Crooked Heart

Fiona supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that, between the two of them, Harry got most of the attention. He was infinitely more charming, kind, and receptive than her. Breakfast on Saturday morning was consumed by Harry’s stories about work, some Fiona had heard before and others she hadn’t.

“I’m not sure I want to be a pastry chef, fun as it is,” Harry admitted, piquing the interest of Fiona’s dad.

“Then why did you take the job in the first place?” Peter asked, brow furrowed over the rim of his coffee cup.

Harry reached for the bowl of fresh fruit. “Because I was flattered that they offered it to me, to be honest. It seemed like a great opportunity. I still have a lot to learn, since I didn’t go to culinary school. I used to think I’d be at a disadvantage, but so far it’s seemed like if I’ve got the passion for it, that’s what really matters. And the right skillset, obviously.”

Under the table, Fiona bumped her knee against Harry’s. He returned the gesture, but let his leg lean against hers.

“I suppose in a restaurant the rules aren’t so clearly cut,” Peter said in a way that indicated he didn’t fancy the idea.

“Not so much,” Harry replied with a chuckle, countering Peter’s serious tone. “The management can be very strict, of course, but in the end it’s all about the food, yeah?”

“I’m sure you’ll go very far,” Frances said. Harry smiled at her, a slightly surprised look in his eyes. “You seem like a very driven person, Harry. Sure of yourself.”

“Ambition is good,” Peter nodded, looking pointedly at Fiona. She ignored him with just as much determination.

“Yeah, but that’s what gets me,” Harry said with a grimace. “Like, I love what I’m doing now. The kitchen’s where I’m meant to be. But I want to do more. And I don’t know if it’s in pastry. I’d love to have my own kitchen one day, y’know?”

Fiona was surprised he was being so candid with them. But perhaps he was trying to be more honest about the things he usually kept to himself, just like her.

“You’re still young,” Frances said in a upbeat tone. “There’s so much time for you to achieve your goals, Harry. And I don’t have any doubt that you will.”

He smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t discount your experience so quickly,” Peter added. “Be grateful for what you have.”

“I think you misunderstood me before,” Harry replied, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m not saying I regret taking the job in the pastry kitchen. It’s brilliant. And maybe I’ll still be working there a year from now, if nothing better pops up. But it’s not a job I want forever.”

Peter sat back in his seat, apparently satisfied with Harry’s answer. Fiona had never seen him back down so quickly, but Harry was well-spoken for someone his age. And more than that, when he explained himself, you could tell that it was genuine.

“Well then,” Frances said, marking the end of one conversation and the beginning of another. “Do you two have any plans for today?”

There was a pause before Harry nudged Fiona’s knee, urging her to be the one to speak. “Oh, er, we were talking about it last night,” Fiona said. “Eli, you wanted to go into the city, right?”

He nodded, eager to be included.

“Cool,” she grinned at her brother. “So, that’s as far as we got. Just gonna hang out, maybe do some shopping?”

“All right then.”

“If you wanted to…” Fiona trailed off, looking at her parents apprehensively. “Come with, or whatever. That’s cool too.”

“We actually have plans of our own,” her mother replied, smiling over at her husband. “So I was hoping you two would take Eli.”

“I can take care of myself,” the little boy muttered into his toast.

“Not yet, kid,” Fiona said. Eli stuck his tongue out at her, but grinned a second later. She wrinkled her nose, threatening to toss a blueberry at him.

“Let’s not throw food at the table,” Peter cut in. Fiona promptly put the blueberry into her mouth, sending Eli one last sneer. It made him laugh, which she figured was just as good as throwing the blueberry would’ve been.

For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed possible activities for the day. Usually they’d visit the Natural History Museum, but Eli wanted to do something different. The central thought on his mind was Lego, which wasn’t too surprising, considering he was a boy below the age of thirteen.

They still hadn’t settled on anything concrete when Fiona’s mum began clearing the table. Almost immediately, Harry hopped up to help her. Peter excused himself to make a phone call and Eli raced out of the room, presumably to get ready, leaving Fiona to follow Harry’s example and give her mum a hand.

“I heard you two coming in at half seven this morning,” Frances said. “Did you go out for a run?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, then cast a look Harry’s way. “No matter how many times he comes along, Harry’s still terrible at it.”

“I’m getting better,” Harry grumbled, piling all the plates onto his own for easier transport to the kitchen.

“At tripping over your own feet, sure.”

“Not nice, Fee.”

“Only for you, babe,” she smirked.

