Page 120 of The Bargain

“Dad! I’m studying!”

“No, you’re not.” He shoves the books aside and claps his hands. “You’re just biding time.”

I glare at him. “If you let me start my internship early, I could be working instead of⁠—”

“You’re not doing the internship,” he says bluntly. He takes me by the hand, like I’m five years old once more, and drags me out through the thrown-open doors to the patio. “I love you, my daughter, but working in an office with you would be hell on earth, and I’m not putting myself through it.”

“What?” My voice comes out strained with outrage. “I’d be an exemplary employee, actually!”

“Oh, no, I know that. You’d be perfect, absolutely perfect, and that’s the problem. It’s too much pressure.” He lets go of my hand when we reach the small clubhouse by the tennis court. He shoves the door open and reemerges a second later with rackets and a bucket of balls. “You know what the truth is, Dess?”

I cross my arms. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Don’t give me sass, young lady. The truth is that I’m glad you got yourself excluded.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t encourage bad behaviour, and you’re still grounded, I think—I’m not sure what that entails, but⁠—”

He sighs.

“From the day you were born, the only thing I’ve ever, ever wanted was your happiness. You can’t understand what that’s like, seeing your own newborn child; you were so small, and your hair looked like white cotton candy. And I had this feeling inside my chest that I can’t even explain, and I knew right there and then that the most important thing was to make sure you’d be safe, and, no matter what, happy.”

As he speaks, we’ve both folded ourselves down, sitting on the edge of the tennis court. Dad’s blue eyes, catching the sunlight, are illuminated like magic stones.

“When you were a little girl, you used to laugh so much. You were always smiling. My little sunshine child. It didn’t make the feeling in my chest go away—it made it worse. I wanted so badly to make sure you’d always smile, always laugh. That you’d want for nothing, that you’d always thrive. And then your siblings came along and you loved them so much, so fiercely, and I think maybe you felt a little bit of what I felt, the need to make them happy, too.”

His expression darkens, and he gazes off in the direction of the sea.

“You started school and you’d bring drawings to show us, then schoolwork. Then it was good grades, top grades, full grades. Trophies and awards and sports medals. All to make us happy, but the entire time, you weren’t smiling as much. You started laughing only rarely. And I didn’t know what to do about it, and then you started at Spearcrest, and I wasn’t even close enough to you to make sure you were happy at school. I hoped you were. All I knew about school was that you were excelling. Perfect grades. Perfect attendance. Perfect behaviour. Accolades and awards; prefect then head girl. And those were all amazing things, but none of those things told me you were happy.”

He swallows. His voice has grown low and rough, like he’s speaking through a lump in his throat.

“And then I saw you over the Christmas holidays, with that boyfriend of yours. Elias—not at all the kind of boy you usually date. A foster kid, a scholarship kid. And the first thing I noticed is that he was always smiling, always laughing. Such a sad goddamn life, and you would never have guessed in a million years. I couldn’t help but respect him—but I loved him from the moment I saw you with him. The way all the weight seemed to have lifted from your shoulders. The way he laughed in your face and you laughed right back, almost grudgingly, like you didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. It reminded me so much of your mom when she was your age.”

He turns back and looks at me with a rueful smile. For the first time, I have the strange, unsettling feeling that I’m not just looking at my father, but a separate human being. Someone just like me, who was eighteen once, who made mistakes and fell in love.

Someone real and flawed and fragile as we all are, someone who might stay up at night scared that something bad might happen to people he loves.

“Dad…” I say.

He sounds more serious than I’ve ever heard him in my entire life. Serious and earnest and sincere.

“I’m glad you got yourself expelled, Dess, and I’m not ashamed of saying it. All you’ve done, since you were a little girl, is try to make us happy. And somewhere along the way, you started to believe you had to be perfect to do so. And we allowed you to believe it. But you don’t need to be perfect—not even a little bit. Your mother and I couldn’t have been further from perfect when we met and when we fell in love. We’re not even perfect now. We’re a mess, a humble human mess, and we love each other anyway. And we love you too, no matter how many mistakes you make, or will make. I love you no matter what, Dess. I love you without rules or expectations or conditions, and I love you even more for your imperfections.”

For a moment, we stare at one another under the golden sun, the wide-open sky, which is the same colour as Dad’s eyes. My favourite colour.

Hot tears roll down my cheeks; I didn’t even realise I started crying.

“You know what Elias said to me, one time, about love?”

Dad tilts his head and smiles, waiting.

“He said that you love someone not because they deserve it, but because they don’t. He said that’s how you love someone properly.”

Dad nods, a grin dawning on his mouth.

“He said that? Must’ve blown your mind, huh?”