“He’s a brilliant carpenter. He’s a talented guitarist with a voice that’s so addictive. And he swims with the sharks.”
Oscar smirks. “Daniel is a brilliant photographer who has been within feet of lions in the African safari, and he’s captured video in the middle of war zones. He has impeccable taste in clothing and wine and—”
“And every moment we spent together was recorded in photos or videos. All of our holidays were spent getting the best shot. He experiences life through a lens, and I know sometimes he sees things through that lens that most of us will never get the opportunity to see, but if I’m honest, it always felt like there were three in our relationship: me, Daniel, and his camera. I desperately wanted to share a sunset or ocean view with him and not think about capturing the moment. I just wanted tolivein that moment.”
“And thisTheolives in the moment?”
“Well, I’ve never seen him take a picture of anything. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not just Theo, it’s who I am with him. He’s so unpredictable, and grumpy, and he has this angry passion that consumes me. I’m fascinated by everything he does no matter how mundane it is, but never have I wanted to snap a photo of him. I just like immersing myself in every moment with him.”
Oscar sips his coffee then shakes his head. “It’s new love. Exciting and passionate. It’s where everything about the other person is perfection, even their flaws.” He sighs and stares off into the distance. “It’s all-consuming, where you live on sex because your bodies can’t get enough of each other, where youneedeach other so much you feel like you want to crawl inside of the other person. It’s the most insatiable craving.”
This conversation has veered off its intended path. I can’t have a sex conversation with my dad, even if everything he says is spot-on.
I clear my throat and squirm a bit in my chair. “Is that what you had with Mum?”
Pain pulls at his brow as he nods slowly. “And no matter what, the newness wears off even if the love remains. However, you know you’re with the right person when what brings you out of your dark days is that spark of passion you once had. It doesn’t have to be a grand display of fireworks, just a spark. That tiny bit of life.”
On a long sigh, I drum my fingers on the table some more. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think he’s coming back. My spark—that tiny bit of life—will be nothing more than an illusion, a ghost for me to chase after for the rest of my life.”
His roar of laughter fills the room. “Oh, Ruby… I don’t even recognize the woman before me. You could track down an ant buried in a crack of the earth in the middle of a third-worldcountry. If this bloke is your spark, then stop tripping over your bottom lip and go find the bastard.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a computer.”
He tosses a wad of money on the table.
I shake my head. “I don’t want that life anymore.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ruby! You can’t do this.”
Staring at the money, I blink over and over. It’s not so simple.
“It’s the cancer,” he says in a more somber tone.
“Yes.”
I expect an argument. Instead, he gathers the money and slips it back into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“You’re smart—always have been. No man is worth your life. You have to choose yourself this time. It’s not selfish, it’s imperative. Maybe you can find yourself a suitable southern gent, buy a mansion, and give me a load of grandkids to corrupt.”
I want to laugh. There’s nothing more endearing than the playful side of Oscar. “I can’t have children.”
He studies me. “Oh? The cancer?”
I shake my head. “I had or have endometriosis. I think they referenced ‘winning the lottery’ when referring to my chances of ever getting pregnant.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Now, I laugh. “Daniel didn’t want kids anyway, and I don’t enjoy discussing my feminine issues with my dad.”
“Oscar.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not ‘my Oscar,’ you’re my dad. I don’t call you ‘Dad,’ but when making a reference to you, you are, in fact, my dad!”
“Calm down, Ruby.” He grins, sinking his teeth into another piece of bacon.
“I’m Scarlet, not Ruby.” I cross my arms over my chest. It’s pathetic. How does he reduce me to a twelve-year-old girl every time?
He continues to smirk at me.
