Hating Hades

C H A P T E R 4 - Dilara.

If I had somehow found myself to be under the impression that the worst of it all would have been over when my mother came outside, I would have been awfully wrong. Wrong to the point where I would have felt like a fool when the door opened again, except this time, instead of my mother being the parent to come out of the house, it had been my father. And I felt like it was needless for me to say that in comparison to my mother, who had been nothing but a bundle of joy, a bundle of thankfulness because of my arrival—he seemed to be the exact opposite.

And I didn’t feel like I was exaggerating when I said that.

My relationship with my father had deteriorated quite a bit during the last few years, mainly because of the fact that I had decided to no longer include myself in any family related events that were taking place in this particular house, in this particular street, in this particular town—and unfortunately for them, that had excluded me from literally all family gatherings, and I hadn’t even felt the slightest brush of guilt for doing all of it.

                “Dilara?”

My fathers’ voice sounded as disbelieving as my mothers’ had been, but he wasn’t exactly running down the stairs to come towards me and to make sure that it was me. No. He had analysed the situation just as I would have done if our roles had been reversed—because after all, like father like daughter. And I had always been my fathers’ daughter, even when I hadn’t been around.

He had taken note of my mothers’ excitement, taken note of the fact that she was practically jumping in place, and he had the common sense to know that a reaction like this couldn’t have been to a stranger—no one would have reacted to a stranger like this.

                “Dad. It’s good to see you.”

I had to raise my voice just a fraction to make sure that he would hear me across the distance, as we still hadn’t moved, as my mother was standing completely still, blocking any and all hopes of me walking ahead without her. It meant that I would have to stand out here until she decided that it would be alright for us to go back inside—which would be bound to be a long time, considering the fact that she was just staring at me as if she were some awestruck child.

My father didn’t say anything in response to my greeting, but I told myself that it didn’t matter—I was here, and that was something that he needed to be thankful for. I would have had more than enough time to leave before they had come outside, but I had chosen to stay—admittedly, it had been for selfish reasons, but the fact of the matter remained, that I had stayed here. Partly for them. Which had to count for something.

                “I still can’t believe that you’ve made it! Remind me to send some flowers to your boss.”

Imagine how comical that would be—receiving flowers addressed to the owners of the café, thanking the said owner for allowing Dilara to have the weekend off, but the plot-twist, was that Dilara was the owner. I could almost envision the scene, which meant that there was more than simply the possibility of it actually happening. I had learnt over the years that majority of the things you could see, majority of the things that you, yourself, could be sure of—were sure things.

And it was those sure things that you needed to be cautious of, that you needed to be aware of.

                “I doubt that that would be necessary, Mum. Would you mind if we go inside? I’d like to get my suitcase out of the trunk.”

If I hadn’t already known that my mother was excited, the way her eyes seemed to glitter upon the mention of an overnight suitcase would have been a dead giveaway. If only I had somehow managed to share her excitement, if only I didn’t have this dark cloud of impending doom pressing down on my shoulders, perhaps I would have been just as excited as she was—and perhaps I wouldn’t have.

It was a bundle of uncertainty that we would never be able to figure out, as they were simple things that wouldn’t happen—for something else had already happened in their place.

I was aware of the fact that the curtains that had moved to the side earlier, had not yet fallen shut, were still being held open by the people who still inhabited the house, by the people who hadn’t come outside to give me a welcoming. And from the amount of vehicles that had been parked in the driveway, I found it safe to assume that there were more than enough people inside to fill the cars.

                “Of course, of course. Why didn’t you say that you had suitcases? Let me help you with them.”

                “There’s no need for it, Mum. I can manage. It’s just one bag.”

And with that being said, I turned around, effectively turning my back on my mother so that I would be able to go and retrieve my bag from the trunk. I had done so because of two main reasons, firstly, being that I actually needed to get my bag out of the trunk, and secondly, I didn’t want to see the disappointment on my mothers’ face when she realised that I would only be staying for the weekend, not longer, like everyone else would clearly be doing.

Once I had retrieved my bag out of the trunk, I made sure that my car was locked, testing each door just to make sure that there would be no way for a thief to get into it. And maybe I was just doing it to buy some time before I had to face my mother and father again, before I had to face the people inside of the house, and so what if I was? It didn’t make a difference to me whether or not I only spoke to them all today or tomorrow. The later the better—because it meant that I would be able to escape much sooner.

But I knew better than that.

I wasn’t stupid enough to actually think like that either.

My mother walked beside me as we made our way up to the porch, and all the while, I could feel my fathers’ eyes burning into my skin, feel the way that he was looking at me, despite the fact that I was keeping my eyes focused on anything and everything but him. He truly didn’t seem happy to see me, which didn’t make sense. I struggled to comprehend why my mother would have made such a big effort in trying to convince me to be here if he didn’t want me to be here.

Which meant that something was amiss, meant that I had missed some important piece of information. But what could I have possibly missed during my conversations with my mother? She was always so direct and to the point, especially when it came to my lack of visitations. Why would she have kept something like this from me, if she was keeping it from me?

                “Well, if this isn’t a surprise.”

I didn’t miss the fact that my father had failed to say the phrase pleasant surprise. He simply pointed out that he was surprised to see me, and I felt like he had done that deliberately, because he had known that I would pick up on it. Of course, I would have. I had grown up around them, grown up as their daughter. They had always done things like this, which was why I had learned to pick up on it.

                “Hello, Dad. How’ve you been?”

I did my best to make sure that my question didn’t come out as forced, that my feeble attempt at conversation would seem genuine, and my father wouldn’t realise that I was aware of his current feelings towards me—to make sure that my mother didn’t have her excitement ruined by our treatment of one another.

                “I’ve been doing good, up until now.”

Even though I wasn’t looking at my mother, I was nearly one-hundred percent sure that her eyes widened to the point where it looked as if they were about to fall out of their sockets, bulging to that point.

                “Why don’t we go inside?”

My mother almost made it seem as if I didn’t have a choice, for she immediately put her arm around my waist, resting it on the small of my back, urging me forward and towards the door in an instant. I could have sworn she gave me a slight shove to begin with, just to make sure that I actually started walking, just to make sure that there was no hopes of me staying behind and facing the confrontation.

                “I’m sure that your brothers can’t wait to see you…”

Another comment thrown at us from my father, a comment that caused me to frown even more deeply than I already was, and I had no idea why. But I did know that he had said that comment with ill intention, he had said it smugly, almost as if he knew something that I didn’t. And that sarcastic tone didn’t help the train of thought that I was following, either.

Were my brothers’ going to feel the same way about my return as my father seemed to feel?

If so, then why?

What could possibly make them all despise me this much?