Harry’s expression lit up at the endearment. Fiona didn’t use them often. She glared at him for good measure, but the damage had already been done.

“Another cup of tea?” Fiona’s mum asked, after they set down the dishes on the counter.

“Yes, please,” Fiona replied. “Um, Harry…?”

The look he sent her made Fiona scowl again. Frances, on the other hand, grew confused. “It’s weird, I know,” Harry said with a grin. Fiona whacked the back of her palm against his chest. “Fee only likes my tea.”

“I do not,” Fiona muttered.

“But mine is the best,” he countered. Fiona couldn’t disagree with that, so she turned on her heel and started loading the dishwasher.

While Harry fixed a fresh pot of tea, Frances helped Fiona clear the mess. Out of the corner of her eye, Fiona could see her mother glance her way several times, a small smile on her face. If it hadn’t been happening ever since they got there, then maybe she wouldn’t be so suspicious. But Fiona couldn’t comprehend why her mum was acting this way — constantly giving her odd looks, like there was some joke Fiona wasn’t getting.

“Okay, what is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Why were you looking at me like that?”

Harry came over with Fiona’s tea, leaning across her to place it on the counter and pressing a kiss to her temple. When she looked away from him and back to her mother, Frances was smiling again. “I just like seeing you happy, dear,” she said. “And I had noticed it when Eli and I came to see you in April, but now seeing you together…I knew it had to be Harry.”

“Had to be Harry what?”

A kind, almost sympathetic look came across her mother’s face, but it wasn’t directed at Fiona. “I know my daughter is a hard shell to crack, and I can’t say I’m surprised that you were the one to do it.”

“I think that’s a compliment,” Harry replied unsurely.

“I’m still standing here, mother,” Fiona muttered.

“Yes, I know, dear,” Frances tutted. “I just wanted to say that I’m happy you found someone with the determination — or should I say persistence, perhaps, to get through to you.”

“He was rather irritating,” Fiona said, arms folded over her chest. “Wouldn’t leave me alone.”

She understood now, all the looks her mother had been giving her. They weren’t meant to be secret. It was some strange sort of pride, in seeing her antisocial, difficult daughter with somebody who she truly cared about, and who cared about her. Maybe in Frances’ mind, for Fiona to have a successful life wasn’t so much about a career or how much money she made, it was the people around her. Fiona liked that idea, it seemed more manageable. Maybe she’d been misreading her mother’s intentions all along.

“How else I was I meant to get your attention?” Harry asked, though it was mostly rhetorical.

Fiona leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. “S’all right,” she said. “I appreciate it now. Dunno what I’d be doing if you weren’t here.”

She felt his sharp inhale against her cheek, and realized the weight of her words. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, given how serious she and Harry were, but just like with the pet names, she didn’t usually throw meaningful statements out of the blue. Fiona wondered if he’d started putting something in her tea. Or perhaps this was what being a content, honest person was like, saying the vulnerable thoughts in her head without worrying she’d be judged for them.

Frances smiled at the both of them, hand to her cheek. “I should start getting ready. If I don’t see you before you go, have a lovely day. And don’t give your brother too much sugar.”

“Yes, mum.”

+++

Fiona had given Eli too much sugar.

To wear it off, they went to the park. Much to her shock, Eli wanted to play football, so Harry offered to buy a cheap one and they kicked it around on the grass for a solid hour before Eli’s energy wore down. Fiona actually had endurance, so she was feeling fine after chasing the other two around — they had insisted upon playing boys against girl, but only because both of them thought that Fiona was stronger and faster, which she wasn’t about to argue with. It was ironic that after all that fuss, Harry was still sprawled out on the grass panting and whinging about a sore knee. Eli appeared just as tired, but he wasn't nearly as dramatic about it.

“Honestly, you’d think you’d be better by now,” she said, kicking one of Harry’s booted feet. He groaned in response, blinking up at her from behind his sunglasses. “You look like you’re in good shape, but it’s terribly deceiving.”

“Been looking at me, Fee?” Harry managed to quell his laboured breathing and grinned widely. “Think I’m fit?”

She gestured up and down his lanky frame. “I would, if it weren’t all a lie.”

At that, Harry scoffed indignantly. He looked over at Eli, who was sitting a few feet away picking at the grass. “D’you hear this, mate? Your sister’s making fun of me.”

Eli lifted his head, blinking at Harry in the most innocent way. Fiona started to grin before he even said anything. “You kind of deserve it,” he said, and Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Betrayal!” he exclaimed.

