“I understand. I’m not here for anything other than saying I’m sorry.”
I blink. Surely I heard him wrong. Never in the history of ever have I heard my father apologize to me.
“Come again?”
His hands drop to his sides. His gaze skitters to the right, almost like he’s suddenly obsessed with the striped knit dress on the mannequin.
“I was wrong to put that pressure on you. About closing the boutique and working for me. I see that now.”
I scrub both hands over my face. “I’m a bit lost. You see that now?”
“I spent some time chatting with Rich after we spoke at the Battle of the Boutiques.” Dad’s gaze comes back to mine and I see something in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. Humility. Apology. “If this is what you want, I’ll try to back you on it.”
I’m suspicious, but too hopeful to throw his apology in his face. “I would appreciate that.”
Dad rubs his hand across his chin. Over and over. It’s a full minute before he speaks again, and when he does, his voice is the softest I’ve ever heard it.
“You know, I’ve always hated this boutique because of what it stands for.”
Now I’m even more lost.
He sighs. “Your mother opened this place as a way to have something to do after she found out I cheated on her.”
My head snaps back and the headache resurges. “What?”
Dad nods. “I cheated on your mother. I’m not proud of that, of course, and it was something that took awhile for us to work through.” His gaze comes back to mine. “Your mama and I did work it out. We were good when she got sick. But she kept the boutique anyway. Said she’d never be beholden to any man again. I messed up, son. I hurt my wife and I think about my failure every time I see this boutique.”
I’m shocked. Appalled. And maybe just a little bit more understanding of where my father’s been coming from with wanting to shut this boutique down. Not that I’ll ever let him do that now. Not when I know now what he did to my sweet mother. How much this boutique meant to her. It was her lifeline and it’s become mine too.
“I see my beautiful mother every time I step inside this boutique.”
Dad slowly nods his head. “I’m glad you do.”
He holds his hand out between us. I glance at it, remembering how much I used to look up to this capable man.How big and strong and capable his hands were when I was just a little kid. I used to think there wasn’t anything my father couldn’t do. I know better now.
I slide my hand into his and we shake, sealing the past where it belongs. I don’t shake his hand to excuse what he did to my mother or the vile things he’s said or done to me, but in hopes of a better relationship in the future. An understanding that while I love my father, I don’t particularly like him. And that’s okay. I didn’t get to choose my father, obviously, but I’m choosing to continue a relationship with him as long as he respects me in return.
On the way home, I stop to pick up the greasiest fast food Heaven, Mississippi, offers. Nothing better for a hangover and heartache than fried food and an ice-cold Coke to wash it down.
My brain is swirling with all kinds of things while I eat at my dining table all alone. Betsy, my father, and how my mother must have felt finding out her husband of forty-some years had strayed. I wish she would have talked to me about it when she was still alive. I understand why she didn’t though. She was always the peacekeeper, constantly running interference to keep all of us happy. An invisible job that we took for granted. She had to die for the emotional patchwork to fall away. Only then could we see how many cracks lined the container of our family unit.
“I see you, Mama.” It’s spoken way too late, but I hope somehow, some way, she can still hear me.
I also think about Harp and Hemline. The way it gave my mother a lifeline. Purpose. A sense of independence that had nothing to do with a man.
The fried food is now sitting in my gut like a brick. Combined with the champagne from last night, I feel disgusting. I used to be able to handle a night like that in my college years, but I swear things are different when you hit forty.
I throw on running gear and head outside. It’s hotter than blazes out here still, but I still have a bottle or two of champagne to sweat out. I get a mile in when an idea hits me. I slow to a walk and end up turning right around.
A woman needs something not tied to a man.
Just like Mama needed.
I bet Betsy needs that too.
Her ex broke up with her, kicked her out of the apartment they lived in together, and she had no one to turn to. She told me she slept in hercar.
Jesus.
