Someone clears our appetizers, and our server appears with dinner. We eat quietly, awkwardly, until Andrew says, “Is your mother about done embarrassing herself with the man-child?”
“He has a name.” Paisley cuts into her steak with a little too much force.
“I don’t care about his name.”
Andrew went from patronizing to petulant. I think we know who the man-child really is.
“Mom’s happy.” Paisley chews her bite.
“Your mother isn’t happy. She’s throwing the world’s longest fit.”
Paisley takes another bite and avoids eye contact. “You’re divorced.”
“What’s that?” He angles an ear toward her, but I’m betting he heard her just fine.
Paisley places her utensil on the table and attaches her gaze to his. “You’re divorced.”
“And whose fault is that?”
My fork clatters to my plate. Under the table, Paisley stomps on my foot. A warning.
“I’m not the one who was caught with my tongue down the neighbor’s throat,” Paisley says cooly. Andrew’s nostrils flare.
“Is this your doing?” He spears a bite of steak and points his fork at me. “This attitude of hers?”
“No, sir. I believe this isyourdoing.”
The muscles in his cheeks tighten.
Paisley continues. “I know you’re sad. I know you’re alone, and all you do is work. But you’re only hurting yourself by acting this way.” Paisley’s tone is soft but firm. Respectful, but take no shit. “Of your three children, I’m the only one who came here tonight. Think about that. Sienna and Spencer aren’t busy. They just don’t offer themselves up as your punching bag like I do. But even I will eventually stop doing that.”
I’m so proud of her I could applaud. Maybe stand up from the table, slow-clap, make a show of it. I wouldn’tdare, because Paisley would be embarrassed, but I want to show her what an accomplishment this is.
Paisley pushes to her feet, grabbing her purse. I follow.
To her father, she says, “Dad, I love you, but I don’t like you. I haven’t for a while. It’s up to you to figure out why.”
Paisley strides away from the table. Anger turns the tips of Andrew’s ears red, but I’m betting there’s another emotion adding to the color.Shame.
That’s good. It’s okay to feel shame when you’ve done something shameful. It also means he’s not completely unaware of the effects of his behavior.
I catch up to Paisley at the hostess stand. She’s handing her credit card to the hostess and asking her to have the manager run the card. The baffled hostess hurries away, and Paisley turns to me, hand tapping the side of her leg.
“That felt good in the moment, but now I’m starting to feel scared.”
Slipping my arms around her waist, I pull her in and kiss her forehead. “If it helps, I’m so damn proud of you.” Gathering up my courage, I say, “If I had the opportunity to look my dad in the eyes and tell him off, I would. In a heartbeat.”
Paisley’s eyes widen. “You never talk about your dad.”
“I know.”
“Ms. Royce?” A man in a pressed white shirt extends Paisley’s credit card.
She steps from my arms to take it from him and slide it back into place in her wallet. “Thank you.”
His brows furrow. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she answers, using a pen from a cup on thehostess stand to sign the check. “The service was fine. The food was delicious. The view was spectacular.”