“You’re terrible at football,” Eli informed him, folding his arms over his chest.

“You are,” Fiona agreed, lying on the grass next to Harry and resting her head on his shoulder. “But I think we could probably forgive you for that.”

Eli looked doubtful, but they all knew it was just a game. “Could we?”

“Oh yeah,” Fiona said. She met Harry’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Cos he bought us those ice creams earlier.”

“I think I could forgive him for another ice cream,” Eli said.

“You definitely don’t need another ice cream,” Fiona cut in, before Harry could say anything. “I’m supposed to make you eat healthy things. Like spinach.”

Eli made a disgusted sound that seemed to offend Harry, who would probably be the president of the spinach fan club if it existed. “If I could eat only ice cream for the rest of my life, I would,” Eli said. “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“That’s just unfair!” Harry exclaimed, and Fiona laughed at his indignant expression.

“I think it’d have to be pizza. As much as I love crisps,” Fiona said, and Harry scoffed, clearly even more offended now. “Wait, do I still get tea?”

“Of course, Fiona! Don’t be silly.”

Satisfied, she reached for Harry’s arm that was trapped under her neck and pulled it to her chest, then began tracing the anchor on his wrist. “Good.”

“Does it have to be a single food item? Like, could it be a dish?” Harry asked.

“Sure,” Eli replied.

It took him at least five minutes to come up with an answer. “Roast chicken with rosemary and garlic potatoes.”

“That’s so lame,” Fiona groaned.

“You picked bloody pizza!” Harry complained. “Everyone picks pizza.”

“Roast chicken? Really, Harry? At least pick some kind of pie or fish or something.”

Harry shook his head, but his expression told her that he’d actually considered it. “No, Fee, listen. A lot other meats aren’t really an everyday food. But chicken, chicken is simple.”

“I think chicken and potatoes is a good choice,” Eli weighed in.

“Thank you,” Harry leaned over Fiona to give her brother a high five.

“Okay,” Fiona said, sitting up. “We should get going. All this talk of food has me starving.”

They ended up at a shawarma place not far down the road. Rather than take their food to go, they settled at a table in the back corner, away from the rowdy teenagers near the front of the shop. For the first time all day, everyone was absorbed in their own little world. Eli was devouring his shawarma, sauce dribbling down his chin. Harry’s eyes were fixed on his mobile as his thumbs moved across the bottom of the screen, the food in front of him growing cold the longer he texted. If it weren’t for the noisy teens and blaring pop music, Fiona might actually start to relax.

Lying in bed that morning, Harry wrapped around her so they both fit on the single mattress, Fiona had come to the conclusion that she’d speak to her dad after Harry left. She wanted him here to calm her nerves, help her reach the point where she was ready to have that conversation, but he didn’t need to be here for the conversation itself. In fact, Fiona didn’t want anyone else around.

Fiona set down her half-finished shawarma, in need of a food break. She had no idea how Eli was eating it all so quickly, but she supposed he was still a growing kid. “Wipe your face, kid,” she advised, tossing a serviette at him. Eli stuck his tongue out, but followed her instructions a moment later. Fiona elbowed Harry. “Are you even gonna eat?”

“Yeah, was just texting,” Harry replied, setting his mobile on the table and reaching for his wrap.

“Who was so important that you prioritized them over food?”

“Oh, s’just Zayn. He wants to know how it’s going.”

“What did you tell him?” Fiona asked, silent questions hanging in the air between them — did you tell him about my dad? why I asked you to come here with me, because I’m nervous and terrified that it’s all going to go wrong? She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but it came out that way. Her tone betrayed her anxiety surrounding issues close to her heart, ones she’d only told a rare few.

Harry put his hand on her thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That we’re having a great time,” he said. “And I’ll be back on Monday.”

“What did he say?”

“Asked me to bring him something from a market? Like, those ones that sell art and stuff,” Harry said. “Well, he said something for the house. Apparently he thinks we need to decorate.”

“So by he, you mean Cassidy thinks you need to decorate,” Fiona filled in.

Harry nodded. “Obviously.”

“They’re the ones with art degrees, why aren’t they buying prints and stuff?”

“Dunno, perhaps we’re all supposed to contribute,” Harry shrugged, taking a bite out of his shawarma. After he swallowed, he said, “Though, they probably haven’t asked Louis. He’d want to put up a Doncaster shirt or something equally horrendous. By the way, I think Cassidy’s supposed to be in London later in the week, has she texted you?”

“She mentioned something about it, but I don’t remember which day she’s coming down.”

