Paper Hearts

02

Dinner was quiet.

I had broken the news to Dad through a text for two reasons―one being the fact that I was a coward, and the other being the fact that I knew he would probably get depressed and sad if I didn't give him enough time to deal. After all, Dad hadn't dated since he and Mom split (if you can really call what happened "splitting"), and despite being an eligible bachelor, he just couldn't find the willpower to date again.

Since he received the text at work, it was now time to see him face-to-face―and I wasn't sure what to expect.

So there I was. Sitting at our small kitchen table, poking at the microwave macaroni and cheese that he often called his "specialty dish". I wasn't hungry, I wasn't angry―I wasn't anything.

Dad was worse, though. His scowl seemed permanent; as if someone had stitched it onto the lower half of his face, which was covered in stubble. I could hardly stand to look at him; he got this way whenever my mother was mentioned, but it had never been as bad as this.

I was about to give up on all attempts of conversation, rising to clear my paper plate and plastic cutlery, when he finally spoke.

"Good for her." He said, and my eyes snapped up to meet his, my fingers freezing around the plate.

"Good for her," he repeated, nodding to himself, as if this was reassuring. "It's good that she's getting married. If she really loves him, that's good."

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice hollow. "It is."

Dad cleared his throat, looking like he wanted to say something else, but seemed to have thought better of it.

So, figuring that's all I was going to get from him, I cleared both of our plates, dumping them into the trash can the second I entered the kitchen. I saved the plastic forks and washed them clean in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher―performing the routine that felt so familiar that it was almost second nature.

On my way back to the table, I heard Dad speak again.

"What's his last name? Daniel, I mean."

Shaking my head, I shrugged. "Um...I don't know."

He laughed then, a bark-like laugh―coarse and rough around the edges.

"Well, that's polite of us, isn't it, Vicki?" He asked, and I winced a little at the words.

When Mom left, she and Dad decided that they would keep seperate names for me. While my full name was Victoria, to Dad I was Vicki and to Mom I was Tori. Never one name. Always one or the other. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time both syllables were used together. I was always either Vicki or Tori, and that was the way things were.

That's why―despite everything―I had gotten a little thrill in my chest upon hearing Mom speak. She called me Tori, and that was something that I hadn't heard in along time.

But, of course, Dad wasn't following my train of thought. Because he kept going, his words tumbling, one after the other. He was speaking like a drunk man, albeit the fact that he hadn't consumed a drop of alcohol.

"Matthews!" He said suddenly, pounding his fist on the table in revelation. "Daniel Matthews."

He broke into a maniacal smile, and for a moment, I was truly scared for him. But he regained his composure and took a quick sip of water, murmuring,

"Her name's going to be Laurie Matthews now." He paused, his dark gray eyes contemplative as he said again, "Good for her."

Blowing out a breath, I said, "Yeah."

"But you're always going to be Vicki Hemmings!" He exclaimed, jabbing his finger in my direction as I sat down across from him. "Vicki Hemmings. Not Vicki Matthews. Vicki Lorelai Hemmings."

"Yeah, Dad." I said flatly. "I get it."

"Vicki Hemmings," he repeated, tracing the wood grain of the table. "That's who you are."

This was getting ridiculous. I excused myself from the table, taking measured, paced steps up the stairs and to my bedroom. Once safely inside, I locked the door behind me and whipped out my phone, just as it began to vibrate in my pocket.

"Hey, Rachael," I said immediately, before even having to see who was calling.

"Hey," she replied, sounding as tired as I felt. "How was your day?"

"Pretty sucky, to be honest," I replied, and I heard her make a noise of vague assent.

"Tell me all about it."

And I did. I sat on my bed and told her everything―Mom's sudden call, the wedding, the four weeks, the impossible love interest. I told her everything I possibly could, unloading myself and my feelings onto Rachael, because we had always shouldered each other's loads, and now it was my turn to vent.

Rachael stayed quiet for most of it, occasionally interjecting with a gasp, or a word of consolation, but she waited until I was done to give her full piece of advice.

"We have school tomorrow. We can talk there, or try to figure things out. As for your dad, let him mourn. He's hurting, Vicki. He's hurting badly. He didn't expect this to happen; not so soon."

Then, after a moment of silence, she said,

"Everything's going to be okay."

I hoped so.