“Damn. You’re not pulling any punches, huh?”
“No, I guess therapy sessions have a way of helping me say what’s on my mind.”
“Therapy?”
I nodded. “Recently started seeing a therapist. For, you know…” I waved my hand in the air.
“It’s helpful. I saw one for a few years.”
That had me sitting back in my chair.
“I know, it’s a little shocking, but I had to. I got to a point where I knew I couldn’t go on like I was. Everyone and everything around me felt fake. Hell, even Jason wasn’t speaking to me much.”
“Really?” I’d never known there was a rift in my brother and father’s relationship.
“It’s true. But to answer your question,” he paused, running his hand over his head. “It wasn’t about not wanting you. It was my selfishness. When you were growing up, I barely looked passed my wants beyond making sure you all were provided for. I knew, or thought I knew, what it took to raise a son, but when you were born I decided to let your mother do all the heavy lifting. It wasn’t fair to her or you. I know that now. I wish I’d known it then.”
“I do too,” I added sarcastically.
“But I want you to know, my abysmal behavior was all about me. Not about you.”
“That’s what Dr. Winston told me.”
“Who?”
“My therapist.”
He nodded.
I sighed heavily.
“It’s not that I didn’t want you. I…”
“Pssh, it certainly sounded like it when you screamed those words at my mother the night of my tenth birthday.”
He frowned, looking puzzled for a moment before his face morphed to a look of horror. “You overheard that?”
“I did.”
His head dropped, and I blinked to keep the tears at bay.
“Chanel, I’m so sorry. There are no words that can…” He trailed off.
I inhaled. “How about we not do this here.” Before I could get out the rest of my thought, my office phone buzzed.
“Chanel, you have a delivery,” Liza informed me.
“You can send it down, Liza.”
“I can leave—”
“No, it’s just a delivery,” I told my father as I rose from my seat. I didn’t know why but I wasn’t ready for him to leave just then.
I composed myself before opening the door. As soon as I did, I was confronted with a huge bouquet of pink and white roses. My heart did a little pitter-patter in my chest.
“Ms. Richards,” the man said, leaning around the bouquet to acknowledge me.
“Thank you. I’ll take them.”