“Who’s Cassidy?” Eli asked.

“She’s a very good friend of ours,” Harry explained. “She works in an art gallery. Speaking of, Fee, I think she’s down here for an art show. She could probably get tickets for you and your parents. Reckon they’d like that?”

Fiona mulled it over. “That’s a really good idea, actually. Cassidy’s so bloody successful for her age, they’d love her.”

“Text her about it,” Harry said.

“I will. Thank you, for the idea.”

“Why don’t I get to go?” Eli asked, frowning.

“It’s for adults only, kid,” Fiona told him. “You’ll stay at a friend’s house that night, I expect.”

That seemed to be a perfectly acceptable arrangement for him. Fiona sent a quick text to Cassidy to check if she was coming to London this week, and when. They finished up their food and left the shop, making a joint decision to do some window shopping. Although they’d already been to the toy store for Eli (he had a new Lego set in his backpack), Fiona didn’t see why he should be starting his summer holidays without any new clothes.

“You’re spoiling him, you know,” Harry muttered in Fiona’s ear.

“He’s my little brother,” she retorted.

“Don’t older siblings usually hate the younger ones? Or is that just my sister?”

“Well, she’s got good reason to hate you, you’re terrible.”

“Thanks, Fee.”

“It’s all right, I like that about you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You and my sister would get along famously.”

“You don’t talk about her much,” Fiona said, keeping one eye on Eli as he picked out t-shirts. “Are you two not that close? I figured the hating thing was a joke.”

“It was, sort of,” Harry shrugged. “She lives in Germany, so we don’t speak all that often. Once a month, maybe. I see her on holidays, though, my mum always insists that everyone’s home during Christmas and stuff. She wants to meet you, by the way. My mum.”

Fiona blinked, surprised. Harry often mentioned his mum fondly, how she’d taught him everything he knew about food, and that she was the best person he knew. But he’d never brought up introducing her, so Fiona didn’t try to push it. That was something he got to decide. “Why didn’t we go see her on our way here?”

“I figured this weekend was for you,” he replied. “We can do another weekend for me.”

“Okay.”

“Fiona!” Eli hollered from across the shop.

“Looks like I’ve been summoned. Get a new t-shirt, will you? All yours are falling to bits.”

“Only because you keep wearing them,” Harry muttered.

“Don’t blame me because you never buy new clothes. And don’t just get another black one either, you’ve got a million of those already.”

+++

It might have felt like she was prepared, but when they got to the chip shop and Fiona was flooded with memories from her childhood, all of her anxiety came rushing back. They used to come here nearly every Sunday for so many years; the owners knew their names and Fiona would go on playdates with their children. Afterwards they’d go for ice cream and Fiona’s dad would give her the Flake out of his because he didn’t like chocolate. He didn’t have to get the Flake in his, and they both knew that, but he did anyway because Fiona loved chocolate. Now Fiona lived four hours away by car and they hardly ever spoke anymore, much less went for fish and chips and ice cream every Sunday afternoon. It was a Thursday, anyway.

She didn’t think it’d ever go back to the way it was when she was a kid. Fiona was hardly the same person now that she was older, and her dad had changed just as much, even though they both remained as stubborn as ever. Frances claimed that this was the best time for Fiona to try and reach out to her dad, to find some kind of common ground. But when he’d agreed to lunch with just the two of them, Fiona was still shocked.

When she paused in front of the chip shop, Fiona glanced over at her dad to see his reaction. He was staring through the window almost nostalgically, like he was experiencing the same happy memories that were running through her head on a loop.

“Should we go in?” she asked tentatively.

“Here?”

“It’s a good a place as any,” she replied, even though she’d planned it.

On Sunday night, before Harry drove back in the morning, they were lying in bed coming up with potential conversation starters. She’d been testing them out all weekend, but this was the last time she had Harry to tell her when she was sounding too stiff or condescending. This wasn’t meant to be a lecture. It was her chance — their chance, to be a father and daughter again. Harry was much better at talking, and making things feel genuine and right, that she’d gone to sleep that night with far more confidence and positivity flowing through her veins than she did now.

The shop had changed owners since Fiona was a kid, but the name was still the same and by the looks of it, they hadn’t renovated the interior either. It wasn’t too busy, which she was grateful for. Fiona didn’t want to have to yell over the din, especially when talking about such personal things.

The first fifteen minutes were some of the most tense and awkward of Fiona’s life. She tried to busy herself with her food, but her dad was looking around with this complicated expression on his face, and he kept on circling back to her like he couldn’t quite believe that they were actually sitting there having a meal together after all this time.

