“I…well, yes. But you said it first.”
“Oh. So you’re just returning the favor?” I immediately cringe. What am I doing right now? Am I actually fishing for some kind of praise from Jacob?
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “That was supposed to be…I was kidding.”
“No,” he says. “I meant it. You’re easy to talk to. I felt that immediately the first time we met.”
My breath catches, because he’s doing it again, casually referencing the night he wanted us both to forget.
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to brush it off. I don’t want him to think I’m reading too much into this. It’s just an offhand comment,a reciprocal compliment. Maybe he feels bad for making things weird over the last few days, and he’s extending an olive branch. “I have a lot of practice with it,” I say. “Talking to people, and building rapport. It’s part of my job.”
He goes quiet, and that same bird lets out a loud, shrill sound again.
“Right,” he says. “Anyway, James noticed your father was by himself and made sure to always say hi to him, and sit with him, and that’s how we all met.”
A hollow sensation settles in my stomach. For some reason, I never thought about this piece of it. When I learned my father was sick, I felt angry that I hadn’t known. Mad at my father for waiting so long to tell me, and mad at myself too for having ignored several of his calls. But I didn’t really understand the day-to-day of it, what it would have been like for him to go through chemo, through all these appointments by himself.
“This would have been a few years ago?” I ask.
“Yes,” Jacob says. “After a little while, he went into remission, and he was doing great. He still came by the hospital a lot, though, because James…James never really improved. We lost him pretty quickly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. My dad told me this earlier, but hearing it from Jacob is somehow different, the sorrow in his voice fresh.
“Thanks,” he says. “It was—it was really hard on Maggie. But your dad was there for her, for both of us. There were all these logistics to figure out, and James had been really clear with us about what he wanted for his funeral. It was strange—we all knew what was happening, and we had so much time to talk about how things would be after he was gone. I’d promised him I’d help Maggie through it, that I’d take care of the planning, but doing all of it while grieving, it was a lot. Ajit didn’t offer to help or ask what he could do,he just did it. He showed up places and called people and made all these arrangements, and Maggie and I—I don’t think we’d have been able to do any of it without him.”
We reach the end of the short street and, without discussing it, turn around and head back toward the inn.
“Your father did really well for a while. We all stayed in touch, and he told us how his checkups were. At some point, he and Maggie started seeing each other more regularly, and everything was fine until about a year ago, when the cancer came back. They proposed more aggressive treatment this time, and then surgery.” He pauses. “It was scary for a while, a little touch and go. Maggie was…I think it brought up a lot of feelings and memories about how things were with James.”
He exhales loudly, and I look at him. His face is tense, but slowly his mouth softens into something resembling a smile.
“That’s when your father proposed. Right before he went into surgery. Maggie was crying—they both were—and she said yes, and…everything’s been fine since then. The surgery was a success, and it sounds like he’s been doing really well.”
My eyes prick, a sharp sensation, and I blink a couple times.
“Thanks,” I say. “He doesn’t—He told me he’s been doing fine since the surgery, but he doesn’t always tell me everything, so I wasn’t sure.” The wind picks up, blowing through my damp hair, and I gather it all in one hand, holding it away from my face. “I’m glad he had all of you here. Thanks for—thanks for that too.”
He glances my way. “It was nice for us too. For me, especially. I haven’t had anyone like that in a long time. Maggie’s been there as a second mother since I was little, but James’s dad left when he was young, and when mine passed…It’s just been nice having your father around.”
I blink again. His words are bittersweet. Because I understandthis yearning for a father figure. I understand how it feels not to have one. And it hurts that my father, myactualfather, could provide that for someone else, but not for me.
“He talks about you, you know.”
My shoulders grow stiff.
“Really?” I ask. The word comes out sounding wary, because I can’t imagine what my father’s said about me. Judging by Jacob’s reaction to hearing my name at the rehearsal dinner, I don’t think it was anything good.
“He told us you graduated from USC and that you work in Hollywood.” He’s quiet for a beat. “He said that was the last time he saw you. At your graduation.”
“Yes,” I say. “That’s true.”
His hands swing by his sides as he walks, and for a second, the one closest to me flexes, his fingers spreading, then curling into a fist.
“That’s a long time to not visit your father,” he says. His tone is careful, deliberately neutral.
“It goes both ways,” I say. “He hasn’t visited me.”
We’re only a short distance from the inn, but beside me, Jacob stops. He stills me with a hand on my forearm, and I turn to face him.
