“You can do this, but if you decide you’re not ready, we’ll turn around right now and try again later.”
By giving me a supportive out, he strengthens my resolve, and I pull myself together.
“No, it’s fine. I want to do this,” I confirm.
“What role do you want me to play?” Connor asks, confusing me for a second until he brings our clasped hands in front of my face.
Oh.
“I want you to be exactly who you are,” I tell him. “My boyfriendandmy coach. I’m done hiding.”
Connor kisses my knuckles and lets go of my hand to reach for his door handle. “
“Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
My dad is already seated when we walk through the doors. I see him before he sees me, and my feet stop moving. Connorwalks right into my back. He throws his hands around my waist to steady me. “Sorry. You okay?”
“My dad’s sitting right there,” I tell him stupidly. “Like he hasn’t been gone from my life for almost twenty years.” I’m shocked to discover that it’s sadness I feel more than anger, bitterness, or resentment.
As soon as my dad sees us, he stands from the booth and goes stock still, just like me.
“Come on, baby,” Connor whispers in my ear. “I’m right here with you, and if it becomes too much, we’ll leave, no questions asked.”
I grip his hand tightly and let him lead me to the corner booth. The bar isn’t crowded at this time of day.
Still holding my right hand in his left, Connor extends his right hand toward my father.
“Turner, thanks for meeting us way out here,” he says, like the mature adult he is.
My dad reluctantly tears his gaze away from me to shake my boyfriend’s hand. His eyes briefly dip to where Connor’s other hand is holding mine, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Thank you for coming,” he says to Connor before looking back at me with a nervous furrow to his brow. “I’d um, really like to give you a hug, if you’re okay with it?”
The request catches me off guard.
“Oh, uh, sure,” I stammer a millisecond before his arms engulf me, forcing me to drop Connor’s hand. My dad is roughly the same height as me, with a similar lean frame. He has his hair pulled back in a messy man-bun. He moves his hand to the back of my neck as he sobs against me.
I’m wary of his motives, but also, this reaction feels pretty damn real.
I allow myself to hug him back, and his arms grip me tighter when I do.
Finally getting himself under control, he steps back and slides into the booth, using his napkin to wipe his eyes.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry, but you have no idea how long I’ve been dying for that hug,” he says.
Our waitress comes to the table and takes our drink order. My dad chooses water, Connor orders a beer, and I go straight for a gin and tonic. No one says shit to me about ordering liquor in the middle of the day.
Unsure where to start, I blurt, “Where the hell have you been? And why are you here now?”
Blowing out a slow exhale, my dad starts his story while I quickly drain the drink placed in front of me a few minutes later, immediately asking for another.
“First, I just want to say I’m so fucking sorry for leaving, Vox. I admit I was never meant to be a father. When you were born, I was scared out of my fucking mind, but I was confident that between your mother and me, we could figure it out. Until one day, she told me she got a modeling job she wanted to take and needed to be gone for two weeks. I didn’t want to hold her back from her career, so I told her to go; you and I would be fine. Well, the check-in calls slowed to a stop, and by the time two weeks came and went, I knew she wasn’t coming back. Overwhelmed, I tried to keep my head above water, but I didn’t have the slightest clue what I was doing. The winter that year was especially brutal. The sun didn’t shine for eight solid weeks, and I felt myself spiraling. I asked my mother if she could watch you. I just needed to see the sun. I went surfing in California. Met some people. And stayed. I’ve regretted it every day since, but I couldn’t have given you a life worth living back then. I was barely surviving myself.”
Connor squeezes my thigh under the table as my dad continues.
“But the guilt ate away at me, and I worked hard to makesomething of myself so that when I returned, I’d have something I was proud of to show for my time away. Something that hopefullyyouwould be proud of as well. Something to make myself believe it had all been worth it.”
