She exhales. “I didn’t forgive him. I haven’t. But…you and Mom were always so in sync. When I got busted for skipping class or scratched the car or took a pregnancy test, I knew whatMom’s reaction would be when she found out. She’d ask me why I couldn’t be more likeyou. I resented her for it. And I resented you for it. Dad always listened, especially after the divorce. Out of guilt maybe because he was stuck on the outside of our family too. I…took advantage. And then I had Tommy, and Marcus took off, and things got really hard. Mom would have told me to move home, back here with her. Dad sent me money and flew down to Florida to help me set up the nursery. I know that he’s been a shitty dad. But he’s been an awesome one, too, to me, and I know he wants to be one to you. You’ve just…never let him.”
“He visited you in Florida?”
“Yeah. Once a year. Sometimes twice.”
“You—I didn’t know that.”
“We barely talked as it was. I wasn’t going to bring up Dad.”
I tug at a stray thread on the seam of my sweatpants. Cassidy’s not wrong. Starting with her decision to attend his second wedding, our different relationships with Dad post-divorce have always been a point of contention between us. I feel guilty all over again, realizing new ways my distance from Dad impacted my relationship with my sister.
“You remember him leaving,” Cassidy continues. “Do you remember how much he and Mom fought? Because I used to sit at the top of the stairs and listen. They weren’t happy together, Claire. He fell in love with someone else. It was messy, but it wasn’t malicious.”
I nod slowly. The thread tugs free, falling to the fluffy rug.
“You’re a lot like him. Steady and responsible. Smart and driven.”
“So are?—”
“I’m more like Mom, Claire. Organized chaos. She always said she loved writing because it allowed her to try on different lives, and I’m like that too. But I kept trying new things, notwriting books about them. You’ve stuck with soccer since you were five. You commit. Same with Dad, except when…”
Neither of us finishes her trailing thought.
“You never needed him, Claire. You never needed help. You took care of yourself. And you took care of Mom. I don’t think Dad knows how to be part of your life. He doesn’t want to get in the way or cause problems or embarrass you… Whenever he hasn’t shown up, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be there.”
I’m silent.
“Good luck with your speech.” Cassidy stands and stretches. Yawns. “I’m headed to bed.”
Right before she reaches the stairs, I call out her name.
“Yeah?” she replies, pausing.
“Tell Dad he’s welcome to come to the game.”
I catch her nod before I drop my eyes back to the pad of paper, pick up the pen, and start to write.
38
OTTO
PARIS
Six Years Earlier
Istare at the final score.
It feels like a leaden weight is sitting on my chest.
Australia won, 3–2. Their third goal was in the last few minutes. It was a close match, which is never reassuring to the losing side and irrelevant to the winning team.
I hang my head, scrubbing the palm not holding my phone across my face.Fuck.
She never responded to my text from this morning, wishing her luck.
Beck hasn’t returned from the game yet. He’s probably waiting to talk to Saylor. She wanted this win as badly as Claire did.
The rest of my teammates are busy preparing for the final tomorrow.
