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I’d paid for my education.
All of it.
Me.
“Why must you be so difficult, Atlee? I only want what’s best for you.”
“No, you want me to be you. We’ve had this argument five thousand times. I do not want to be a doctor. The thought of having to deal with TD makes me want to vomit.”
“The theatrics are unnecessary. I’m your father and I simply want you to consider furthering your education. Opportunities will open. No daughter of mine needs to be working in a shit hotel in Las Vegas. You could at least be using your degree someplace less seedy.”
For a man who spent all of his time living in third world countries he had some nerve calling the billion-dollar hotel I worked in seedy. But, for him sleeping on the ground in the dirt with flies swarming was a badge of honor. Me living in a luxury high-rise, driving a nice car, supporting myself, while still being able to pay off my student loans and put money in a retirement account wasn’t good enough.
Nope.
Not for Dr. Tyler Levine.
Sometimes I wondered how it was possible my mother had fallen in love with my father.
No, actually I wondered that all of the time.
Gram had answered that question a long time ago but I still didn’t understand.
On a good day my father was cold and pompous. On a bad day—meaning if he was unable to save every patient who’d walked into whatever clinic he was working in, in whatever country he was in—he could be a total asshole.
As far as I saw it, my parents were total opposites.
My mother didn’t have a cold bone in her body. She was loving and kind and always had a smile on her face. She had the best parents in the whole world. There was never a shortage of love when Gram and Gramps were around. My grandfather had held my grandmother and wept at my mother’s funeral. My father had not held me nor had he wept. It was like the day my mother had died my father had turned off.
The day I’d buried my mother, I’d lost both my parents.
Gram told me it was because my dad had loved my mom so completely he didn’t know how to function without her.
That might’ve been the case and maybe I should’ve had more empathy for the man but I was still alive and deserved to have a father who loved me enough to snap out of his grief and love me. And if nothing else at least show me kindness.
“I must cut this short. I have a new case I need to see to.”
Thank God.
“Have a good week, Dad.”
“You, too, Atlee. Until next time.”
He disconnected and I didn’t bother searching my feelings about his goodbye. I’d long ago stopped wishing my father would one day end a conversation with ‘I love you’ instead of ‘until next time’.
But for some reason I stared out over the beautiful lake and wondered when the last time my father had told me he loved me. Or if he’d ever told me he was proud of me.
The mere fact I had to think about how long it had been since my father told me he loved me broke my heart.
At least I could remember the last time my dad did that.
Seven days ago during our last weekly call.
FIVE
Jack stopped next to me at the bar and without preamble asked, “Do you have any idea why Pete asked me to meet him and Mase tomorrow for brunch?”
Well, fuck me.
