Broken Glass, Broken Hearts part 104

Dad. I hadn't seen him in years, hadn't heard from him, and now, here he was. Walking around my mom's new house, commenting on the size of rooms or the furnishing my mother had done. Saying all these things, trying to be rude, failing miserably. It was really rather pathetic. I had been hated my parents, hated them with all my heart, but I had never really been mad at my dad. And I could see why, now, as he walked around our house. He was just so incredibly sad. He had a great job now, he lived in one of the most beautiful places on the planet, and people sucked up to him like octopus tentacles on a rock. But you could tell, you could see the moment he looked glanced at you, that he was miserable. He had loved my sister and I, he had adored us and cared about us, but there had always been one thing, one being in the world that was first in his mind, that trampled every other concern: my mom. It was obvious in the way he looked at her now: nothing had changed. He could make all the money in the world, he could live the American dream with a pretty young blonde for a wife and adorable kids that went to Ivy League schools and won separate Nobel peace prizes, and he would still be a miserable soul. He needed my mom, and without her, I couldn't really blame him for not calling, not visiting, seemingly not caring. How could I resent a fish out of water when it didn't swim?

Even as I watched my dad, almost in a shock, not quite accepting that he was really in front of me, I thought about Angela. She had seemed overwhelmed, and I knew she wouldn't be happy about the party, but when she burst into tears, upon opening my present, I could feel my heart break in half. But of course I should have known she would have cried, should have been expecting. I knew that windows were a hard thing for her to face.

It was the fact that it was shaped as a heart that had really gotten to me. What was I supposed interpret that to mean? Had Tyler been trying to tell me I should move on, had been God been trying to send me a message? I stared at it, leaning against the footboard of my bed, as I leaned against the headboard. It was beautiful, really. It was shaped simply, without a lavish curve at the bottom, and not a thin sort of heart. It was a simple plump little apple shape with a bottom tip that made it symbolize love. It was white, painted simply, not decorated with flourishes or elaborate patterns. The phone laid by my hand, the number of the man my brother knew who "installed windows", as he put it, written on a scrap of paper, sitting by my other hand. I bit my lip, and was about to get up and go downstairs, when Dustin's voice came into my memory. We had been sitting on that bed, staring at the number of my crush, in fourth grade, and when I had caved, getting up to go downstairs, she had said, "Scaredy-cat." At the time, I had rolled my eyes and descended the stairs. Now, I grabbed the phone and dialed.

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