Carry On

I don't remember the majority of the flight home. I remember packing and following Dad out to a taxi. He wanted to stay, just to show me around and have a good time before I left. I didn't want to, though. I just wanted to go home.

I fell asleep on the plane and didn't wake up until we were in a car. I looked around, noticing that Dad's truck was empty besides ourselves, "The guys all headed their own ways," He said softly, noticing my confusion. I nodded, understanding. They were probably sick of putting up with me anyways.

Dad pulled up to the house, getting out of the car. I opened my door, following him as left our bags. I could tell neither of us wanted to carry anything heavy at the moment. When we got to the living room I looked around, shocked, "You cleaned?" I asked.

He turned to me, "I had to do something to keep my mind off of you being gone," He stated.

"I missed you, Dad," I said and he sat down on the couch with a sigh. He held his arms open and I didn't hesitate to crawl into his lap. I didn't care that I was going to be eighteen in a few hours. I wanted to be a child again.

I curled into his side and he wrapped his arms around me, placing his chin on top of my head, "I missed you more, Liza," He whispered.

"Why did you come for me?" I asked. It was a question that had been burning in my mind. How did Dad know that I wanted to come home?

"Because when you called I knew something was wrong... I thought you were going to..." He stopped, "Nevermind," He muttered.

"Michael wasn't lying," I scoffed and he raised an eyebrow, "He told me he was going to call you. I told him everything was fine."

"I was already in New York when he called."

I nodded, placing my head back into his shoulder and I sighed, "Dad?"

"Hm."

"Was... Was Mom always like this?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, truly confused about my question.

"I mean, was she ever sweet and caring like I remembered? Or did I only see her like that because I was a child? I can't help but wonder if me going to New York was just realizing who she truly was," I confessed.

Dad turned to me, a painful expression etched on his face. It seemed as if the only feeling he could show now was pain. He hadn't been happy in so long.

"Liza," He stated seriously, "Believe me when I tell you that you're mother loves you. And yes, she was the sweetest most caring person I knew. But people change. Her changing doesn't mean she loves you any less. I know it's hard to understand, but she's still recovering from leaving too."

"Then why didn't she just stay?" I asked, "Why didn't she want me in New York in the first place?"

He sighed, "She wanted you there. She just hadn't been a mother in so long... She just forgot who she was. But she loves you, Liza."

I nodded, leaning into his chest again and he sighed. Dad was getting old. I could see it in the small wrinkles forming in the corners of his eyes. He was dying his hair more often to rid of the grey that was constantly forming. He hadn't been working out as much, because he was always exhausted. I could see it in him.

"When was the last time you were happy, Dad?" I asked.

"Liza, why would you ask something like that?" He questioned and I shrugged.

"You don't look very happy. You haven't for a while, Dad."

"Liza..." He started, but I cut him off.

"You can smile as wide as you can. You can laugh the loudest out of anyone in the room, but I can tell. I know because you don't look the same."

Dad held me tighter, breathing deeply as he processed everything I said, "I'm just recording a lot. It's nothing to do with you."

"You've been making music for over ten years, Dad. I've never seen you like this during an album. But it's okay if it's my fault. It's not like you asked for this to happen. I know I didn't."

Surprisingly, Dad didn't say anything. He didn't protest when I pushed myself up off of him, heading up the stairs without another word.

When I got to my room I put my ear to the door, listening to Dad. I heard him shuffle around before his footsteps began to echo. I heard the sound of him fade until it disappeared behind a closing door. For the first time since my suicide attempt, he went down to the studio.

I sighed. I turned back to my room. I wanted to so badly. I want to just throw myself out of the window. The fall probably wouldn't kill me, at least not instantly. Dad would find some way to keep me here. Besides that fact, I couldn't do it with him here. I caused enough pain.

Until I was alone again, then.
And I was counting down the days.