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29. Being Thoughtful

Being Thoughtful

Hadley felt a familiar relief coat her anxiety-burnt throat when she noticed an empty driveway. It meant her father wasn't home and she'd be able to go through the donation boxes without confrontation. Hadley shut off the engine and while unbuckling her seatbelt, she dropped her shoulders and blew out a frustrated breath. Of course the driveway is empty, I have his car. Hadley tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and let her head fall backwards against the headrest. She closed her eyes and worked to stay calm. There's no telling if her father was inside or even if her key still worked. The clock on that dashboard said 6:45, which meant it was actually 5:45 since Hadley had no idea how to adjust for daylight savings. Now or never. Wanting to get home before dark, she rolled her shoulders and stepped out of the car.

Hadley hesitated and decided not to use her key or walk in unannounced, aware this was no longer her home. Trying to forget that her father told her to never come back, she reminded herself that he left her a message telling her to come. She knocked on the door and quietly waited. You are not a little kid anymore. You can do this. She tucked her thumbs into her fists and squeezed nervously when she heard a shuffle on the other side of the door.

"The hell are you doing here?"

Hadley looked at her father, struck by how much thinner he was. His face had sunken, and his hair had both grayed and thinned. The whites of his eyes were now as yellow as his teeth and had red streaks that led toward his brown irises. He wore an oversized t-shirt, or perhaps a regular shirt that now seemed oversized, and a pair of stained gray sweatpants. "Hey dad. You left me a message about donation boxes yesterday, remember?"

"Course I remember, I'm not an idiot. I'm just surprised you decided to show your face after abandoning me." Hadley watched her father walk away from the door, but took the fact it wasn't slammed in her face as an invitation to walk in.

"I didn't abandon you, dad. I just grew up."

"Whatever.Boxes are in the corner.Don't make a mess."

Hadley nodded with big eyes and walked toward the pile of boxes, ignoring the layer of dust that coated every surface and the general mess that seemed to overtake the house. There were three big boxes and one small one. She knelt down, a potato chip fragment crunching under her knee, and unfolded the cardboard lid of the first box. She reached in and pulled out a beautiful blue paisley maxi dress followed by a brown and beige crocheted sleeveless dress. Hadley's breath hitched. "These are mom's dresses."

"Well they ain't mine. You're as thin as you've always been, so they're probably not worth your time."

"You can't possibly think I haven't changed at all." Her dad shrugged from his spot on the couch. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to take them, even if they won't fit."

"Whatever. The donation truck comes tomorrow so you take it or they take it, either way it's out of here." Hadley nodded, and folded the lid of the box back together, excited to pull out all of the dresses later. She pushed the box out of the way and pulled forward the next one. She wondered what else her dad was getting rid of that would warrant needing a truck for pick up. She looked over her shoulder at him as he took a long swig of his drink, and decided it wasn't worth the conversation. Instead she refocused on the box in front of her which was full of books and old photo albums. She didn't bother sifting through the contents, knowing she'd want all of it. The third box pulled forward weightlessly compared to the box with books and when she opened it she saw it held a few colorful knitted afghans. She remembered them well and couldn't wait to drape one on her couch. She could store the others in her closet in case she ever became friends with someone who would want to keep warm during a movie or even spend the night.

She took a moment to stack the three large boxes by the front door before she picked up the last box, which was notably smaller, and looked like a box that her dad's work boots would've come in. She lifted the lid and saw a pile of mail and a few magazines. When she started sifting through the envelopes, she realized they were all addressed to her. The magazines, which seemed like free promotional issues, were also in her name. What the heck… "You kept my mail?"

"Hmm?"

"This box. It's full of unopened envelopes and magazines and stuff… it's all in my name. Why didn't you ever tell me you had my mail?"

"Not my mail, not my problem. You shoulda thought about a forwarding address before you hightailed it out of here."

"I don't even know who would've needed my address. It hasn't been that long since I left, though. This is a lot of mail for two years…"

"I don't know Hadley. I been busy keepin' myself and you afloat. Least til you left. Maybe some of that junk came in when you were still here, I don't know. You never asked about it so why would I have thought twice to tell you."

Hadley scoffed. "Are you serious, dad? How would I even know to ask about it in the first place."

"Again, not my problem. I didn't need to save it all but I was being thoughtful."

"You think this is thoughtful? Thoughtful would've been giving me my mail as it came, not tossing it aside in a random old shoebox."

"What do you even know about being thoughtful? You couldn't get out of here fast enough and haven't even bothered to come visit me. Guess I should feel honored you bothered to leave your address and phone number on the answering machine. Not your number, as it turns out, the lobby number."

Hadley set the box down on top of the others and took a deep breath before she stepped toward the couch. She watched as her father huffed at her and gulped the end of his drink. "First of all, I don't have a cell phone, so that is my number. Second of all, I stayed here until I was twenty. I didn't even bother trying to apply to college or go out with friends, since I was so busy working or taking care of the house stuff. I bent over backwards for you and it was never good enough."

"Since when did you have friends?" He jeered and stood up, brushing past her to refill his drink.

"That's what you got from that? I had friends," she lied. "I just couldn't do anything or go anywhere. I was only allowed to go to work. You were fine with that because it benefited you."

Hadley winced when she heard the bourbon bottle slam down onto the cart followed by three heavy footsteps. She braced herself as he appeared in the kitchen entrance. "Where do you get off talking to me that way?"

"Sorry," Hadley murmured.

"And for the record, working wasn't some huge punishment. It didn't benefit me; it benefitted the house. You know, the roof above your head, the food you ate, the heat and AC…"

"The alcohol," she mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?"

Hadley gulped and shook her head, starting again. "I was a kid, dad. That wasn't supposed to be my responsibility."

"You don't get outta responsibilities just because you're fifteen."

"Sure, dad." Hadley, defeated, just wanted to be home. Home meaning her apartment, not here in this shell of where she grew up. She walked toward the door then turned around, her father's eyes still boring into her. "Thanks for the boxes but I better get going before it's too dark to drive."

"That was fast. You didn't bring dinner or nothin." He rolled his eyes and leaned against the kitchen door frame.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure you'd be here or what you had going on. Do you want me to cook you something to eat before I go?"

"You got cash? I'll order myself a hoagie."

Hadley was startled by his blunt ask. She stumbled for a minute on how to respond but his eyes stared expectedly so she gave in, like she always did, and dug in her purse for her last ten-dollar bill. "This is all I have on me." She held the money in the air and watched him walk over and pluck it from her hand. She rocked nervously on her heels when she realized he wasn't going to thank her, his focus back on his tumbler.

"Well, it was good to see you, dad."

"Yup." He grabbed the television remote before he plopped onto the couch, clearly over the conversation. He got what he wanted and had no need for pleasantries. Meanwhile, Hadley stood there for a moment, feeling a deep ache in her heart. She missed the version of her dad that existed when her mom was alive and the good times they once shared. Tears threatened to fall so she quickly rambled a goodbye and moved the boxes to the other side of the front door. Once outside, she carried the boxes one at a time to her car, trying to ignore the tightening of her chest. She dreaded this visit. Even though she stood up for herself, something she never would've done before, she still couldn't understand why she had to. It could've gone worse.

Once the three big boxes filled her backseat, she set the shoebox on the passenger front seat before rounding the car and getting in the driver's side. She buckled up and started the car. While she waited for the engine to warm up, she popped the lid of the box and fingered through the stack of mail. She noticed a lot of the same yellow envelope and gasped when she read the name written in the top left corners. Dorothy Wellington.

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