I am a girl with daddy issues. People usually associate that statement with nut cases, but I assure you, I am not that stereotype. I didn’t really think much about him until February 25. Before then, I only remembered him as the man that spent most of his time kissing his pot-smoking girlfriend’s horse lips and looking at fast cars with his friends instead of spending time with his 7-year-old daughter. The man that looked exactly like me with his raven hair and olive skin. He bought the most expensive gifts for my cousins, but only gave me a cheap birthday card with the words “Love, Daddy” at the end in rushed handwriting. The last words he muttered to me were “I guess you’d only visit me on my deathbed.” I haven’t seen or heard from him in 9 years.

On Wednesday, February 24, at approximately 8:17 pm, I kicked my bedroom door open and crashed into bed. I was sweaty and exhausted from soccer practice, and about to pass out when I heard the most annoying screech.

“EEEEMMMMM! DINNER!” screamed my mother is her hyena voice.

Groaning, I pushed myself out of my bed and crawled to the dinner table. My step-father walked in with the mail a few minutes later. I was gnawing on my golden corn when my mother abruptly stood up and snatched an envelope from my father’s hand.

“What’s that?” I asked, knowing that she wasn’t going to give me a direct answer.

“Nothing important,” my mother muttered back.

I mentally rolled my eyes and got back to my corn.

The next day at approximately 11:31 pm, I ran downstairs to sneak some extra cereal in before bed, but my parents were still awake. They were sitting on opposite sides of the dinner table. To me, this looked to be an intervention. I couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong in the past month, so I had no idea what they had planned. I sat down with them. I could hear the metaphoric crickets chirping. My mom pushed the envelope from the night before toward me. I opened it up. It looked to be some kind of bank statement. I had no idea what to make of it until I saw one particular name that made me question everything: Thomas Marino. As I scanned through the page I saw “Ember Reyes,” “balance due,” “lawyer,” “$23.87,” and “child support.” My cheap father had hired some expensive attorney to take any money he could off of his child support bill. I know he only has to pay $300 a month. I know he makes good many as an engineer or whatever he does. I know his boss makes it look like he doesn’t make that much money, so he doesn’t have to pay as much child support. I know that he is fully capable of paying my child support, but out of spite and bitterness, he will do anything to drop the price.

“Do you want to—” my mom asked before I cut her off and declined her offer. All I wanted to do was sleep.

7:30 am rolled around, and it was time for me to go to school, put on a fake smile, politely greet people that hated me, help people that I knew were taking advantage of me, and deal with all the cliques of high school. The only thing keeping my glowing grin alive was the thought that in a year I’d be able to get away from all the neanderthals in high school and venture into the mature world of university. I was so wrapped up in my mental gymnastics that I hit my locker head on.

“I knew you were a spaz, Reyes, but I didn’t know you were that bad,” said a voice behind me. Immediately I knew who it was.

“Shut up, Rory. I’m not in the mood,” I sharply responded.

“Whoa. I hardly ever hear moody Rey. Has your friend visited you yet?”

“No and seriously, not in the mood.”

“Okay fine, but you got to talk to me.”

“Dad drama. You wouldn’t understand,” I mumbled.

“And why is that? Last time I checked, I’m not living with my parents.”

I knew he was right. Rory lives with his grandparents right now because his parents basically disowned him when he came out to them last year. They’re not religious or anything, but they’re just are super traditional and borderline racist. I’m glad I don’t have to see them though. The first time I met them, they asked me if my parents could landscape their yard.

I knew I was being a jerk to Rory, but I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

“I’m late for 1st period. See you at lunch.”

When the bell rang after 4th period, guess who was lurking at the door for me. Rory.

“You better tell me what’s going on right now before you spontaneously combust.” The worst part about having Rory as my best friend is that he will stop at nothing to make sure you are happy at all times. He has too much compassion for people.

“Fine,” I started, “it’s my dad.”

“Yeah, I know. Step-dad? Bio dad? Come on. Don’t be so vague.”

“Bio dad,” I said as I tried to walk away.

“What about him?”

“He’s so petty that he paid a lawyer thousands of dollars just to take $23.87 off of his monthly child support payments.”

“And I thought I was cheap.”

“I don’t know what to do. Ever since I found out, I’ve had the urge to punch every single wall I pass, but I can’t. I want to confront him so badly and tell him how much of a deadbeat he’s been, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“My parents don’t want him in my life anymore. They only showed me that letter to make me hate him even more. Plus, I wouldn’t even know how to contact him.”

“Are you forgetting that this is 2018 and we have the magic of the internet? I’ll just look him up.”

