Chapter 8 - Dad Finally Came to My Apartment
My father arrived at 9:15 Saturday morning.
One day before the wedding.
He did not ask to come inside.
He simply knocked until I opened the door.
He looked furious.
“Fix this.”
No hello.
No apology.
Just instruction.
I stood in the doorway.
“Fix what?”
“The venue.”
“The catering.”
“Your brother is losing his mind.”
“That sounds like Julian’s problem.”
Dad stepped closer.
“Do not talk to me like that.”
I almost smiled.
Thirty-eight years old.
Executive director at a major financial firm.
And one sentence from my father could still make part of me feel twelve.
Almost.
“I’m not paying.”
“You said you would.”
“I never agreed to the final upgrades.”
“Who cares about upgrades?”
“I care.”
“This family will look ridiculous.”
There it was.
Not Julian’s marriage.
Not Chloe’s feelings.
Appearance.
“What happens if the wedding becomes smaller?”
I asked.
Dad stared at me.
“What?”
“Use a cheaper venue.”
“Reduce flowers.”
“Cancel the celebrity photographer.”
“Serve normal food.”
“The wedding is tomorrow.”
“Then you should have planned within your budget.”
His face reddened.
“Our budget?”
“Yes.”
“You are part of this family.”
“Apparently not invited to the wedding.”
Dad exhaled hard.
“Julian was angry.”
“And you liked the message.”
“I was trying to show support.”
“For humiliating me.”
“For your brother.”
The distinction said everything.
Supporting Julian automatically included hurting me.
Supporting me would have required disagreeing with Julian.
Dad could not do it.
Then I asked.
“Did you give Julian my W-2s?”
His face changed.
Small.
But enough.
“Why?”
“Answer.”
“Your mother handled that.”
“So yes.”
“We needed proof you could cover the vendors.”
My body went cold.
“You gave my financial information to Julian without asking me?”
“You were paying.”
“That does not give you permission.”
Dad waved one hand.
“Don’t become dramatic.”
“Did you know he forged my signature?”
Silence.
Then.
“What signature?”
I believed him.
He truly did not know.
I showed him Cedar Grove’s authorization.
Then the condo lease application.
Dad stared at both.
For the first time that morning, anger left his face.
“This isn’t Julian’s signature.”
“No.”
“It’s supposed to be mine.”
Dad sat down without being invited.
For a few seconds, he looked old.
Then he whispered.
“He said you signed everything.”
I nodded.
“And you believed him.”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“I thought you were helping.”
“I was.”
May you like
I said.
“Until helping became theft.”
