“Yes. I’d do anything for you.”
It takes him a moment to speak again, and God, I wish I were inside his brain, wish I could understand every pause, every look. “I can’t ask you to do that, not after what you’ve been through. It would be a lot.”
“You didn’t ask me. I offered. I want to be there for you.”
He presses his lips to mine. “You are. I wouldn’t be considering talking to my father otherwise, but I need to do this on my own.”
“Okay. I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”
“You better be.” He grins, and though I know it’ll be a lot for him, I’m proud that he’s pushing himself to have a conversation that’s long overdue, about parts of his past that have been weighing on him for far too long.
33
Miles
You don’t haveto do this.
You could leave right now.
I sit in my parked car, in Dad’s driveway. I texted him earlier to let him know I’d be coming by, which surprised him, but he didn’t have other plans and even offered to get some Asian fusion for dinner. That’s so Dad, pretending everything is A-OK and that dropping by is totally normal.
It’s a beautiful home. Two stories, six bedrooms. A mix of siding and stone on the front—the siding having gotten a fresh coat of paint since my last visit. The yard is landscaped, with gardeners tending to it weekly to make sure all the bushes and hedges look picture perfect. No one would suspect the darkness that lies in our past, how we came to this place as a sanctuary after losing Mom, after Dad came back.
This beautiful house is another reminder that we can’t face anything. Since Dad couldn’t stay in my childhood home after what happened, instead, he uprooted my life, moved us to Roswell, away from all my friends and the family close to us, to live in a place that wouldn’t remind us of her.
Only it does.
It was kind of Dax to offer to come with me, but that felt like I’d be ganging up on Dad, and also, after everything Dax has been through, I don’t want him to take on my family shit too. Notthat he’d mind or give a fuck about how it affected him, but this is my bullet to take.
As I brace myself to push through this, even though Dax isn’t here, I can hear him saying,Deep breaths. It’s the only reason I haven’t backed out of the driveway and headed back to Peachtree Springs.
I take another deep breath, then get out of the car. I can hear that kid in my head, screaming. He gets louder, but I clench my fists as I approach the door, input the code, and head inside. “Dad?”
“In the kitchen!” He sounds so at ease, so relaxed, like we’re just having some normal father-son bonding time. Which is wild since that’s not us. Hasn’t been for a long time.
He’s opening cartons of food on the table, and as soon as he sees me, his eyes light up. It’s a sharp contrast to what happened between Dax and his father. Reminds me that, even though we have our fucked-up shit, there’s comfort and security in knowing he loves me. He just…doesn’t understand me. Doesn’t know how to reach me. Guess that works both ways.
“Hey, kiddo.” He offers me a hug, which I find myself recoiling from as much as ever, while also feeling guilty about my reaction.
“Hey, Dad,” I force out, realizing some of this tension must be because of what I plan to do.
He pulls away, and the way he glances me over suggests he’s not totally unaware that something’s off. Of course, he doesn’t acknowledge that, just heads back to the table. “I got it from your favorite place with that popcorn chicken you like.”
“Thank you,” I say, which again catches him off guard. He looks unsettled by my appreciation.
“I’m glad you came by. You’re always so busy around the holidays, and I’m leaving for Aspen next Tuesday, so this might be our only chance for a while. Come on, sit down.” He takesa seat at the end of the table. “Get some food. I can’t imagine you’re eating the way you should be while you’re at school. And you look like you’ve lost weight since I last saw you.”
“Do I? Maybe. It’s not something I ever really think about.”
“Well, eat up. I’m always worried you’re not eating enough. And you never let me give you any money for food. You know, most of the parents I talk to give their kids money, even if they do have a part-time job.”
Again, Dad does such an excellent job of demonstrating how little he knows about my life, but I can’t really fault him, considering I’m determined to keep my distance from him. I pull out the seat adjacent to his, which he notices—how could he not, when I always sit on the opposite side?
As I settle, he starts collecting food on his plate.
I could forget all this. Just have a fine enough dinner with him, then head back to Peachtree Springs, fuck the hell out of Dax…be happy.
However, I wouldn’t really be fine. If I don’t face this, I’ll carry it into my relationship with Dax. And the thought of fucking that up…no, I can’t. Nothing is worth risking him.
