Before Mum left, she joked that it didn't matter how pissed I was with Dad; August and I had been 'Daddy's girls' from the day we were born, and we'd all be best friends again by 10pm.

As it turned out, it only took August until 9.

Dad's ordered us pizza. At first, he'd clapped his hands together and declared we'd have Byron burgers for dinner, 'just like the old days'. Curtly, I told him that we don't eat red meat anymore.

"Nobody told me about this development," he said amusedly. "Since when?"

"Since about 5 years ago." I.e. since you left.

It was a bit of a low blow. I even felt a little bad afterwards, but I managed to convince myself that I had every right to be snippy. I mean, who does he think he is? Does he think he can just march into our house without so much as an apology, and we'll all eat burgers and milkshakes like nothing's wrong? Like he didn't assault my boyfriend the last time I saw him?

Unlike me, August can't welcome him home fast enough. When there's an awkward silence after our encounter, she quickly fills it, brushing off the fact that he's totally out of the loop.

"But we do eat pizza! Don't worry, Dad, we can just order Papa Johns or something! Right, Ange?" She looks over at me, eyebrows high with desperate hope. Erys comes romping into the living room, and I let her leap into my lap as I sigh and plop into the sofa.

Aug's back to calling him 'Dad' already.

"Yeah, sure."

He swings back on his heels. "Alright, Freckles; Papa Johns it is."

There's a bit of buzz as we make the order – customizing our pizzas, choosing sides and all that. He keeps trying to make us laugh with dumb puns, and I feel bad again when August has to laugh loud enough to make up for my silence when asks if we should order 'pup-eroni' pizza for Erys. Erys make a low whining sound, her fluffy brown ears drooping when she tilts her head up at me. That makes me chuckle.

Yeah, I didn't think it was very funny either.

To avoid another lull whilst we wait for the pizza, August suggests we watch a movie, and picks out a 2000s classic: Just My Luck with Lindsay Lohan and Chris Pine.

"We need snacks!" August says, already energised by the mere idea of sugar. "Ice cream? Ben & Jerry's?" She asks him with a grin.

He clears his throat as he takes his seat on the sofa – thankfully, right on the other side from me.

"Frecks, what would your mum say about it?"

August's shoulders slump, as she answers sulkily,

"She'd say no ice cream until after dinner."

"Oh," he says, feigning surprise at her answer. "In that case, go right ahead."

Her eyes lit up like a New York Christmas tree, she tackles him with a big hug.

"Really? Thanks, Dad! Come on, Erys!" She says, sprinting into the kitchen, the little brown and white dog on her heels excited by excitement itself.

"I'll take some Chocolate Fudge Brownie!" He calls after her, laughing.

Once August and Erys are gone, there's an awkward silence that not even the boppy title screen music can cover up. I look straight ahead, in the hopes that he'll see me staring at a blank screen and realize how desperate I am not to speak to him.

"So..." he begins, fingers drumming the sofa arm rather aggressively, "your mum tells me you and that teacher fellow are done."

He stretches and contracts his jean-clothed legs in a way that tells me he's uncomfortable, and I can't help but roll my eyes and look away from his ungainly impression of fatherliness.

"Why?" I sass, bitter with disbelief. "Are you planning on assaulting him again if not?"

I talk straight ahead of me, intentionally not looking at him. He wasn't looking at me either, and it's an odd setup, like we're in couples counseling or some shit, but when I scoff at him, his gaze snaps towards me, and his body follows, turning to face me.

Agitated, he paws his grizzly ginger beard, making a scratchy-flicky sort of sound, before he speaks. He's trying to be reasonable.

"Look, Evangeline," I hold back another scoff when he pulls the 'full name card',

"I understand we won't see eye-to-eye about this, but I'm not gonna feel bad about stepping in to protect my daughter."

"Oh my God!" I explode. A sharp laughs follows, but it isn't a humoured one.

"How do you still not get it? I barely see you! You don't get to choose who I get attached to, you don't get to decide what uni I go to, or I do with my life, and you don't get to act like a caveman in the name of 'protecting me'!"

Maybe 'caveman' was a little too far – I didn't mean to say that one out loud. Luckily, he either doesn't catch it, or is too worried about what he's going to say next.

"So, that's it, then? I move away and my place in this family is just nullified, is it?"

As he gets more and more heated, his accent veers further into its cockney roots, his 't's disappearing as his lips narrow.

"You think it's easy for me?" He says, with a rough scrape of his beard.

"Every time I blink, you girls have hit another milestone that I'm not there for. I'm lucky if I catch it on your mother's Facebook, and when I do, I'm thinking 'who are those young women with her?' and it's you! It's my little girls, except you're not little girls anymore, you're hardly 'mine', and I'm missing every bloomin' thing that matters."

It feels like he's on a roll, so I don't stop him. Usually, when I see him at the bar, I imagine him as a mechanical man stuck on a loop, chugging a beer, slapping a back and spewing old shanties. But right now, he's the most alive – the most honest – I've ever seen him.

He exhales.

"Tangie, I never meant to make you feel like I was trying to decide your life. I only banged on about you going to Oxford 'cause it was all I had of you. Made me feel like I was actually involved in your life for once. I was just desperate to be in the loop, I suppose. The last time I was in the bloody loop, you were planning on marrying the chap from that Freaky Friday film."

