time you caught me alone. Don’t do that this time and maybe I’ll come to like living in that house.”
“Does that mean you’ve forgiven us?”
“No, but I’m trying,” she said in a low voice. “It’s on you guys to prove that you’ve truly changed, that you truly regret hurting me and my mom.”
“We’ll prove it to you,” I said, vowing the same in my mind.
She poured cans of crushed tomatoes into the pan and added a bunch of seasoning and spices. Giving the contents a stir, she walked away from the stove and came to sit at the dining table.
“Don’t leave home,” she said, looking deep into my eyes. “Brian wouldn’t want you to go. It’d hurt him. He might not have been the perfect dad, but let’s be honest, he did the best he could.”
“He did,” I said with a slow nod. “Anyone in his place would’ve given up on us a long time ago. We hated him lecturing us. Everything he did for us annoyed us. Mom made him seem like an asshole who didn’t care for her.” I let out a heavy breath. “In the end, she turned out to be the bad guy.”
“I’m glad you understand him better,” said Milla.
“Yeah...what about you, Milla? Will you make us pay for what our mom did?”
She shook her head, looking somber. “I never knew her. Hating someone takes a toll on you. I don’t think I’m ready to hate another person, especially someone who’s already dead.”
Milla got to her feet and gestured for me to give her a minute. Going back to the stove, she tipped in a tray of meatballs into the simmering sauce.
She came back to the table and sat down.
“There’s something else we need to talk about,” she said after a while.
“What’s that?”
“I’ll continue calling him ‘Brian’ and you guys should stick to calling him ‘Dad’.”
“Why? Don’t you want to call him that?”
“I do,” she said. Tears gathered in her beautiful eyes and suddenly, she was breaking down. Her sobs seemed to touch my very core.
Getting up, I went to stand behind her chair.
Leaning down, I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as she sobbed and trembled in my embrace.
“Don’t cry, Milla. Your dad’s still alive and he loves you very much. He always has.”
“I know,” she said in a choked voice. “But I can never make the mistake of calling him ‘Dad’.”
I let her cry while holding onto her. She stayed strong for us. It was time I was there for her too.
