“I can see that,” he agrees. “I see he needs you, too.”
What does he mean by that? Is he saying Sam and I are overly dependent on each other? “Sam is good for me.”
“That part I already knew.” When I frown, my father chuckles. “I’ll admit, when you arrived I had my doubts. I wasn’t sure how the man you arrived with could possibly be responsible for the changes I’ve seen in you lately. You’ve seemed so much more content. Relaxed. Almost happy.” He says the word as if me being happy is a good thing, but I can’t help but wince. To acknowledge the improvement in my mood so openly, right in front of him, it would feel like flaunting.
“I reckon I saw glimpses of the Sam you know during dinner,” he continues with a nod. “That boy is a wreck. At least, he is when he’s talking to me, but when he talks to you… well, then he’s fine.” He glances up at me before dropping his gaze back to the cake. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “I can see how much you love each other.”
“I loved Walter,” I remind him. “You didn’t give a damn how I felt back then. Why should now be any different?”
With a heavy sigh, my father walks over to the sink to wash some stray bits of icing from his fingertips. “I never had anything against Walter,” he says as he dries his hands with a tea towel. “He was a screwed up kid and I felt for him, I did. But I stand by what I said at the time, he wasn’t what you needed. He was too close to the edge, Tristan. When he fell, he would have dragged you down with him.”
I suck in a breath, backing up a step. “Like I did to Claire, right?”
His eyes close and he swears under his breath. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He gestures at me with an emphatic hand. “You must have agreed with me. We never saw Walter again.”
“I had no choice,” I cry, shock and anger streaking through me. “You told me to end it, so I did.”
For a moment, he has the gall to look confused. Then his face clears, and he straightens from his lean. “What if I disapproved of Sam? What if I told you to break up with him? Would you do it?”
“No fucking way.” The declaration rips from my chest, dark and resonating. “Sam isn’t going anywhere, and I will not walk away from him.”
“Well, then, I guess you have your answer.” The smile is back. It’s irritating as fuck. “For the record, I like Sam for you. He seems like a good man. Hopefully, we’ll get to know him better. Seems like he’d be worth the effort.”
Confusion tears at my insides. I came here spoiling for a fight. Ready to go into battle for the right to keep Sam in my life, for the right to be happy and have a real life instead of simply going through the motions. Now, it seems, there’s no one to fight against. I should be relieved, but right now all I feel is… drained.
My father glances back over his shoulder, through the window overlooking the back deck. “The last time you and I stood looking out this window, we were looking at your mother and Walter. Do you remember what we saw?”
I do remember, all too well. The two of them sat out there in silence the whole time we were gone. Life-sized dolls powered down by our absence, utterly unable to come to life on their own.
“Come look again,” he says, beckoning me with a tilt of his head.
I cross the room slowly, unsure what I’ll see when I get to the other side.
When I peer out the window, Sam is giving my mother a gentle smile. He’s struggling to look her in the eyes, but they’re definitely talking. Then Sam says something that makes my mother’s face light up, one hand covering her mouth. Then she laughs out loud.
Pride spills through my veins as I watch them.
“This man makes you happy. Yes?”
I nod in response, but I can’t stop staring at Sam. “Too happy,” I say. “I shouldn’t—”
“You should,” he says gruffly, putting a hand on my shoulder. The touch is awkward and short-lived. “You deserve to be happy, son.”
My eyes close as I turn away from the window, my arms wrapping tight around my body. “Since when?” I ask in a choked whisper. “You told me to live—to endure living. You never said anything about being happy.”
“I didn’t realise I needed to,” he says, before a flicker of remorse crosses his face. “Or maybe I’ve spent so long monitoring the depths of your sadness, I forgot there were other possibilities. But in the end, isn’t happiness what every parent wants for their child?”
I flinch, the claws of my guilt sinking deeper. “I’m not like every child.”
“Maybe not, but you’remychild and I’ll fight like hell to keep you here, happy or not.” There’s a suspicious sheen to his eyes as he pauses to clear his throat. “I’ve spent too many years being afraid, Tristan. Losing Claire was the worst pain I’ve ever gone through and the thought of losing you, too…” He shakes his head. “That pain would be so much worse.”
My frown deepens. “Why?”
“Claire’s death was an accident. She was here and then she was gone. None of us had a choice in that, least of all her. But if we lost you,” he gaze locks with mine, “it would be no accident. No matter the circumstances, nothing would ever convince me you didn’t play a part in it. I don’t know if your mother and I could survive that.”
The squeal of tyres echoes in my ears. Oncoming headlights flash behind my eyes. I bite down on my lips to stop myself from apologising out loud. I’m better now. My father doesn’t need to know how close I came to turning his worst fear into a grim and bloody reality.
“So, yes, Tristan,” he continues, “of course I want to see you happy. If Sam is the man who does that for you, then for heaven’s sake don’t fight it.” He jabs a finger towards the window. “Get your sorry arse out there and be happy.”
