My dad wanted to give me a snack yesterday.
We went into the city and he packed a back full of my favorite foods. He offered the each to me, one by one, his face hopeful every time.
I told him I’d had a big breakfast.
We got into the train station with time to kill and he wanted to buy me a snack. Cinnabon? A pretzel? A cookie?! His tone hurt my heart. All he wanted was to buy his daughter a cookie.
How about we share this smoothie? He bought a big strawberry one from the cookie stand.
I pretended to drink from it and I worried about the few drops that made it into my mouth.
I hate lying to my dad more than almost anything, but something inside me just isn’t ready to tell the truth.