Not Today, But Someday(36)

“Yeah, my family just left. Why?” I can hear the smile on her face.

“Can I come over?”





CHAPTER 13 - EMI





Which knight would I want? The one who’d pray to Mars, asking to win the battle so he could have me? Or the one who prayed to Venus, because he loved me so much? What did Emily say to Diana? If you have to give me to someone, give me to the one who loves me best.

Which one is it?

I turn the page, finally intrigued and wanting to get to the end. If Nate and I are going to the costume shop tomorrow, I need to be finished with the story so I know what all I need. Or he can just tell me the ending. He seems to know the story well.

Was that the doorbell? I set the book down and open my door, listening for the sound to happen a second time. I’m not sure I’ve ever even heard the doorbell at our new apartment. Was it?

I walk down the stairs, noting the darkness through the windows outside.

Looking through the peephole, I’m not surprised by who I see. I thought Chris and Mom were acting strangely before they left. This makes sense.

The doorbell rings again. “Go away!” I call out to my father.

“Emi, honey, I’m not leaving until you open up.”

“Well, then, get comfortable.” I stomp away, hoping he can hear the aggression in my steps as I walk up the stairs. The front door opens behind me. “You can’t come in!”

“Your sister let me borrow her key.”

“I don’t want you here! Get out!”

“Emily, come down here and talk to me.”

“No!”

“I brought you dessert. It’s your favorite,” he says as I make it up to my room.

I smile sweetly, pretending like he’s won me over. He can still see me from the bottom of the staircase. “What is it, Dad? Chocolate cake from Marie’s?”

“Yes, it is.” He smiles proudly, as if he’s the greatest dad in the world for bringing me something to eat.

“Well, stick it up your ass, Dad, because I don’t like that anymore and I don’t want you here!”

“Emily Clara Hennigan, you get down here right now. You will not talk to me like that.”

“I will... and I did.” I shut my door, for the first time realizing there’s no lock on it. All of my furniture is too heavy and permanent to move in front of the door, so I sit against it, locking my knees and lodging my legs against the dresser. I hear him coming up the stairs. “I’ll call the police! You can’t be here! This isn’t your house!” I wish I had the cordless phone near me. It sits across the room, next to my pillow.

“I have permission to be here. Your mother asked me to come.” He attempts to open my door, but I put all of my weight against it, which isn’t much compared to him. I can tell he’s not trying too hard, because I have no doubt he could open it if he wanted to. As I listen intently, I hear him settling behind the door. “I’ll just have the cake right here,” he says, his voice at a regular speaking volume.

“Fine, I don’t want it.” He actually does start eating it. I’m sure he thinks it will lure me out, but he’s ruined chocolate for me. He’s ruined everything. Ten minutes go by without words being exchanged. I decide to get up and grab my book, returning to the door to make sure he doesn’t come in.

“Doing homework?” he finally asks.

“Yep.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Nope.”

“What is it?”

“I’m reading the Canterbury Tales.”

“Don’t think I’ve read that one,” he says.

“Maybe you should have,” I counter. “This knight seems to be a nice, upstanding man... respectful of the people around him. You could have learned something.”

“I don’t expect you to understand this, honey.”

“Good.”

“But I want to talk to you about it. I want you to try.”

“Why does Mom get to talk to you through a lawyer? Why don’t I get to do that?”

“Because you and I aren’t the ones getting a divorce.”

“Well, I want that,” I tell him. “What’s the father-daughter equivalent?”

“There isn’t one. And if there was, I wouldn’t let you.”

“What about emancipation? That’s a thing, right?”

“If you want to hurt your mother even more, sure. We can talk about that.” Of course I don’t. I don’t respond to him, and eventually open my book back up. I read the same sentence about twenty times before he continues. “Emi, please open the door.”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“That’s fair, Emi. That’s perfectly acceptable for you to feel that way. But I’m your father, and you’re going to have to see me. You and I have some things to work out.”

“If we can’t work them out, can I not see you anymore?” I can make sure we never work things out.

“Sure, Emi. I won’t let that happen, so sure. Open up?”

“You can’t come in,” I make one more condition.

“That’s fine.” I finally stand up and open the door. He’s seated in a folding chair he must have grabbed from Chris’ room. “I wish I could hug you,” he says.