Free So Much It Hurts by Monique Polak Page B

way I am. I don’t want to feel sorry for him, but it’s hard not to.
    â€œI don’t need you to be proud of me. I don’t need you at all.” Somehow, I manage to say it without crying.
    My father wipes his eyes with his napkin.
    I feel Mick’s palm on my knee now, steadying me. I take a deep breath.
    What would my life have been like, I wonder, if Mom and I had followed this man? I’d have grown up somewhere else. And I’d probably never have met Mick.
    My father clears his throat. “Look, I don’t want to badmouth your mother—”
    â€œThen don’t.”
    â€œWell, let’s say she can be pretty tough. She insisted on full custody. She knew I wouldn’t fight her. Couldn’t fight her. I had my hands full”—he looks down at his hands— “with business matters. I tried to stay in touch, Iris. You’ve got to believe me. I used to phone. But she didn’t want me talking to you. Then she changed the number. It killed me.”
    â€œYou’re still here.”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    Thank God for Mick. I could never handle this alone. Having Mick here makes me feel stronger.
    The waitress brings our food, and Mick waits until we are eating our pancakes before he speaks. He must sense that my conversation with my father has gone far enough. “So what kind of work are you doing in Bangkok?” Mick’s voice is calm, interested.
    â€œI’m an…an investor. In telecommunications. We’re working on some new products. They’re going to revolutionize the industry.” My father’s voice sounds lighter, brighter, comfortable. As if he’s said these same things many times before.
    â€œThat sounds promising,” Mick says. I can’t tell if he means it.
    My father checks his cell phone, which he’s left out on the table, near his napkin. He sees that I notice. “Hey, I don’t want you thinking I’m rude, Iris. It’s just I need to be in touch with my people at all times. In this industry, you never know when a deal will break.”
    I’d half expected my dad would want to do something after lunch—go for a walk along Lake Champlain, wander through the mall at the other end of the parking lot—but he says he’s tight for time; he needs to be in New York City for a dinner meeting. Something about getting together with an important investor and a side trip to Atlantic City.
    Before we got to Friendly’s, I was already planning excuses for why Mick and I wouldn’t be able to stay in Plattsburgh. I have an exam to study for. More lines to memorize. There’ll be traffic at the border .
    When my father says he has to go, I’m relieved but also, somehow, disappointed.
    My father acts insulted when Mick offers to pay the bill. “No way. It’s mine.” He puts his hand over the bill so Mick won’t be able to take it. “It’s the least I can do.”
    Then he reaches into his pocket. “I nearly forgot— I’ve got something for you, Iris.” He takes out a small box wrapped in layers of pale green tissue paper. “The paper,” he says softly, “it’s the color of your eyes…and your mom’s. I haven’t asked—how is she?” It’s hard to read the look in his eyes. Curiosity? Regret?
    â€œShe’s fine. We’re fine. She’s busy with her business.She designs closets.” That sounds better than saying she helps people get rid of their junk.
    â€œThat’s good to hear.” He doesn’t ask me to send his regards. He must know I haven’t told my mom about today.
    He’s right about the color of the tissue paper. I’m careful not to tear it. Inside the box is a silver ring with a dragon on it. The dragon looks ferocious. Maybe because it has two red stones for eyes.
    â€œIt’s a Thai good-luck ring,” my father says. “In Thailand, the