everything you do, you find a reason or a way to make it cost money. You know, sometimes it'd be nice to just make dinner and eat together at my place." I could tell by the look in his eye that my dad was going to ignore the money part of my complaining.
He never wanted to talk about his reckless spending. If he weren't the only mechanic in this rich, posh town on the ocean, he'd probably be in a huge amount of debt long ago. Frowning darkly across the table, I sniffled harshly and pulled a tissue out of my purse. Dabbing my eyes, I struggled to breathe through my clogged nose as my father sat back to cross his arms over his chest.
"Well, sorry I want to spend time with you, Mel."
Groaning loudly, I pressed my palms on the table forcefully. Eyes on us raised the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck, but I really wasn't in the mood to deal with my dad's attempt to turn the conversation around. Glaring through bleary, throbbing eyes, I scowled nastily as uncertainty flickered across his pudgy face.
"You know what, Dad— you try to turn everything around on me without acknowledging the fact that this is your fault!" My heart ached as I practically shouted at my dad, drawing all the attention in this small bar-slash-restaurant's patio. "Are you just going to ignore the fact that I'm suffering through an asthma attack right now because you dragged me here? I told you when you suggested this place that my allergies were making my asthma unbearable, and yet— here we are! On the patio! During the worst time for me! And for what? Because you want to spend time with me?"
Wheezing viciously, I could feel my lungs shrinking from the strain of my own talking. I couldn't breathe, and my face burned as my dad's jaw hit his collar bone at my outburst. His embarrassed blush intensified when he noticed my shouting drawing attention, and he sat up and tried to speak up. My dad only managed to open his mouth, but nothing came out when the waitress came zooming over in her smart, tucked uniform.
"Would you like some help inside?" The horrible thing about it was that I loved this restaurant. Whenever I was in town, I always got a hankering for this place, and I was forever grateful I didn't have any food allergies. Right in that moment, I couldn't remember the waitress' name, but I recognized her face when I glanced up. She looked concerned, kinda peeved, and I wheezed through a breath before nodding. My brain rattled against my skull, and she held my arm to help me stand as dizziness threatened to knock me over.
"There's a small step." Gingerly putting her arm around me, the waitress held my forearm firmly, and I managed a slightly deeper, shuddering breath. "Do you need to go to the hospital? Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine..." Honestly, I felt like I was going to suffocate, but the second I crossed the threshold, some of the tightness in my chest eased. Blinking hard to clear my vision, I stumbled a little over my own heels over the step the waitress had just warned me about. "Can I have some water?"
"Of course." Sitting me at a booth, the woman disappeared behind the bar, and I held my throbbing head in both my hands. I should've told my father 'no'; he had absolutely no problem being an ass about what I wanted to do or enjoyed. Why couldn't I do the same? Because he'll make a stink of it for weeks.
No wonder my mom drank herself to death. If he weren't my dad, I wouldn't want anything to do with him.
"Ugh..." Rubbing my nose between my thumbs, guilt rose in my blocked throat at that thought. My last memory of my mom blossomed between my throbbing brain and my eye sockets, and my grimace darkened. She'd made a lot of money as a financial consultant, but the stress drove her to drinking. I knew some of it had to be my dad being unfaithful, too. Truthfully, I wasn't the best teenager, either. Really, a conglomerate of issues with no one person to blame.
I'd grown up living in Buffalo, New York, constantly complaining about wanting to travel with my friends. My mom was hesitant to let me, but there were some experiences she couldn't say 'no' to. High school graduation meant going