Chapter Text
“Hey chickpea, what do you want me to do with this box?”
Val looked up from the box she was just starting to unpack, gazing at her beautiful girlfriend Cassie. She was holding a cigar box that was covered in little cartoon stickers. Val huffed lightly and looked from the cigar box up into Cassie’s chocolate eyes.
“Just put it on the mattress for now, I’ll find a place to put it later,” Val finally replied, and she looked back down at the box, which she found was filled with towels and bedsheets she hadn’t seen since the apartment before the last one, back when they lived in Washington Heights, before their business really got taking off. She heard the gentle drop of the cigar box onto the mattress in what was slowly becoming their bedroom, and she felt Cassie wrap her arms around Val’s shoulders as she removed the towels.
“It’s almost dinner, we should get something to eat,” Cassie said, a hint of a giggle in her voice. Val smiled and leaned back into Cassie’s embrace.
“True, we should,” she finally replied, and she let Cassie pull her up and lead her out of the room. She glanced at the little cigar box, catching the facial expressions of the three people in the photo that was washi-taped to the top of it.
As Cassie and Val walked out of the apartment complex and towards a nearby restaurant, Val thought about that photo. She remembered how she had set up her first DSLR camera on the tri-pod right outside of her college dorm. She remembered how her parents flanked both sides of her, embracing her for what was the last time that they’d probably attempt to fake being a “happy, functional family”. Not that her parents were abusive, of course. But… there was a lot to be wished for.
Cassie lightly squeezed her hand as they stood outside of a fancy ramen place, and Val cocked an eyebrow.
“You know, if we wanted ramen, we have plenty of instant cups in the kitchen,” she dryly said, and Cassie chuckled.
“Yes, but you don’t put the eggs in right.”
Val mock gasped, and Cassie smiled even more.
“Excuse you, I will have you know that the only way to make eggs in ramen work is through making it into egg-drop soup!”
Cassie chortled. “Yeah, this is also coming from the girl who eats pineapple! On her pizza!”
Val glowered, and Cassie laughed.
“Oh no, have I offended your terrible taste in food?”
Val smiled, gripping her girlfriend’s hand. “Do you know what happened to the last person who offended your terrible taste in food?”
Cassie smiled, pulling herself closer. “Yes, I was there as you ruined Darren’s coffee last week.” She took Val’s other hand and looked up at her girlfriend. “But Darren is a jerk, and I’m your girlfriend."
Val tried to keep the glowering face on as she gazed into her girlfriend’s eyes, her smile, her light freckles that sprinkled along her dark nose, but let slip a small smile.
“Okay, you’ve got me there,” she mumbled, pulling Cassie closer. Cassie tilted her head up and lightly kissed the tip of Val’s nose, causing Val to crinkle it and jerk back as Cassie chuckled.
“Alright chickpea, let’s go get some food.”
Val let her girlfriend tug her into the ramen shop, rolling her eyes as Cassie went on about the eggs.
*****
It wasn’t until the couple had gotten back to the apartment that Val actively thought about the cigar box again. Of course, it had lingered in the back of her mind, and Cassie had definitely noticed the few times that Val had spaced out during dinner. As they entered the bedroom again, Val’s gaze froze onto the box on their mattress, and Cassie rubbed her thumb along the top of her knuckles.
“I’m gonna go see if I can find the bedsheets and such, make the bed more, y’know, an actual bed,” Cassie said. Val turned to look at her and lightly smiled as she nodded, and Cassie turned to walk out, pulling the door more closed as she left. Val walked over to the mattress and sat on it, picking up the cigar box.
The photo reflected the light from the lamp on the other side of the room, blurring out her mother’s face. Val tilted the box, letting Marilyn’s polite but happy smile and kind eyes gaze into Val’s own face. She could feel her eyes tearing up, and she decided to look at her younger self. Hair half-buzzed, a spiky collar, and skull earrings matched with the torn Linkin Park on her upper body. She chuckled at her just-out-of-highschool look, full of rebellion and rage at…
She looked at her father, who was, for once, in something other than his standard dark-toned shirt and leather jacket. He had managed a white shirt, had managed to shave and appear to be less inebriated, appeared to be a father who was actually present for a lot of Val’s life.
Val waited for the angry rage that usually accompanied thinking about her father, but she had been finding as of late that the rage wasn’t nearly as strong as the pangs of sadness and longing. She had sworn to herself and to Cassie, who was still “just a friend” at that point, that she would never talk to that man who had given her so much unhappiness after her mother died. But now, four years later, that anger and need to blame someone for the pain she felt at that time had dissipated.
Of course, not that she didn’t have no reason to be angry at Robert. After she had cut him off, he had only attempted to reach out once, and then… disappeared from her life almost entirely. The times that she was given reminders that he existed, around Christmas, she usually spent a few hours printing out shitty photos from the latest photo shoot and burned them while drinking the bottle of white Zinfandel she keeps in the back of her fridge. It was the only time she ever really drank by herself, although Cassie was usually there to make the picture-burning event less lonely. And even before her mother’s death, her father had never really been… fully there for many of Val’s teen years, other than rare moments of lucidity that had decreased as she had gotten older.
