"So, Leena," Claire began, eyeing me carefully. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Slumped next to Claire on the couch after a heavy dinner, I turned to her and asked, "Yeah?"

"Now that you and Jason are dating," she said, her eyebrows shooting up as if to verify the truth to her statement.

I nodded for her to go on.

"I think it's time you told your father about Jason," she said in a rush.

I blinked, perplexed.

I didn't see that coming.

"You should tell your father about this, Lee," Claire insisted.

Pursing my lips, I stared at her with scepticism.

"I don't know," I said after a moment's silence.

With her posture straight and her chin angled authoritatively, Claire appeared to be using her courtroom tactics to convince me to oblige.

"Jason is a very nice boy, and I'm sure your father will be happy to hear about him," she continued. "You can also tell him that I've met Jason."

"Claire, I'm not worried about whether Dad will like Jason or not," I explained truthfully. "It's just . . . it's going to be such an awkward conversation."

I bit my lower lip, refraining from adding, Almost every conversation with my father is awkward these days.

"Call him tonight, Lee," she chuckled, patting my knee firmly.

***

"This is quite important," I said into the phone. "I'm all right, but I need to talk to him."

"I'm afraid Mr Faye can't speak to you right now, Leena," Rita said in her typical, calm tone. "He's on a conference call, but I can have him phone you in about twenty minutes."

"Okay, thanks," I said quietly before hanging up. 

Calm down, I told myself as I paced the length of the bedroom. It'll be easy. Dad won't ask too many questions. He's too busy for that.

A few minutes later, I sat cross-legged on my bed and opened the email application on my phone. For what was probably the hundredth time that day, I admired my new profile picture. I had uploaded the picture of Jason and me at The Secret Garden right after breakfast that morning.

My mind wandered to our conversation at Java Lava that afternoon.

"So, I know this guy, Greg. He works the night shift here,"  Jason had said, a hopeful smile resting on his lips. "He said he could swap shifts with me on Wednesday. I thought we could rent Snakes on a Plane and watch it together." 

My heart instantly warmed at Jason's willingness to take the night shift just to spend the day with me.

"Yeah, that'd be great," I enthused, biting into my half of the fluffy and delicious chocolate muffin.

The idea of spending an entire day with Jason, alone in Claire's house, sent my heart racing with anticipation. 

I was snapped back into the moment when my phone vibrated in my hands. The screen indicated a call from my dad.

"Okay, calm down," I said to myself, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Clearing my throat, I pressed the Answer button and said, "Hi, Dad."

"Hey, Lee," my dad's authoritative, deep voice sounded unusually exhausted. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I answered. "But how are you, Dad? You don't sound too good."

I imagined him rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger when he said, "We're expanding the company, so things are a bit hectic here."

"Dad," I began, suddenly overwhelmed with worry. "Are you eating well? Are you getting any sleep at all? Don't tell me you're just living on coffee."

"I'm fine, Lee," he laughed, the sound making me smile. "Don't worry about me. Now, Rita said you wanted to talk about something important, yes?"

I cleared my throat again. "Well, I've met some really nice people in LA. And . . ."

I faltered, having forgotten the rest of my rehearsed speech.

"And?" my father prompted patiently.

"Well, there's this guy —"

"A guy?" he demanded, suddenly sounding fully alert and awake.

I breathed in deeply and spoke in a rush, "Yeah, his name's Jason Hunter. He's really nice. We went out on a date last night."

"Jason Hunter, is it?" my dad asked after three beats of silence. "How old is he? What does he do?"

"He's eighteen, and he's on his gap year, like me. He's working at a café right now, and he'll be going to university to study environmental science next year," I smiled, unable to contain the pride in my voice. "His parents are professors at a university here."

I counted another four beats of silence before I continued, "He came over to Claire's house for dinner. She approved of him. I really like him, Dad."

Much to my surprise, my father burst into laughter, the sound filled with amusement.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I don't know if you remember this," he said, his voice thick with nostalgia. "But when you were in second grade, you came home from school one day, holding a drawing of a car in your little hands."

For a moment, I was seized by panic and hurt. It felt as though an old, painful wound had been torn open when he brought up the past. 

Second grade. Two years before the thing with my mother happened.

Thankfully, my dad's voice stopped my dangerous line of thought with his question, "Do you remember, Lee?"

"N-no, I don't."

"Well, I remember it like it was yesterday. When I asked you what that drawing was, you handed it to me and said that a boy from your class gave it to you."

"Really?" I asked, struggling to remember.

"You said, 'He drew this for me in Art. He said it's his favourite car.' I told you that he must've given it to you because he liked you," he sighed. "And then — I'll never forget this — I asked you if you liked him, and you just looked at me and said, 'I don't know, Daddy. Maybe if he draws me a picture of something I like.'"

"I really said that?" I asked, laughing along with him.

Once our laughter died down, my father's voice turned serious. "Now, you're eighteen years old, you've graduated from high school, you have a boyfriend . . . I didn't realise the time go by. I feel like I've missed all of it."

I remained silent, discomfited by the unexpected confession.

"You've grown up so fast, Lee," my dad said, his voice breaking with emotion. "After your mother . . . I was never around to watch you grow up."

I opened my mouth to console him, but my throat closed up in protest. He was finally acknowledging the fact that he hadn't been there for me after what happened with my mother. His voice was heavy with grief and regret, but I didn't want to stop him.

"I was never there for you," he muttered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Lee."

Tears of relief brimmed over my eyes as my father finally admitted the truth.

"It's okay," I whispered as hot, salty tears trailed down my cheeks.

"I was so foolish," he went on. "I should have been there for you, but I . . ."

"It's okay, Dad," I repeated, my voice high-pitched. "Thank you for apologising."

"I owe you a lot more than an apology, Lee," he sighed softly. "But I can only hope that you will forgive me."

I wiped away my tears and stared up at the ceiling, amazed by the unforeseen turn that our conversation had taken.

Although I was still weighed down by several things from my past, the burden that I carried on my shoulders suddenly felt a little lighter.

My voice brimmed with newfound confidence when I said, "I forgive you, Dad."