I stared him straight in the eyes and said, "It'll look like I'm missing a leg and can't stand for long periods of time."
"Don't do that shit. Don't play the victim card."
His harsh tone made me hold my tongue and take a deep breath. I'd heard him say those words to me before. Most of the time, it was because I had played the victim, used my disability as an excuse to not do something. But I hadn't done it in a while. And this time wasn't anything like before.
"I'm not playing any card." My voice was low. I didn't want to garner the attention of the few people around, yet I made sure my words were strong and sure. "You asked what it would look like. It's a reasonable answer."
"You know what I mean," he said, his voice lower, his words harsher, gritted out through clenched teeth.
A small part of me felt vindicated, as if he'd proven my doubt right. However, it was only a small part. The rest became a jumbled mess of sadness and animosity. I didn't care to be right. I longed for my father to come to me because he wanted to.
Because he desired to have me in his life.
Not because he sought something from me.
But the more this conversation went on, the more I realized I'd never get what I needed from him. I was nothing more than a talking point on his campaign trail. A bullet point in a speech.
I balled up the paper trash from my straw, threw it on the table, and leaned back in my seat as defeat heavily weighed my shoulders down.
"Nolan, just listen to me, please." He waited until he had my attention before continuing. "Every person who's ever run for the Oval Office has always had a strong, public backing from his family. You and your mother are the only family I have. If you don't want to be a part of this for me … do it for her. Do it for your mom. She needs your support."
He knew mentioning my mother would get to me. I would do anything for her. After all, when I came home from the war, disfigured and broken, she'd been the one to take care of me. She was always the one at my side, making sure I was okay. My dad may have found the shrinks and paid the bills, but it was my mom by my side, holding my hand every step of the way.
"I think you should come back home and stay with us for a while during the campaign. I think it will be good."
Fire lit my insides. "For who? Me or you?"
His eyes narrowed at me before he sucked in a long breath. "For everyone. This isn't just about me, Nolan. Ever since you've moved back here, we've barely heard a word from you. Your mother misses you. She's going to need you."
"She doesn't need me. She only needs to know I'm okay. I don't have to be there for her to know that. Not to mention, how is any of this good for me?"
"You can help with the campaign. Be involved like you've never been before. It'll give you structure, purpose. Your therapist said you need drive and determination. You need the ambition if you ever plan to become a productive member of society again."
I hated to hear those words. Both his and my therapist's. They were true at one point, but what neither could ever understand was being in that house with him, listening to the quiet conversations he'd have behind my back. That's what hindered me. I may not have fully recovered, or even met his standards of a "productive member of society" since moving away from them, but I was a hell of a lot better now than when I lived with him.
I didn't need his idea of a purpose.
I didn't need his version of structure.
I only needed Novah.
"I'm doing perfectly fine here, Dad."
"And what is it you're doing here?"
"I have a job. I run a company. I own a condo. My life is here now. I understand your logic and why you believe I should go home, but it's not realistic. I can't just uproot everything, pack my bags, and move six hours away."
"Don't you have a partner to handle the business in your absence? Can't he pick up the slack while you're gone?"
"I deal with the administrative aspect of the company, and he handles the legal side. I can't ask him to take over the whole thing. It doesn't work that way. It wouldn't be fair."
He picked up the straw wrapper I'd discarded and rolled it into a tight ball between his fingers. "Nolan … I am happy you've decided to try and make something of your life. After so many years of watching you beat yourself up, it makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on your own two feet again. But we need you. The campaign needs you."
My stomach grew weak and threatened to leave me ill. No matter how many years had gone by, how many miles I put between us, my father still had a twisted way of controlling me. I may not have seen it when I was younger, but I saw it now.
You've decided to try and make something of your life. I wasn't merely trying … I was making something of my life and myself. Not an attempt.
It makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on your own two feet. He hadn't even been around to know. For all he knew, I could've been standing very tall and strong on my own. Making strides?
"You're not listening to me, Dad. I don't want to. I don't have any aspirations to be hands-on in the election. I don't want to learn how to campaign, and I don't want to move. I have no desire to have any part in this."
"So your plan is to stay here and do this for the rest of your life? Be an admin for a company when you could be a leader? Share responsibilities with someone else when you could have it all?"
I clenched my fists beneath the table, my foot bouncing with the amplified frustration rolling through me. "I own my own business. Yes, I share responsibilities, but only because it's in the best interest of my company."
"You want to catch shoplifters forever?"
I huffed, defeat slowly consuming me until I didn't believe I could do or say anything else to get through to him. "It pays the bills. It keeps me employed. I live in a very nice condo, drive a luxury car, and never have to worry about anything."
"You share the company with someone else. And from what you've said, you're nothing more than an administrator. Why can't he take over your part? What else is keeping you here?" His harsh, penetrating gaze held mine, not relenting. It was his way of asserting control.
I'd fallen for it every single time before.
Not again.
Never again.
"I've started getting back into photography. I have a darkroom set up in my house. And I'm looking forward to getting some use out of it."
His fiery red cheeks were not surprising. He'd never liked the idea of me taking pictures. "You can do that anywhere. Just walk down the street and see the completely self-absorbed population with their phones aiming at their puckered lips."
My short fingernails cut into my palms. But before I could say anything else, he cut off my thoughts with his own.
"Have you ever thought about being a photographer for the government? You could do that for a living and not have to sacrifice something you love … "
"I don't want that." I forced my words through my terse lips, feeling them burn my esophagus and singe my tongue on the way out.
He flattened his palms on the table in front of me, calling my attention to the fine lines on his fingers. He didn't have the hands of a workingman. Would my hands look like his when I'm his age?
"There has to be another reason you don't want to leave here. I've given you many alternatives to your job and to photography. What's keeping you here, son?" he asked, sounding every bit the caring father he'd meant to portray.
"I've been seeing someone." My words were quiet, yet he'd heard them. I wished I could've taken them back, because the last thing I wanted was for him to start insulting Novah. But it was already out there, and I had to stick by it. "And she makes me happy. For the first time in fifteen years, I'm not drowning in misery every second of the day. I won't give her up."
"Who?" The way he asked told me a few things.
One, he had no idea I'd been seeing anyone, which meant the media hounds hadn't begun to sniff around yet.
Two, for whatever reason, he had an intuition as to who it was, and it left him displeased. It made me question if it could've been his primary motive to get me away from here.
And three, he clearly didn't care one iota about my admission of being miserable for half my life.
"Her name is Novah Johnson."
I watched carefully as his nostrils flared and his eyes turned to slits. His deep breaths were meant to contain his anger, but they hadn't done their job.
"Absolutely not, Nolan. No."
I wanted to get up and leave. I even shifted in my seat in a small attempt to do so. But he pushed his hand across the table, silently warning me against it.
"Listen to me. It's in everyone's best interest if you didn't see her. And I think you'd agree with me. If my opponents dig into her past, they'll eventually find out what had happened all those years ago. They'll uncover what you did to her."