She almost spit out her fish when he was the one to speak first.

“I like Harry,” Peter said, with just as much hesitation in his voice as Fiona’s had before. “He’s good for you.”

“I think you mean too good,” Fiona replied quietly.

“But he would disagree with that, wouldn’t he?”

Fiona looked up, brow furrowed. “What makes you say that?”

“Because whenever he talks about you, it’s in praise,” Peter replied. “Or at least admiration.”

“Right,” Fiona hummed, aware of how Harry was only trying to give credit where credit was due most of the time, because unlike her dad, Harry didn’t doubt Fiona. That didn’t stop her from doubting herself, but it was good to have Harry around. Not just for her, it seemed, because for her dad to bring it up meant he’d been paying more attention than Fiona expected. It was hard for her to think of her dad as anything other than the narrow-minded man she’d come to dread being around. The person from her childhood memories seemed totally different, that reconciling the two was an impossible feat in her mind. It felt like the only way to move forward was for her dad to show her that he’d changed yet again, and become someone better. Fiona was still working on that herself, so she knew it was an ongoing process, but she hoped that her dad was just as motivated as she was. Hopefully he’d realized now that it wasn’t just about the self, though that was important. He had to be better for the people around him too.

“Where did it all go wrong, do you think?” she asked, unable to hold Peter’s gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. She picked at her food, her stomach churning and eliminating her appetite. “We used to come here every week. I know Eli being born changed things, but we still came here for a few years after that. Was it really when I came out? Did that upset you so much that you didn’t want a daughter anymore?”

Clearly he hadn’t expected her to dive straight in, but once she started talking, Fiona found that she couldn’t stop. She just wanted to understand why he had turned on her, his own daughter.

“Of course I want a daughter,” Peter said brusquely. “I just…”

“What, I wasn’t—I’m not good enough?”

“You aren’t—I didn’t expect…you,” he sighed, wiping his hands and tossing the serviette onto the table between them. “Fiona, you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent. Especially for your first child, you can’t help but have…expectations, for them.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be what, exactly?” Fiona asked, straightening in her seat. “Still living in London, going to business school, and straight? That’s what you wanted, yeah? A carbon copy of you and mum. But you got this catastrophe of a daughter instead, who does everything wrong and likes girls as well as boys.”

Her dad looked up, frustration and a hint of sadness in his gaze. “It just seems to me like you make things intentionally difficult for yourself. The choices you’ve made about relationships, your future…you have a rebellious streak, Fiona, you can’t deny that. And you’ve taken it to a whole other level in the last few years, using your anger to make decisions instead of rational thought.”

Last year, Fiona might have blown up at him, right there in the chip shop. She might have let her temper get the best of her, shout until her voice was hoarse, tell him what a pretentious, intolerant, sad excuse for a human he was. But she wasn’t going to. She was going to be the better person and take the higher ground.

“First of all,” she began in a calm voice. In her mind, she could see her friends smiling, encouraging her to keep an even tone. “Who I choose to be with has nothing to do with you, or being rebellious. I didn’t wake up one day and think, ‘hey, if I tell everyone I like girls that’ll really make dad angry.’ This is my life, my body, and my heart. I don’t decide who I like, at least not in terms of what gender they are, and if you had any idea how people actually work then you’d know that. But since you aren’t aware, ask mum to give you whatever books she’s been reading, because at least she’s been trying to expand her understanding.”

It was silent for longer than it should’ve been. Fiona tried eating some of her food, but it had gone cold. She tossed a limp chip back onto her plate, raking her fingers through her hair. Across the table, her dad was either mulling over what she said or pretending she hadn’t said it at all.

“I’m not asking you to pretend that you like who I am,” Fiona told him. Peter’s frown lessened slightly, but she wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. “I don’t want that. All I’m asking is for you is to let me be me. You might not see it this way, but in this scenario, you are the one who has to change.”

“I see. I think it may be better for me to use your mother’s words, because I admit that I’m not fully…on board with the concept yet. As I’m sure you know, she’s decided that your happiness ranks above all else. And I agree, even if I don’t understand.” It took another moment of pause, as she waited for her father to collect his thoughts. “Fiona, at the end of the day, my main concern is that you are making decisions that are in your best interests. You need to be preparing for the future. I don’t think you’ve given it proper thought.”

