When I finally stagger back home, I have a splitting headache. Dinners with my father are always like descending to the Ninth Circle of hell, but that was something else. Apparently my father’s vision for me is to become some sort of 1950s desperate housewife. And Scott would heartily approve.
They colluded on this. I found my backbone to stand up to Scott, but the two of them working in tandem? It’s just too much. I don’t know—I’ve always been a doormat to my dad. He has a very dominant personality. After he drove my mom away, and he was all I had, I think I was afraid of ever displeasing him for fear the only parent I had would reject me.
It’s old, stupid stuff, but the resonance is still present in every conversation and interaction we have. He’s telling me what to do with my life, an
