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"I've made a mistake. A fucking massive one."
"That's great, dad. You fucked up, you apologized, I'm not forgiving you. That story will never change, no matter how–"
"How do you know if you really love someone."
Reagan was in disbelief. Her shoulder may have relaxed but her body was pumping chemicals like she'd been downing Red Bulls sprinkled with steroids. She didn't know how to answer. It wasn't like she's never had vulnerable conversations with her dad. It was just pure disbelief and defeat.
There she sat, illegally video chatting with her dad in prison, adorned in orange. It projected such a sight from Rand that she'd never seen before– not to this extent at least. Regret, was what his dimming and lifeless eyes told her.
If it wasn't obvious enough, Reagan had no answer for that, even she wanted to. Love had never been on her side.
"I guess it's a Ridley thing huh," She whispered under breath, though loud enough for Rand to register. "Not knowing how to love... or what it looks like."
"Yeah it's fucking annoying."
They fell into complete silence. But it wasn't uncomfortable. Then again, with conversations like such, not even a Ridley could fight the thoughts. Rand was looking away from the camera as if he was trying to find the words to say. When he opened his mouth to do so, however...
"Rand, what the hell are you doing???" A familiar voice popped up and Reagan quickly realized they weren't alone this entire time.
"Oh, so NOW you decide to not ignore me??? I'm trying to have a father-daughter moment, dipshit."
"You're ruining my yoga session, jackass!"
"Hi, J.R." Reagan made herself known, making sure her prosthetic finger was visible for the other man to notice.
"Hi, Reagan! Sorry about the uhm... about the that–"
"Shooting my finger off? It's fine– Well, it's not fine at all and I would strangle you if I could but prison seems bad enough." Reagan rolled her eyes and let out a strained chuckle.
"Especially with your dad here in the mix, I'd rather be in hell."
"Okay, richie bitch, we get it! You've spent almost your whole life with me, most people would get used to it by now."
"Not if said most people spent those years with you specifically."
The two men continued to bicker as if they were the only ones in the room. Reagan didn't bother to interject, seeing as her dad seems to be more occupied. She watched and listened.
Reagan was familiar with their dynamic. The endless fights and occassional agreements, that usually ends with a snarky exchange.
This was different, she felt it. Even through a screen, she felt it. The air was lighter between them.
"Reagan, did you know your dad almost recruited me in his shitty band back in college?"
"Only because nobody else wanted to!"
"Oh, please. You did it because I was perfect at everything. I knew you came to my piano concert."
"I had nothing to do, okay? I was bored! The world would explode if you mixed me with boredom."
"Sure, you definitely quit poker night to come to my concert because you were 'bored'"
"You wanna know what I think about your concert? It sucked! Your nasty, clammy hands fucked you over."
"You took all of my baby powder to use as a dry shampoo!"
"Oh, sorry I don't have a 7-step haircare routine! My hair gets oily fast, asshole."
"Thank fuck for that horrendous beanie you keep wearing, at least you look decent without that nasty clump of nest you call your hair."
Then it just kept going. Anecdotes just kept on piling, one right after another. There was a strange shift in their conversation, Reagan noticed.
"If you think you've seen Rand at his worst, try spending an hour with him trying to tune a guitar."
They talk of these simple things they've done and discussed over together like time never passed. Memories of their clashing schedules, arguments over lost pieces of clothing, to dietary preferences– even as a daughter, Reagan never knew Rand had.
"One drop of the wrong detergent and this guy explodes. It's like God himself gave you special treatment in fucking up that immune system of yours, Scheimpough."
As if they'd done these things a million times before, forgotten and picked it up like nothing ever happened. Like a million lifetimes were shared between the two.
There it was. That moment, the wave of realization capsized Reagan.
All of her life, she's always recognized her dad as a strange individual. Never once going by the rules, he always did it his way. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about this moment. Ignored by her dad as he and her former boss shared memories of their past together. It almost felt invasive, like she wasn't meant to see this.
A painting could hold a plethora of meanings, it just depends on who you ask. Love is like that too. Although she found it ridiculous this revelation came to her during an illegal exchange with her now criminal father, it was nice.
Reagan had a fair share of confusing relationships and even now she struggled to find what love meant to her. But, despite everything, it restored some hope in her to see her dad finding what it meant for him.