“You’ll get a bunch of news articles about the time he robbed a bank will his friends.”

“Don’t be so cynical. I’ll find something,” he said as he pulled out his phone. “What’s his name?”

“Thomas Marino.”

“Got his Facebook. Wow, he looks just like you.”

“Give me that!” I said as I snatched his ancient Android. I saw a man with olive skin and raven hair, but I barely recognized him. His dark hair was noticeably changing to a silver hue, and subtle wrinkles adorned his face. The first picture was of him swimming with a dolphin. His smile looked fake and forced, like he was trying to prove something to the world, or at least to the people that saw his Facebook page. The next photo was of him with a red Ferrari. Again, he just loves showing people that he matters because he can afford expensive things. Of course, he could afford a trip to Mexico and a fancy car, but still not pay child support. The next photo was of me? Where did he get it? “Beautiful,” said the caption. How dare he exploit me on social media! Of course, he would do this. He wants to make himself look way better than he is. Oh yes, such a great father because he has pictures of me. Classic.

“I changed my mind,” I told Rory. “Find his address. Now. We’re going tonight.”

He grinned at me. “Partners in crime forever, right?”

“Right. Now find it!”

“Rey, lunch is over. Have you no concept of time?”

“Well, you have French next, right. Monsieur Petit hardly teaches. Look it up during class and we meet at the lockers after school, got it?”

“Oui. Au revoir.”

I could barely pay attention in physics class. Why would I care about inertia when I was about to see my father? Millions of questions surged into my head, but I couldn’t decide which one to ask first. Before I knew it, the class was over. I had never run that fast in my life.

“RORY!” I yelled when I saw him. “Did you find it?”

“Of course I did. His house is about a three-hour drive from here.”

“Wow. I never thought he would be that close. I thought he’d be back in Italy.”

“What are you going to tell your parents?”

“We’re going to see a movie.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. They’ll know you’re lying.”

“Whatever. Let’s just go. I really don’t care if they find out after the fact.” For once in my life, I was so grateful for Rory’s ancient hatchback.

We barely talked the entire ride. He knew my head was spinning and respected it. I ended up falling asleep because my brain was on overdrive generating all these thoughts. As my eyes fluttered open, I saw a neighborhood instead of a highway. We were here.

“This is it,” Rory said. “1870 Pacific Ave.”

“This is it,” I repeated.

We walked up to the burgundy house. It looked old and beaten down. No amount of schooling could’ve prepared me for this moment. Shaking, I knocked on the door. I heard a groan from inside the house. Seconds later, he opened the door. Thomas Marino, my own father, was standing in front of me. He had much more wrinkles in person. I could see his gray hairs from miles away, and he smelled of cheap cologne. There was not enough money in the world to make this man look happy.

“Hi Daddy,” I quietly uttered.

“Emmi?”

There was an awkward moment of silence, and Rory had to make it weirder by breaking it.

“Hi there! I’m Rory—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re marrying him and now you’re here for wedding money.”

“Oh no, sir. I’m the gay sidekick.”

“Daddy, I’m 17 years old. I can’t get married yet.”

“Must’ve lost track of time I guess. Come in, I guess.”

The place was a mess. Beer bottles and empty pizza boxes filled the room.

“Where’s Lacey?” I asked.

“In jail.”

“And what have you been doing for the past 9 years?”

Again, there was silence.

“Way to be subtle,” Rory whispered to me.

“I see we’ve skipped the friendly greetings and headed right to the confrontation. This is about the child support papers, isn’t it”

“How stupid are you? You paid more money for a lawyer than you ever did for child support and you expect me to be okay with that?”

“Relax. It’s not even that much.”

“That’s not the point. The point is you don’t care about me. You never have.”

“How could you say that? I pay child support.”

“You didn’t until my parents took you to court and made you.”

“You act like your parents are saints. They stole you from me!”

“I was never yours to begin with! You were never a father to me and you never will be!”

Here came the fake tears. My mother always said my father was a great actor and an expert at persuasion and manipulation.

“Emmi, I’m sorry. Your parents told never to contact you.”

“Because you were too high to notice me most of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve been absent from my life for 9 years. The least you could do is cut the lies.”

“I’d never lie to you. Ask your mom what she wanted to do when she got back the pregnancy test results. The first thing she asked the doctor was how much it would cost to abort you!”

“Rey, I think it’s time to go,” Rory said as he was grabbing my arm.

“You’re right, Daddy,” I started. I could see the glow in his eyes as he expected me to believe his side of the story. “The only time I will ever visit you again will be on your deathbed.”