“Let’s go to my place. We can talk there,” he insists. “I was just picking up dinner. Have you eaten?”
I nod, and for reasons I can’t explain, I follow him as he walks back to the counter and grabs a brown bag with his name on it. Then we walk in silence across the street and into the building I’ve been staring at for way too long today. My brain doesn’t fully come back online until he’s putting a key in his door. Then, like a computer that has finished rebooting, all of my brain cells activate at once.
“Where have you been? Why are you here? Why didn’t you tell me you were here? Why’d you talk to Mom? Do you really expect to just pick up where you left off? Did you talk to Val yet?” I rattle off questions in rapid succession, my pent-up anger intensifying with each word.
“I can see some things never change,” he teases. “You still like to ask questions.”
I glare at him.
He puts up his hands defensively after setting down his sandwich on a table. “I’m sorry. I owe you and your sister many explanations. Please, sit. I’ll do my best to explain.”
I cock my head to the side and consider his demand. Sit. Do I want to sit? Sort of. Maybe. Fuck. Yes, I do. I need answers. I want answers. I deserve answers.
Slowly, I sit down and wait for him to speak. He follows suit, sitting across from me and steepling his hands in a familiar way. Everything about him seems familiar, like déjà vu or a memory of a dream.
He looks at me, but I can’t read his expression. It’s been too long, and he’s too unfamiliar now. That thought pains me deeply as I take in a long, shaky breath and wait.
“I should start at the beginning,” he says, breaking the silence.
I don’t budge. My eyes search his. I listen, desperate for the truth and maybe also an apology.
He clears his throat and fiddles with a scratch on the table. “You have family in Puerto Rico,” he starts, his gaze locked on mine.
“I know,” I state.
This time, I can read him. He’s surprised.
“Y-you know?” he stammers, his eyes widening.
I nod. “I was there a few weeks ago. I found them and met them. Both your mom, your sister, and your nieces.”
His eyes widen further and glaze over a bit. “I have nieces?”
I nod and bite my cheek to keep from saying something horrible to him.
This time, he’s the one who lets out a breath. “I guess it serves me right for not knowing and missing all of that.”
Silence winds between us as he processes the information, until finally he speaks.
“I was very close to my family when I was growing up. We lived near my grandparents and my dad’s older brother. I used to play soccer at a local park with my sister and our friends. It was a nice life. Then, my uncle died in an accident at work when I was twelve. He worked construction, although he should have long ago retired. No one in my family had gone to college. My father had gotten some training as a chef, but nothing formal. Something about my uncle’s death lit a fire in me. I wanted to be the first to college. My parents owned a very successful local restaurant. Both Natalia and I worked there.” He pauses as if checking to see if I know his sister’s name. I nod, and he continues. “I did well in school and got into a university on a full scholarship. I didn’t tell my parents until a few weeks before I was to leave. And they freaked out. They wanted me to stay and run the family business. My father was older, and his health was not great. We had a big fight the week before I was supposed to leave. They said if I left, I shouldn’t ever come back. Natalia begged me to stay, and when I refused, she said she hated me and never wanted to see me again. And so, I left early. When I got to university, I decided to write them out of my life altogether. They were dead to me. And since there weren’t cell phones back then like there are now, and email was barely a thing, it was easy to disappear and start over in a new place. I told everyone I met that my family had died in a car accident right before I left for school. Even your mother never knew the truth.” He fiddles with his sleeve, and I wonder if he told my mom the truth when they spoke.
“It ate at me. I dreamed of making the perfect family…but a relationship built on lies makes for a weak foundation to your life. I felt horrible for lying to your mother and then to you girls. I so desperately wanted to fit into my new life. I lied about my past job experience at work when you were little, and they found out and fired me. But I had built one too many lies. It started out as just about my family, but then it was about former jobs and other degrees. I couldn’t stop the lies. That’s when I left you all. I thought you’d be better off without me.” He pauses again, his eyes taking me in as I listen to his words and try not to get mad. There’s time to be mad later. Right now, I need to hear what he has to say. Although it’s taking every fiber of my being not to scream at him.
“I tried for a bit. I tried to see you during summer breaks. But it was too much. I’d built this giant mountain of lies, and as you grew older and asked questions, it got harder and harder to keep up the façade. Until I just couldn’t do it any longer. I told your mother I needed to take some time to work on myself. We had a fight, probably our biggest fight ever, and that’s the last time I saw any of you until I came here and talked to your mom a few weeks ago.
“I started therapy three years ago. I’ve worked on myself. And I realize the damage I’ve done. A friend I had made after my last move was killed in a car accident. And something about that triggered me. It woke me up to all the lies and this awful life I had built myself. I didn’t want to come back here until I felt I could be my authentic self. And honestly, I needed to figure out who I was. I wanted to give you girls the father you deserved, the one I should have always been,” he says.
He stops, and I wonder if he’s done, but then he starts speaking again. “I’m so sorry, Jocelyn. You deserved so much better. I failed you as a father, and I know I can’t fix the damage I did. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I hope that maybe, if you and your sister are willing, we can start again, build something new between us. I know you may not believe me, but I love you girls. I love you so much, and I wish I were stronger. I wish I hadn’t left you. And for that, I won’t ever forgive myself.”
And there it is. An apology. The apology I dreamed of year after year. The one I wanted to hear so badly as a child. But I’m numb. I heard his words. I understood them. But I feel…nothing at all.
The silence stretches this time because the ball is in my court.
“You don’t have to say anything.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a business card. My only thought is: who even has those anymore?
“This has my work number, cell number, and work email. If you ever want to talk, I’ll be here. I went back to school. Got my master's degree and landed a good job. I’ll be nearby if you ever need anything, now or years from now.”
“What about your mom and sister?” I ask.
