Darling

by Emily Gorny

Sitting in the passenger seat as my dad drives us to his 10 am doctor's appointment feels all too familiar. The clouds that hang around the car as we stop at the traffic light by my former high school remind me of my old daily commute to school. I don’t necessarily enjoy accompanying my dad to his routine check-up, but we both knew that when he called me that morning, bribing me with a Starbucks stop to go with him, I would inevitably agree. My dad always starts his phone calls off with an endearing “Hi darling.” I considered his proposal for a moment, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in his car. Even though it was a short ride, my dad finds enough time to call my grandmother. I don’t say much. It’s not that I don’t enjoy talking to my grandma, I just didn’t feel like it right then and there. After arriving at the doctor’s office, I sit in the car for a long time scrolling through my phone, messing with the seats, and staring out the window at the familiar shopping center. When my father returns, he regrettably informs me that he has to run to another meeting. He drives me home uncaffeinated but insists on taking me to a coffee shop later that day.

A few days later, I am back at school sitting in my dorm room. The transition between being in my hometown and back on campus is evident in my complete change of mindset. I once again feel like an independent individual without the desire to constantly please others. Or at least my parents. I call my mom, and to my surprise, she answers. With my dad having recently retired and my mom’s work rapidly increasing, I have been left with a voicemail message many times. Our calls are frequently an outlet for her frustrations and she doesn’t disappoint by offering light-hearted complaints about my dad’s inability to do anything alone. As we speak, I mess with the pens, makeup, and wrappers on my desk in a sort of nervous fidget. I express my own frustrations; I struggle with horrendous guilt whenever I have to turn down my dad’s proposition that I join him for whatever outing he has planned. I can never tell whether or not the guilt trip is intentional. Still, we agree that his ability to constantly keep up with his friends and relatives because of this habit is admirable. 

I provide the correct agreements, “mhmm's,” and “that’s true's” to my mom. I express my annoyance that he calls me every day, or at least texts me if we don’t speak. It is rare that I don’t get a “Hi darling, I haven’t heard from my beautiful daughter in a while,'' text a few times a week. I know I should be grateful, but I can’t suppress my annoyance when I automatically swipe my phone screen to pick up my dad’s calls. We soon hang up and I go to ask my friend if she wants to go to a coffee shop with me. She says she’s busy, so I contemplate staying home for a moment - then decide to go anyway. On the way, I cannot help but call a friend from home and we briefly chat before she has to go. I almost don’t want to be seen walking alone and each person I pass on the brick sidewalks makes me anxious. I try calling both my siblings and send them jokingly annoyed texts when I get sent to voicemail. I scroll through my contacts before a notification pops up on my phone: Call from Dad.