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Dad (Part Two)

We got to a mall, went to a restaurant and ordered as he continued asking me question after question.

“Dear, where is your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have one.”

I answered without hesitation, but he didn’t believe me because he repeated the question.

“My dear, where is your boyfriend?

“I said that I do not have.”

He had asked many questions about me but I hadn’t asked him anything.

“I have been asking you question after question, my dear ... Don’t you want to ask your father anything?”

“Do you love us?”

I asked this without consideration. It was the first thing that popped into my mind; it just shot out of my mouth. I felt foolish because he was my father, why would he not love us, but it was too late to take it back.

“Dear. Mokgethi. Love has nothing to do with you, your brother and me. You are my children, I am your father, and if that is not love then it surpasses love.”

The next question was “Why are you not with us?”, but it was foolish to ask that half knowing the situation between him and my maternal family. I wanted to ask if we could come and live with him, but that, too, felt foolish. We continued eating in silence; it was as if he was waiting for me to ask another question. And I had a billion questions, but I just wanted to enjoy the moment with my dad, not bother or be bothered.

“Is that all you have to ask?”

I stole a look at him, wanting to say “Dad, can we just forget what has passed and just be that which we can be?” Maybe he saw it in my eyes.

“You do that too, just like your mother.”

“What?”

“Your mother used to look at me just like that.”

Then he drove me to the taxi rank so that I could get a taxi home. I felt sad that he was dropping me at the taxi rank but I smiled all the way anyway.

“If you need anything, dear, call this number and tell the person who answers the phone what you need. If he asks who you are, tell him that you are dear to me and he will help you.”

A hug. I suppressed my tears. I really wanted to go with him. “Dad, can I come with you?” was on the tip of my tongue; I wanted to cry like a toddler when its mother leaves. He called my name again, just like he had the first time.

“Mokgethi. My dear, don’t cry ... I love you too much.”

I wanted to ask him to say those words again, but it felt kind of out of line.

When I got home, his son was there. I looked at him, taking in their similarities.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Khutso asked. “I am a natural charmer, I know, but for heaven’s sake, you are my sister and I am your brother. Please, don’t look at me with those eyes.”

“Today I dreamed of your father ... He said that I must give you a hug and tell you that he loves you.”

“When you dream about him again, tell him that I love him too, very much.”

“I am serious.”

“And I am very serious too.”

I wished that I could have given him a hug right then, but he wouldn’t have liked it much. At least I told him that the rabbit loves him.