“Did that affect your relationship?” I ask, knowing they aren’t close.
“Guess it probably did. I never understood him.”
“You see softness as weakness.”
“On a woman, no. That’s how it’s supposed to be. But on a man? Yes. I was raised to believe that.”
I open my mouth to argue, and he lifts a hand.
“Don’t start with your feminist soapbox. I got firm thoughts on how men and women should be. If that makes me old-fashioned, so be it. I’m not changing.” He crosses his arms, like that’s the end of it.
“No wonder I’m a disappointment to you,” I say. “I’m not soft.”
“Disappointment’s a strong word.” He stares at the road like it’s easier to talk to the windshield than to me. “But are you the daughter I imagined? No.”
Here it comes. I brace for the list of my shortcomings.
“You’ve always had a mouth on you. Always had an opinion. Never liked rules or structure. Always had to do things your way. Even when you were little. It was an argument to get you to wear anything with ruffles or bows. Now you’re all pierced up and tattooed. Can’t make sense of that or why you paint on the street or design those shirts. And don’t get me started on calling yourself Lot. That’s not a name, it’s where you park a car.”
Ouch.
“But…” He finally glances over. “You hustle. I’ll give you that. You moved to a whole new city and grinded your way through. Once you set your mind to something, you don’t quit. So no, I don’t like the way you live. Don’t approve of your lifestyle. But I can’t say you’re a disappointment.” Then he solemnly adds, “If you stayed away all these years because you thought that… that’s a damn shame.”
I swallow the lump that had grown with every word. He didn’t say he loved me or missed me. Didn’t say he was proud. But this… this is the closest he’s ever come.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Guess I’ll have to putNot a Disappointmenton my next T-shirt. Father’s Edition.”
“Hmph.” But his lips twitch with the semblance of a smile.
The physio appointment is uneventful. On the ride back, Maurice grumbles about the therapist. “Nails so long she could pluck chickens.”
I saw those acrylics—completely out of place in that setting—and laugh. Once I accept his grumpy commentary isn’t always mean-spirited, just high-grade sarcasm, I can appreciate it.
When we get back to the house, Mom’s already there.
“How was your morning together?” she asks.
“Good,” we both answer at the same time, and shestares at us like she just saw a unicorn.
“I brought your favorite.” I hold up two pints of caramel swirl ice cream and kiss her cheek, packing another apology into the gesture.
She gives me a knowing smile, then starts fussing over Maurice, asking about physio while prepping his lunch. I try to see them through a different lens. Not mine. My mother isn’t weak at all. She brings softness to his tough shell. Maybe that’s the balance betweenthem. I don’t know. But she seems happy, and I realize it’s not for me to judge.
Once he’s settled in the den with his tray and an ice pack, I join her at the kitchen table. We pop the lid of the caramel swirl and dig in with tablespoons. No tiny scoops for Mom. She doesn’t play about ice cream.
“I’m really sorry,” I say after the first bite. “What I said last night was criminal. Can you forgive me?”
“Already done, honey.” She licks a bit of cream from the corner of her lip. “I’m just glad to see you and your daddy getting along.”
“It was an interesting experience. I asked him about his childhood. Dice suggested I start there. Now I get him a little better. I still don’t agree with most of what he says, but… he was a protective big brother to Uncle Mo. That counts for something.”
“You’re keeping an open mind,” she says. “That’s all I ask of both of you.”
“Yeah, and apparently, he thinks I have some redeeming qualities too. Said I hustle and that I’m not a disappointment.” I laugh. “Not exactly a Hallmark card, but it’s more than I’ve ever gotten from him.”
“He loves you,” she says, spoon paused. “And he’s proud of you. In his own way.”
“I guess. I mean, we’re not about to plan a father-daughter cruise or anything, but… it’s a start.”