I let out an involuntary giggle, and Dad instantly looks up from the carpet to meet my eyes. In his, I see hope. Nervous hope, but hope all the same. Who'd have thought Chad Michael Murray would make me forgive my father?

"That was quite a while ago Dad," I whisper, watching my fingers as I press them into the cushion. "I was bound to move on at some point."

He breathes out through his nose. "I know, I just... thought I'd have time to prepare for it. I thought I'd be there for it.

As much as I weaponise it, I feel bad whenever he mentions the split. I'm not 13 anymore; I understand that some people just aren't meant to be together, but it took me a while to realize that just because it was Dad's choice doesn't mean he didn't lose out on a lot.

"It's not like you missed my first steps, Dad. You've seen me through lots of the important bits... but you just won't be there for every step of me becoming who I'm going to be. Not even Mum will. You just have to trust me, I guess."

My shoulders drop and now I feel like I can breathe. He's hearing me. For once, my father is actually hearing me.

I bite my cheeks to stop my smile before it spreads too wide, and our reconciliation is signed and sealed.

"I hate what you did though, Dad. To Eric."

He bops his head with a 'yeah, yeah, yeah' attitude, looking away from me with a stubborn cock of his brow, but I have to say it. I'll regret it if I don't say exactly how I feel while he's listening. He has to hear it.

"I'm serious. Regardless of how you felt, you hurt someone I care about – really badly. Maybe you don't feel like he had a leg to stand on, but that doesn't make how you acted okay.

"I felt like I couldn't even recognize you... You scared me, Dad."

I curse my vulnerability when my voice cracks with my final admission, but Dad's hardheaded gaze softens as he deliberates for a moment before opening his arms to me.

"Come here."

Eyeing him warily, I stay put.

"Christ," he laughs, "I'm not gonna bite you, Tange; come here. Come on."

"Okay, okay," I concede, sliding along the leathery seats to lean against one of his oustretched arms.

He locks me in with the other, grasping both of his hands together with me in the middle, and bringing his cheek down to rest atop my head.

"I'm sorry for acting like a caveman," he says with a breath. Then, quieter,

"I'm sorry for hurting someone you care about."

"That means a lot, Dad. Thanks."

"I'll apologise, Tange. If it'll make it any better."

I shake my head, silent for a moment.

"No," I say. "I don't think there'd be much point. It's like Mum told you – we're done."

Summing it all up – Thursdays and birthdays and midnight tears – in a single syllable doesn't feel right. It feels like even the end of Eric and I is too complicated for words. But for now, that single syllable is all Dad needs to hear. I feel him nod against the top of my head, with a grunt of acknowledgement. I'm glad he doesn't make a big deal of it; it's the last thing I need to dwell on yet again.

"Y'know what?" I say abruptly as I sit up and fold my legs beneath me, determined to seize the moment. "Let's make a deal."

"A deal?"

I stick my pinkie out towards him. "Mhm. Take my pinkie."

"Right, and what deal am I signing up for exactly?" Dad asks with sly amusement, although he wraps his rough pinkie finger around mine nonetheless.

I make a point of looking him right in the eye, as directly as if it could bind the promise.

"If you promise to listen to me – and I mean really listen to me, even the things you don't like – and hear me out like you just did, I promise to tell you everything about my life. Our life." I say, nodding my head towards August in the kitchen.

"Everything."

Dad smirks at the seriousness of it all; sitting cross-legged on the couch making pinkie promises. But he chews on his lower lip before asking,

"Everything?"

"Everything, Dad. From graduation and dance recitals to, I dunno, what we put on our toast that morning. Everything."

A laugh escapes him then, booming and sudden. "Deal," he agrees, shaking our joined fingers. Then, he smiles at me.

I notice it because he rarely smiles. He laughs a lot, like a bulldog, especially when he's had a few; sometimes he stretches his lips in discomfort to denote some sort of well-meaning emotion. But he's smiling over at me in a wistful way, like he's behind a video camera, looking through the lens at his baby girl and thinking 'you'll never be this young again'.

"Alright," I declare, straightening my posture. "In the spirit of telling you everything, I should probably tell you that I'm- well, I'm considering going to uni in Dublin."

"Dublin?" He exclaims with a look of genuine surprise.

"Mhm. Music and Philosophy at Trinity College."

"You got an offer?"

"Well, I had an audition, but I'm supposed to hear back soon. We'll see."

He settles into his seat firmly, with a hand out on the armrest that seems to steady him. For a moment I worry he's forgotten our understanding, and he's angry I didn't tell him early. Then, his brows raise.

"That's... that's incredible, Tangie. And you want to do Music and Philosophy? That's wh- the, um, industry you'd like to be in?"

He's speaking more properly than he ever does, like he's measuring his words, and I love him more than I ever have for trying so hard.

"I think so?" I shrug, sweeping a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't know that far ahead really. I just, know what my heart is in, you know?"

"Wow. That's great, Tange."

I don't realize how much I needed to hear those words from him until he says them, but I could cry with joy in this moment.

"Thanks, Dad."

"So... in the 'spirit of telling me everything'..."

"Mhm..."

His eyes dart to the corridor to ensure the coast is clear.

"Your sister isn't starting to date or have crushes and all that yet, is she? I'm not young, Tangie, I don't know if my heart can take much more stress."

I throw my head back with laughter, swiveling around to check the hall myself.

"Sorry, Dad, can't say. Every teenager needs at least a few secrets."