I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for him. “Because she’s too old for you.”
Dad balked. “She’s five years younger than me.”
“And you only shop in the twentysomething section these days.”
“You make me sound like a gross predator.”
“You’re not. You don’t want anything of substance, though.”
“Why would you say that?” he asked.
My father and I never talked about our feelings. Our conversations were all about surface things. I didn’t hold back given the opportunity, however. “Because you don’t want to date anybody who would challenge your memory of Mom.”
He swallowed hard.
“You feel bad about cheating on her,” I continued. “When she got sick, you stopped. I saw the way you were back then. You felt guilty.”
“Your mother didn’t know, did she?”
“She knew.”
Anguish lined his features as he turned away from me. “I wondered.”
“That’s how she got you to sign off on the trust. She played on your guilt.”
“I would have done whatever she wanted.” When he turned back, he looked like an old man. “It wasn’t as if I had any intention of cutting you off. I don’t want you thinking that.”
“I know you weren’t going to cut me off. You would have, however, only allowed me access to the money with restrictions. I guarantee I wouldn’t have graduated from college with an English degree if she hadn’t arranged for the trust.”
Dad opened his mouth—maybe to argue—then closed it. “Your mother made sure you were taken care of,” he said finally.“I didn’t understand at the time why she did what she did. I didn’t agree with you getting an English degree. But it was the best thing for you.”
It was the first time he’d ever said anything of the sort, and I was momentarily stupefied. Then I collected myself. “Why do you believe that now? You didn’t believe it before.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in you. I knew you would be good at whatever you chose to do. It’s just … I wanted you to want to be like me. I realize now that was wrong. You’re your own man. You’re good at what you do.”
“I had a rough patch,” I admitted. His words meant a great deal to me. “I’m back on track, though.”
“Do you want to talk about why you had a rough patch?”
I thought about Bree. I’d blamed my issues on her, but that wasn’t why I’d fallen apart. “The pressure got to me. I was a success out of the gate. It’s called imposter syndrome. I didn’t think I had it in me to do it again, because I was convinced it was a fluke. My second book wasn’t even out when I lost my confidence. It came out and was as good as the first, but I was already in my head.”
He nodded as if that made perfect sense. “And now…?”
“And now I realize I can’t control what’s going to happen.” I’d given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks. “I’m going to write books people love, and I’m going to write books people don’t love as much. I’m not going to lose everything if it’s the latter, and I’m not going to be king of the world if it’s the former. I’m still going to be the same thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“An author.” I shrugged.
“You’re a good author, son, even if I don’t get the elves and dwarves and stuff.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m glad you found someone to love.”
“She’s important to me.”
“I promise to love her forever if she can get her mother off my back,” he said.
Laughter bubbled up, and I shook my head. “You’re going to have to go underground. Bree says her mother will get distracted and then take off with somebody else as soon as she realizes you’re no longer an option.”
“She’s just going to take off and leave Bree? That doesn’t sound very nice.”
