Me: Don't be controlling.
Dad: I'm your father.
Me: And I'm an adult. Back off.
He doesn't respond and I know I've pissed him off.
Good. I'm pissed off too.
My phone buzzes again, but this time it's Rush.
Rush: I'm sorry.
I stare at the message and my chest tightens.
Sorry doesn't fix this, sorry doesn't change the fact that he backed off the second my dad pushed.
I don't respond.
Another message comes through.
Rush: Can we talk?
Me: No.
Rush: Please.
Me: You made your choice.
Rush: I was trying to do the right thing.
Me: The right thing would have been not running.
He doesn't respond and I set my phone down.
I finish my wine and pour another glass. My mind is racing.
This is exactly what I was afraid of—that Rush would find a reason to push me away.
And my dad handed him one on a silver platter.
I hate this, hate feeling like this, hate that I care so much.
My phone rings and it's my dad again. I answer it.
"What?"
"Don't what me."
"Then don't call me when I'm pissed at you."
"We need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about. I like Rush, you don't approve, end of story."
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."