It had a sort of musky smell. The seats at the booths were torn up and the red fake leather that covered them was stained in multiple places. There was one waitress working the restaurant in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a bands name that I didn’t recognize. She looked over at me with a bored expression. “Sit wherever,” she deadpanned.


I looked around and decided on the booth with the least tears in it. It wasn’t the ideal place to eat, but I didn’t really have a choice. The weekend ahead of me was going to be hell and I needed some coffee. This place was the only restaurant I saw when I turned off the highway.


The waitress walked over to me. Her nametag read Stacy. She was young, but not too young, maybe early thirties. Her hair was held up in a messy bun at the top of her head. Dark circles sat under her eyes, even though she seemed to have tried to cover them with concealer.


“What do you want?” She asked, unenthusiastically.


“Just coffee.” I replied.


“Cream? Sugar?”


“Yeah, two sugars.”


She tucked her notepad in her pocket and walked over to the next table. I looked around some more. A tacky row of bobble head pigs lined the counter and a case half-full of pastries sat next to them. They looked at least a day old. Nice place.


It was probably something like what my weekend was about to be. My dad had no idea I was coming. I had no idea I was coming either, until I packed a suitcase and got on the road. It was one of those times when my body just took over. Logic wasn’t really a part of the decision. I had no idea how he would respond.


I hadn’t seen him in years. After he left my mom, I refused to talk to him. I ignored the calls, threw the letters in the trash. Eventually he stopped trying. But my mom was suddenly pregnant with his baby. How it happened? I’m still not sure, but apparently they had a little reunion that I didn’t know about. Not that my mom said anything about it, of course. She wouldn’t tell him but against all my natural instincts, my something inside me told me that he needed to know. Something inside me thought maybe he could be a father to this kid. And beyond all reasoning that something took over.


The waitress brought the coffee and set it down in front of me and walked away. I picked it up and took a sip. It was terrible, but better than nothing. So I took another sip and tried to delay leaving for as long as I could.

************



It had been years since he left, five to be exact. My brain knew that, yet somehow every other part of my body felt like it had been just yesterday. I had woken up to footsteps from downstairs. I rolled over in my bed, and pulled the blanket up to my chin and lay there for a few minutes before realizing that there was no way I’d be able to fall asleep.
I let out a groan and rolled over to look at the clock sitting on my nightstand. The clock flashed six o’clock. My head fell against the pillow in exasperation and I heard the same footsteps from downstairs again. A small smile crossed my lips as I realized that being awake so early was one thing, but being awake so early with someone else was another.
I figured it was probably my mom who seemed to wake up early a lot. She was probably downstairs reading the paper and putting bread in the toaster for a quick breakfast. She would spread it with butter and then put on a layer of strawberry jam, her favorite. This was what she ate every morning.
But it was different on weekends. If she woke up early she would have her signature toast, butter and jam, but once my dad and I got up it was pancake morning. It was our tradition. Pancakes with syrup and butter, pancakes with chocolate chips and/or berries baked in to the fluffy cakes, pancakes with honey, pancakes with bananas on top and if I were lucky my mom would even add a couple spoons of whipped cream to the top.
I sat up in my bed and let out a yawn. It was after all only six in the morning. I sat for a minute gathering the strength to stand up and finally did, hoping maybe my mom would make pancakes early today. It was a long shot since she would probably want to wait for my dad to get up, but worth a try.
I grabbed a sweater that was draped over the top of a chair, realizing how chilly it was. I wrapped it around me and tiptoed down the stairs, so as not to wake my dad up. I realized that the footsteps weren’t coming from the kitchen, but the living room. I walked into it, expecting to see my mother but it wasn’t her who had a scarf wrapped around their neck, a coat zipped up and a suitcase in their hand. It was my father.
“Dad…?” I trailed off, a trace of a question in my voice. He spun around and looked at me, his eyes growing wide.
“Syd,” he said quietly staring at me. “I didn’t expect you to be up.”
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Why are you leaving so early?”
He just looked at me for a moment and I saw a dozen different emotions flash across his face: remorse, guilt, nervousness, disappointment, among other things. “I’m…going away,” he said in almost a whisper.
My heart started to beat faster hoping I wasn’t hearing what I thought I was. “What do you mean going away?” I asked.
His head turned to the dining room table, where a piece of notebook paper lay. “Just read the note,” he said before looking back at me.
I opened my mouth as if to say something but no words would come out. They all got stuck in my throat, unable to move further.


“I’m sorry,” he said before giving me one last look and slipping out the front door, closing it softly behind him. I stood staring at the door, which my father had just walked out of. My body suddenly felt heavy, like lead and I couldn’t move. All I could think was “my father just left me”, “my father abandoned me”, but most of all “my father is a coward.”

*******************


The house was little yet cute, maybe. The beach was only a few blocks away, which was nice. I used every fiber of my body to take a step forward and pull my small suitcase with me. One step forward Sydney, I told myself. Just one. I took one step. Good, now take another one. I did. Somehow I managed to get up the stairs and onto the porch in front of the door. I stood still. I could still get back in my car and drive home. I didn’t really need to do this. There was still time to leave.


No, I couldn’t. He needed to know. What he would do next was up to him, but he needed to know. I made my fist hit the door. Once, twice, three times and waited.


“Coming!” A voice said, but it wasn’t my dads’ voice. It wasn’t even a male voice. A woman opened the door; young, definitely pretty with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. “Can I help you?” She asked.


“Uh, is Richard here?” I replied, slowly.


“Richie! There’s someone here to see you!” She sing-songed. Richie?


“One minute honey!” He called back. Honey?


A man in a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt came to the door. His hair was a little messy. And his eyes grew wide as he looked at me.


“Syd?” He said softly.


“You two know each other?” The woman asked.


“Yeah. Kate, this is Sydney. My daughter.” He tagged on the last part as though it was an afterthought. Nervously, like he didn’t know if he actually should.