I interrupt, not in the mood for excuses. I’ve been bottling up these words inside me, and they’re more than ready to come out. “When Mom left you, even if things were over, even if there was nothing for the two of you to work on, I don’t understand how you could leave me like that. How you could—why you wouldn’t try to be closer.”
My father’s eyes grow wide, and mine start to sting. I look away, blinking quickly.
“I tried,” my father says, his voice stilted. “I looked for work, but there was nothing close to where you would both be living. And nothing like the job I had, so I thought—I thought I’d stay, and I could visit and—”
“And that was it? You thought that you could parent from across the ocean? That it wouldn’t matter? That it would just be fine to be an absent father?”
He sucks in a breath.
“No, I…I came to see you. And I asked for you to come see me, but after that visit…” He trails off, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
I scoff. “You came once a year,” I say. “You think that was enough? And that trip?” I shake my head. “You barelytalkedto me. You barely spent time with me. You barely even—”
“I didn’t know how to! You were so clearly miserable. You didn’twant to be there. And I couldn’t blame you. I didn’t know what to—how to make you happy, and that was just for a week. You were obviously much happier with your mom, and I—”
“Do you know how badly I wanted to come see you? How excited I was? I begged Mom to let me go, and when I got here, it was…it was heartbreaking.” A hot tear spills out of the corner of my eye. “I just wanted to connect with you, but it was like you didn’t want me there. You looked at me like you didn’t know what to do with me, asked me the same questions over and over again like you didn’t know what to say.”
“Because I didn’t. I didn’t know how to talk to you.” My father’s knuckles turn white. “I’ve never known how to—”
“But why?”
He swallows, but as the seconds pass, he doesn’t look over. Doesn’t say anything, and I throw up my hands.
“I can’t believe you. Maybe you didn’t know how to talk to me as a kid, which, whatever, but when you ended up in the hospital, when you were literally diagnosed with cancer, didn’t you think that was something I might want to know? That I mightcareabout that? That I might worry about you?” My voice breaks, and it’s then that I catch Jacob’s face in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide open, no longer asleep. His gaze fixed on me.
I wait for him to chastise me, to intervene on my father’s behalf, to defend him as he’s done before, but he doesn’t do anything of the sort. He just stays quiet, watching me, his face unreadable.
“I didn’t want that,” my father says. “I didn’t—it wasn’t your responsibility.”
“You should have let me decide that,” I say. “You should have given me a choice!” My blood boils, anger rising to the surface. In the back of my mind, I know we have an audience now, but I can’t find it within me to care. “You should have at least told me about it.”
“I know,” he says, his voice small. “I should have.”
I go still.
“I didn’t know how to, at first, and then I called, but I know that was too late.” He winces. “I should have told you earlier.”
I stare at him, his acknowledgment of his fault in the matter taking me by surprise.
“It seemed better…You seemed to prefer it when I backed off, so I figured that was what was better for you. That you were better off without me.”
And now my temper flares again. “So, you’re saying this…this dynamic between us is my fault.”
“No. I’m not saying—”
“I was a kid.”
“I know. I—” His mouth opens, then closes. Then opens once more. “It’s my fault. I didn’t…I should have tried harder. I know that. Even with the distance, I could have tried harder. I just didn’t know what to—how to do that.”
My pulse rings loud and heavy in my ears. And I turn, looking out the window.
I don’t believe him.
Because look at what he was able to find with Maggie. And James. And Jacob. He found a family to call his.
And I’m not part of it.
A shaky breath leaves my mouth, and out of the corner of my eye I watch Jacob straighten.