She opens the cigar box and looks at the most recent card he had sent, Christmas 2016. There weren’t a lot of words, just a GrubHub code for some Hawaiian pizza from the pizza place in Manhattan he used to take her to as a kid and a short Christmas greeting, along with a picture of the dog he had gotten in the past year. She smiled sadly, hoping that the dog was actually being cared for.
He fed you, clothed you, made sure you were safe, and taught you how to break a man’s neck if you ever needed it.
She sighed. Thinking back, it was true that her father had never actively hurt her. And yet he was never really around to see who she had become. She didn’t know if he liked who she was a person. She didn’t know if he was proud of her. She didn’t know if he would be alright with Cassie as a person. She didn’t know how he actually felt about her. Val’s memories of him dated back to before she was in middle school, back to when she lazily stuck stickers to his old truck’s dashboard and he made fantastical stories about each one she named. Pizza and movie nights while they waited for Mom to get home from her hospital shift. Watching him carve small pieces of wood during family camping trips. The distant way he’d promise to take her to a game, a movie, a dance, a show, but would often be gone to drink with other veterans from the area.
Those memories were far and few between by the time she hit high school, and instead yelling matches over whether or not he would be at the high school’s art show were more prominent. Her mother usually wasn’t around for those, but she often took Val’s side when she was present to see her dad’s sorry ass try and make an excuse for why he couldn’t go this time. The awkward silences in the truck that he drove her to school in, and his short few-word answers. She wanted to get to know him as a person, but he rarely gave anything away.
And Val wondered if it because he didn’t want to get to know her.
But he’s the one that sends me cards .
Cassie opened the door and sat down next to Val. They let the silence of the moment fill the room until Cassie gently broke it.
“Hey, you’re not actively crying this time around.”
Val blinked, realizing that her eyes weren’t wet anymore. Her face didn’t feel stuffy, nor did her cheeks feel dry from tear marks like they had in the past when the cigar box was opened.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbled.
There were another few moments of silence. Val thought about the cards, how there were less and less words over time. How the attempts to contact her were more and more feeble with time. She wasn’t sure she wanted to let him slide away. She had fought like hell for him to be around during high school. She had pushed him away during college. She had cut him off after Mom’s death. But she felt a sadness where there once had been rage, a longing where there once had been loathing. And maybe, just maybe, wisps of forgiveness.
And damnit, she missed having someone to eat Hawaiian pizza with.
“I think I’m going to send him a card.”
Cassie looked up at Val, shocked. “Him? You mean… Robert?”
Val nodded. “Yeah… I think,” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I think I want to try and get to know him again.
Cassie smiled at her girlfriend and placed her hand on Val’s arm.
“Let’s get to know your father.”
*****
Robert Small did not usually get woken up by text notifications on his phone at high noon.
Sure, DadBook notifications and the Cryptid Hunting Forums were fairly active during the day, but only a few people had his actual phone number, and only one of them used it, and usually Mary wouldn’t me texting him at noon unless it was an emergency.
He reached out for the phone, his vision still somewhat blurry from the sleepy tears he had apparently been shedding in his sleep, again. He wiped his palm over his eye sockets and stared at the contact on the phone, and promptly dropped it on his face out of shock.
Val?
He picked up the phone again, his fingers shaking as he swiped the phone screen to unlock it.
Val: Hi, stranger.
He blinked.
This has to be a prank.
He typed out a quick message in response.
who are you
what have you done with my daughter’s phone
He groaned internally. They hadn’t texted in… He scrolled up. The last messages were during that first Christmas after Marilyn had died.
Four years.
If this was a case of phone robbery, Robert would have to laugh at the sad excuse of a father he presumed the phone thief saw him as.
A new message came in.
Val: ah, the classic “we haven’t spoken in years so this must be a joke” gag
Val: how hilarious.
Val: wanted to thank you for all the pizza you’ve sent me
Robert blinked in shock, and began typing back.
i see my assassination attempt wasn’t successful-- No, can’t send that. glad to see my pineapple-loving genes have-- No, not that. He groaned in frustration. Already he was leaving his daughter on read. He finally settled with something.
:pizza emoji:
He waited with bated breath for a few minutes, and quickly felt the anxiety and guilt flood his mind. Robert tossed the phone back onto his bedside table and sat up, the mid-day light glinting off of the bottles along his floor. He grasped for a nearby bottle and was dismayed to feel that none of them had any liquid in them. Shit.
The phone buzzed again. With lightly trembling hands and the sensation of his heart in his mouth, Robert picked up the phone again.
Val: see you’re still good with words.
He cursed silently under his breath.
Val: neway, my studio is hosting nyu’s photo grads studio exhibitions over the next month
Val: think you’d enjoy at least a few of the photos
Time seemed to freeze for Robert as he tried to remember the last time his daughter had tried to invite him to anything she was doing. Senior year of high school, if he remembers correctly. Her AP Studio Art exhibition. He hadn’t made it, and she was too jaded to even properly yell at him about it at that point.
He wondered why she even wanted him around, wanted him near the much better things in her life. Maybe she wants to publicly humiliate me for performance art. Not that I don’t deserve it .
The phone buzzed again.
Val: also i’m surrounded by cryptids who won’t eat pineapple
Robert chuckled.
i’ll be there after i bag the dover ghost
He turned off notifications from his phone and finally got out of bed. He hadn’t had too much to drink last night, but he was not comfortable with the lucidity and anxiety guiding his thought processes right now.
Today was going to be a blurry day.