He senses my weakness and seizes control. “It’sover. Let me work things out with Meredith. Let Ally grow up in a house with a mom and a dad and a big sister.”
“You’re not being fair,” I say, but I’m wavering. Ally’s the innocent party in all this; I spent a lot of my childhood with one parent when I would’ve liked two. How can I force the same future on her?
“Jillian,” Dad says, poised and stolid. “I’ll make things right with Mer, and I’ll do everything in my power to help you pay for the International Culinary Institute next year. Now, please. Let me live my life, and I’ll let you live yours.”
I’m tempted to test that last declaration, to flat-out confirm his suspicion that I was with Max in Seattle last night, to tell him Max and I are together, and that I love him more than cookies, cakes, and cobblers combined, but I’m not about to let my father exploit me in the name of keeping his affair a secret. Meredith doesn’t deserve that, and neither does Max.
My heart aches. Dad and I are traveling parallel courses and I can’t imagine our paths intersecting again, but for now, all I want is stability. For Ally. For Meredith. And for me. If Dad’s telling the truth, if he ended things with thatwoman, and if he’s serious about getting back on track with Mer, then maybe we can start fresh. Maybe everything’ll work out, like he said.
“It’s really over?”
He nods gravely. “Yes.”
“I still think you should tell Meredith.”
“Jill, that’ll only build new problems on top of the ones we already have.”
“But you’ll fix things?” I ask, my voice high, childlike in its desperation. “You’ll make everything at home right again?”
“I’ll do my best. For you and for Ally.”
I thrust his cappuccino through the window. “Fine. Now go.”
***
I spend what remains of Sunday in the kitchen, baking my favorite quick breads. I can’t stop thinking about my conversation with my dad; hindsight can be a real bitch. I should’ve demanded he tell me who he’s been seeing. I should’ve insisted he tell Meredith. I should’ve come clean about Max and me. Instead, I did everything wrong for fear of challenging the status quo, which was so stupid.
The status quo sucks.
Before dinner, Max calls. “How’re things?” he asks, and even though he’s just across the street, he feels miles away.
“They’ve been better.” I tell him about this morning: my dad’s confession, and my concession on the Meredith issue. I describe how cheap, howdirty, surrender feels. My throat tightens, squeezing my voice like frosting through a piping bag, and it takes incredible focus to keep my emotions in check.
Max says all the right things, warm and comforting, until: “You told him, though? About you and me?”
“I—uh…”
“Jill, I thought we agreed.”
“I know, but this morning was just… not a good time.”
“There’s never gonna be a good time. You know that, right? You’ve just gotta pull the trigger.”
“Ican’tpull the trigger—not yet. I can’t believe you’re pushing me on this.”
“And I can’t believe you went back on your word.”
“Mywordcame before I had a frank conversation with my father about his infidelity. I’ll keep my word, Max. Obviously I will. But it’s not going to happen while my dad and Meredith are in the midst of a marital meltdown. Can’t you just be patient?”
He sighs, an arduous sound that makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
“I’m sorry,” I say, regretting the sharp way I spoke. God, this day… I wish we could reclaim the impossibly perfect moments we spent on his bed last night. “I’ll tell him, okay? I swear I will.”
“Cool,” he says, detached. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And then he hangs up.
By the time the sun sets, I’ve got double loaves of apple spice, chocolate chip banana, and zucchini, an empty flour canister, and a heavy heart.
