And so we would. I had just passed my driving test and was already regretting it, as there was no structure to the aftermath of my parents’ chaos, our visits to our dad’s apartment determined by guilt level rather than any set schedule. We’d sit there for hours, Karim and I, on his new plastic-covered couch and stare at the television together. When we’d leave, after an undesignated number of hours on undesignated days, he would stand in the doorway of the apartment, his eyes burning into our backs as we walked to the elevators. I’d turn to look at him one last time before stepping in and catch his half smile, his half wave that sent us off to the house he once lived in. Then the elevator doors would shut, and guilt would flood in.

Guilt gnawed away at me through the rest of high school, even after my father got a girlfriend my junior year. Ash, who my mother affectionately nicknamed Trash, was only eight years older than me, which is probably why my father chose to keep her a secret. I met her by accident at TGI Fridays in the mall. I walked into the restaurant after choir practice with the rest of the ensemble and spotted my father in a booth with a woman, both of them sitting on the same side, sharing a milkshake. I was stung by the sight of my father with a woman who wasn’t my mother. As I walked toward him, I felt both anger for having been lied to and unnecessarily guilted. He introduced me to Ash, and I tried to smile as she burrowed her head into my father’s shoulder like a shy toddler. The next morning he called me at my mother’s house and said, “You were so aggressive last night. You were so incredibly cold.”

But I had been too shocked to be either. I hung up, threw the portable phone against the wall, and watched the batteries fly out as a black smudge appeared on the white paint.

Along with the twelve-year-old girlfriend came a Mercedes convertible and two motorcycles. “Men like their toys,” he responded when I asked why he needed so many vehicles, especially when he spent most his time parked in front of the TV.