“Most people haven’t,” Fiona said, but her chest felt a little lighter. He was disappointed that she hadn’t turned out to be exactly how he’d wanted for a daughter, but where his real focus lay was in her education and career options. Or, that’s the conclusion he’d come to after it was all laid out before him. “I admit, I’ve made some bad decisions. But surely you have too? Nobody’s perfect, dad, we all let our emotions get the best of us sometimes. But the big things, like what I’m going to school for, I didn’t make those decisions for anyone but myself. I’m doing what makes me happy. I know I’ll have a harder time of it, and maybe I won’t make as much money as you or mum do, but I’d rather be doing something I actually care about that being miserable in an office for the rest of my life. Just because that’s what you do, doesn’t mean I’m going to want the same things. It’s not the sort of life I want.”

Peter folded his hands on the table, giving her a serious look. “Then what sort of life do you want?”

“I don’t know yet,” she replied honestly, even though she knew it’d disappoint him. That was part of repairing this relationship. She’d never lied to him about who she was, but she wasn’t going to make it into a challenge anymore. “What I think is the main issue here is that you only saw one path for me. When I went off course, you couldn’t make the adjustment. Am I right?”

“You’re my first born, Fiona,” he said. “Of course I had hopes for you.”

“But I’m not who you wanted me to be, and I’m never going to be her,” she said carefully. “And you shouldn’t force Eli into a box either. He’s a hell of a lot nicer than I am, so he’ll have a harder time saying no to you. That doesn’t mean he’s going to be happy.”

“Don’t bring your brother into this.”

“Just, please think about that, okay? He likes more of the things that you want him to, more than I did at least, but let him be himself. Or else he might end up like me.”

At that, Peter’s expression grew thoughtful. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. All this time you’ve been adamant about who you are. Why turn that around now?”

“I’m not talking about uni or relationships,” Fiona explained. She looked away, then back at her dad, taking in a slow breath. “I’m a nervous wreck most of the time, did you know that? I have insomnia as well. I don’t want Eli to have to deal with this kind of anxiety. It’s absolutely shit.”

“Are you accusing me of giving you anxiety?”

The immediate reaction that her father had was one Fiona recognized well, it brewed under her skin. “You know that isn’t how mental health works, dad. I know you have your own stress. But mine’s been…exacerbated, by all of this. It got bad when I knew that my parents weren’t supportive of me, that they didn’t like who I was. I manage it now, but it’s not really something that goes away.”

He sat back in his chair, chastened, but his gaze remained fixed on her. Fiona was suddenly all-too aware of the fact that they were still in a public place, and bits of the conversation could be overheard by the people around them. But nobody seemed to be paying much attention. “I didn’t know,” Peter said quietly. “You never told me that your mental health had suffered.”

“It’s not like you created a welcoming environment,” Fiona muttered. Then, remembering her purpose, cleared her throat. “I’m talking to you about it now. This is something you can understand, yeah? Stress. Right, well, mine’s tied to other people, and how I perceive them, myself, relationships, all of that. I know I put on a brave face, but it’s been really fucking hard without you and mum being there for me. That’s all I want, okay? I miss my dad.”

A tear dripped off the end of her nose, landing somewhere amid the forgotten fish and chips on her plate. Fiona knew that people had to be looking over now, and hastily wiped at her wet cheeks. Perhaps having this conversation in the chip shop had been a bad idea.

Fiona’s dad had never been a crier. But he looked close to it now, lips pressed tightly together as he stared at her blot away at the mascara that had leaked to the corners of her eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Fiona could see it in his eyes — she was finally getting through to him.

“I know you’re worried about me, what I’m going to do with my life after I graduate uni,” she began, because there was still one thing that hadn’t been cleared up. “But if you could just trust that I’m not going to throw my life out the window, I’d really appreciate it. I might not be able to do maths for shit, but I’ve learned a lot about making the right decisions for myself and other people. I’m going to do okay, yeah? And if I mess up, I’d like to be able to come to you for help. Does that sound reasonable enough for you?”

“If you want someone to talk to about your options after graduation, I’ll be there,” Peter told her. It wasn’t much, but it was leagues better than she’d expected coming into this. “I suppose I have to stop treating you like a reckless teenager, and more like a mature adult. You’ve shown me that today, Fiona.”

“Good,” she answered, because he didn’t need to be thanked for doing what any decent person should. Her dad nodded once, and it felt like for the first time in years, they’d reached common ground. It wasn’t perfect, and she didn’t think it ever would be. But now they’d spoken, told each other what was bothering them about their strained relationship, and the future seemed a little brighter.