Conflict Is Bittersweet

“How was your day?" My father routinely asks me, as he comes in late from work. I try to say as little as possible, but enough so he leaves me alone.
"Fine," I snap back. I never look my father in the eyes, because it makes me feel vulnerable, and as if he deserved my attention.
My father, as the years go on, becomes more and more transparent, and is not able to hide his hurt feelings as well. I see how it pains him to have his daughter speak to him with such coldness. The more I see this, the more I try to bite my tongue and be nice to him.
"How was your day?" I ask, swallowing my pride, nearly choking from forcing myself to be nice. I ask my father about himself very rarely. I usually show no interest in him, because he only recently started paying attention to me (well, positive attention, at least.) It is so hard to ask him about himself without any sarcasm or rudeness, but I feel so guilty when I see how I hurt him.
It’s hard for me to listen to m...