“Dad—” I start, hoping to thwart the inevitable emotional blackmail.
“I had heard my ex-son-in-law was in town filming a new movie with the help of my to-be son-in-law, but that you would be bedding him and not tell me . . .” He wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Well, that’s just hurtful.” He eyes Bob, whois now rolling the toy across the rug, with mock horror. “And unhygienic, if I’m being perfectly honest. I just deep-cleaned that rug.”
God, how is this my life?
“First of all, I wasn’t purposely keeping you in the dark.” I point a forkful ofsamosaat him before placing it back on my plate. The scent, which is usually mouthwatering, has me feeling queasy. Lately, anything fried has been hitting me weird. “You and Emanuel have been cruising the damn world for the past two months?—”
“My phone worked perfectly fine on the cruise,” Dad argues, to which his boyfriend Emanuel nods in agreement.
Dad and Emanuel have been together for about two years. It’s the longest relationship my dad has had since Mom died from a random aneurysm when Sarina and I were fifteen. And though Emanuel looks like the human version of a freight train, he’s nothing but gentle and adoring with Dad. It’s exactly what my beautiful soul of a father deserves, even if he can be a diva at times.
“Well, it’s not like this was an emergency.”
“It was absolutely an emergency! If one of my daughters is bedding a man?—”
Piper and Sarina groan in unison, with Sarina cutting him off,thank God, “Dad, will you stop calling it ‘bedding’?” She flicks a glance at her son, who is thankfully distracted with a book about space. “This is not 1792.”
I take a calming breath. “And second, I honestly don’t know that there’s much to say. Yes, we’ve been . . . you know?” I purse my lips and swivel my eyes, indicating my meaning without words so that little ears don’t hear. “But we haven’t put any labels on it, nor do I want to.”
Not for lack of Patton’s trying, though.
We’ve been “seeing” each other—code for banging each other’s brains out—regularly for the past several weeks. But every time he tries to look beyond the present or give whatever is happening between us a name, I redirect him. Hell, I straight up change the subject and do the whole “Squirrel!” thing while pointing out a covered window.
Dad starts to speak when Bob, having finished rolling around on the rug, comes over to inspect—ahem, sniff—Sapphire’s butt. She yelps in disgust and scrambles onto Emanuel’s lap like a damsel in distress. She eyes Bob warily from her perch on Emanuel’s trunk-like thigh with a warning growl.
“Oh, absolutely not, sir!” Dad scolds, waving a flowery napkin at him like a finish-line flag. “Get all thoughts of defiling my little princess out of your meaty head. She is a lady. A refined lady who eats pastured chicken and receives daily massages. She has no interest in boys from the other side of the tracks.”
Bob, completely unbothered and possibly having lost interest already, flops onto the floor and lets out a long sigh that makes his jowls flutter around the dildo between them.
“Obi-Wan has taught you well.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Oh, for god’s sake.”
“Anyway,” Dad continues, turning toward me. “So, this not-labeled thing between you two has been going on for several weeks, then?”
“Five or so.”
“And you think, what? That not labeling it will protect you from future heartbreak? From getting attached again? Or from rekindling what you had?”
He reaches for the jug of mango lassi, pouring himself a glass before eyeing me for an answer. And it’s not just him. All pairs of eyes, aside from the kids at the table, are on me expectantly.
I swallow. “I don’t know. I just . . . I just don’t want to go down the same path we were on again.”
“Then don’t.” Dad’s eyes soften. “Choose a different path, a new path. But don’t be in denial, sweetheart. You have always loved him, and deep down, you know you always will.”
I don’t argue. There’s no point doing so when the people who know you to your core are all sitting around one table.
Dad takes Emanuel’s hand in his, squeezing it before looking at me. “I lost your mom almost seventeen years ago. Like Patton was for you, she was my best friend, too. I still remember the day, about a year before she died, when I came out to her.”
His eyes gloss over, and his throat bobs with emotion. And though we were all laughing and joking just minutes ago, the shift in the room is clear now, the void left by the most important woman in many of our lives still lingers between us cavernously.
My chest aches, and in my peripheral vision, I see Sarina dab at the corner of her eye with a napkin.
“She was so gracious, so kind and understanding,” Dad continues. “We didn’t know what that meant for our future, but we knew one thing—that no matter what, we would love each other. No matter what, that love would never die. And it didn’t, even when she did.” Reaching across the table, he places his hand over mine. “Love like that doesn’t just disappear, sweetheart.”
I shift in my seat uncomfortably.
The truth is, the past five weeks have been . . . unexpected.
