The phone buzzed. Dad’s name and number appeared on my screen. 

Is my dad finally calling me? I stop breathing for a minute. Is it really him? How long has it been? Two years? What has he been doing? Maybe he wants to see us. 

If he starts dragging me down a toxic rabbit hole, I am just going to hang up. Should I let it go to voicemail? Last time, I let it go and then I called him back, but it was my birthday, and he had called me by accident. He then proceeded to ask me zero questions about myself or my life or my family. We were in the middle of a pandemic, and he started talking about Artificial Intelligence, so I quickly got off the phone with him. I don’t want to talk to him about that. I want him to apologize for how he treats me. Our conversations always go sideways.

 I told him he could call me whenever he wants, and he is calling me. That is something, I suppose. Last time we saw each other, he was at my house. It was 2 a.m., and we had been arguing for hours. In that time, we had covered almost every argument that we have ever had. We wrapped it up with our argument about talking on the phone, which was not even our most serious problem. 

We had already gone over his drug use, my drug use, the divorce, his mental breakdown, parenting (his with me and mine with my boys), so I guess we needed to talk about something that mattered but not as much. It is more trivial but not as trivial as it seems. “You never call me,” I said.

“Well, I am the leader of this family. All calls funnel up towards me,” he said.

“What?!” I had never heard him say any of this before. Where had this even come from? What was he even talking about? He always told me he was the least sexist person in the world. I knew that was not true, but he seemed to have gone completely off the rails. He has been slowly getting more and more conservative. Calls could only go one way? That was not how relationships work, even parental relationships. I couldn’t continue to try to make this relationship work on my own. I just wanted him to try.

“How often do you talk to your mother?” he asked. Of course, he is now going to make it a competition between him and my mother. They have been divorced for over 20 years. We are back here again.

“Every three days.”

“Really? Who calls who?”

“We trade off. Sometimes I call her and sometimes she calls me. We are sharing our lives with each other.” We sat in silence for a minute. Then I added, “Maybe if I put this in terms of money, you will understand? I would rather receive a phone call from you unprompted than get the $300 you usually send me at Christmas… You can call me anytime.”

He is calling me now. Two years ago I told him he could, but still —  It is a phone call.  Maybe he is going to apologize.  Maybe therapy finally worked. This might actually be his therapist. Maybe it is an emergency. It is amazing how willing I am to connect with him. All he has to do is try just the tiniest bit. 

He can’t even do that much. Maybe he is trying now. I will never know if I don’t answer the phone. I take a deep breath and hit answer on the phone. “Hello? Dad?” Static. Then the faint sound of his voice talking to another person.

“I can’t believe they are making me wear masks at work. It’s ridiculous.” I can barely hear him. I listen to his conversation for an extra second just out of curiosity. “This is going to completely change face recognition software.” It is 10 a.m. He must be at work.

“Dad! You butt dialed me! Dad, hang up the phone!” No one answers, so I hang up. The standoff continues.