I put my own fork down with a clatter and pointed at him. “Does this have to do with Mom?”
He banged his fist on the table in an uncharacteristic display. “No. And I don’t want to talk about her.”
Whoa. Seemed like I was getting warmer to the root of what was going on.
“I’m just trying to figure you out. I thought you and Mrs. Quinn were on fire.”
He shot a shut it look in my direction. “On fire?”
“Yeah. Hot for each other.” I leaned back in my chair and polished off my beer, relieved the conversation was less intense.
“You aren’t trying to do anything but avoid telling me why you won’t go home. I’m thrilled to have you here any way I can get you, but if you want to get real, let’s get real. Why are you calling your old man after work instead of that beautiful roommate of yours? Or hell, even your brother or sister?” He pushed his mostly empty plate away from him and folded his hands on the table.
My dad avoided some things like it was his job. Mainly anything to do with my mother. But he didn’t shy away from the hard stuff. He always knew when to push and when to leave things alone.
“Andrew and Marlow are probably in bed.” I picked at the edge of the label on my bottle, avoiding his eyes.
“Not with my two grandkids.” He winked.
“What kind of trouble did they get into today?” I loved my nephew and niece. Well, technically she wasn’t my niece yet, but I was never one to get bogged down with technicalities.
“We’re back to avoiding the subject at hand?” Dad tilted his beer back. “Suits me.”
“I just needed some space.” I worked harder at peeling the label off in one piece. It began to rip when I had a quarter of it off.
“Living with her isn’t what you thought?”
I concentrated on the label, slowly pulling on the edge to stop the split. “No. It’s pretty much exactly what I thought.” Aside from not being able to control this need to touch her. If anything, it was getting worse. “Can we not talk about Baker?”
A smirk toyed on my father’s lips. “You pushed about Audrey and Ivette.”
“Fine. Let’s just forget about women for now.” I held up my bottle. “Want another?”
“Please.” He handed me his empty.
I paused in the doorway to the kitchen. “You aren’t the same without Mrs. Quinn.” Now that he’d confessed he’d let her go, it was painfully obvious he was struggling.
Plates clattered from the dining room as I disposed of our bottles in the recycling bin. I opened the fridge and pulled out two more. Dad dropped our dishes in the sink.
“No, I’m not,” he admitted through a stiff jaw. “But I’ve made my bed.”
“Just want you to be happy, Dad.” I held the fresh beer bottle in front of him.
He took it greedily from my hands. “Why do all my children keep saying that to me?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
“If all of you are happy, then so am I.” He meant it. I knew that with everything I was. But there was a halo of loneliness around him that burned brighter than it had before I’d left for Wyoming.
“Call her.” I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when I knew he was being a fool not to try with Mrs. Quinn.
He hooked an arm around my neck and pulled me in. “Have I told you how glad I am to have you home?”
“Once or twice.” I hugged him back. The man told me every single day in some way, shape, or form. I was glad to be back too. “Mind if I crash here tonight?”
“You never have to ask.”
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and shoved it back where it came from.
“More lady friends?” I teased.
His eyes looked haunted. “No. Your mother.”
“What does she want?” I couldn’t hide my disbelief. The little boy in me clapped with hope that they might get back together. But the man in me was worried for my father.
“I can’t imagine after nearly forty years.” He leaned against the counter for support. “But she’s reminded me why I can’t be with Audrey. I can’t go through that hurt again.”
“Dad.”
Wariness was in his eyes. “Your mother surfacing has brought it all back up again. I—I just can’t.”
I hated the pain radiating from him. His struggle was palpable, and I wanted to take it away, but didn’t know how. My mother had dredged up things that were better left alone, even if it was hard.
“Why did she leave right after I was born? Is it because she didn’t want more kids?”
He slammed his beer down and took me by the shoulders, shaking. “She left because of me, son. Don’t you ever think otherwise. Ever.”
I was taken aback by his adamancy. I’d thought the questions a million times in my life, but never voiced them aloud to my father. There just seemed to be too much of a coincidence that I was born and she took off right after to not have a connection.
“Are you sure? Because—”
“I’m sure.” He cut me off, shaking my shoulders again. “It’s my fault. Not yours. Do you hear me?”
I nodded automatically, though I wasn’t convinced. I’d wanted to ask this question for so long, and part of me couldn’t be satisfied. It’s my fault. Not yours. How could I reconcile that with the guilt and pain, believing for over thirty years I was responsible for all the hurt my family had endured. I wanted to believe him. But was he still trying to protect me?
“It wasn’t your fault, either,” I said quietly. She’d left all of us for another man. Another life. And she’d never looked back. Not until lately.
I’d reached out to her. If it weren’t for me, she probably wouldn’t be dragging Dad back through this confusion and hell. She’d have left well enough alone if I had too.
His eyelids shuddered. “We have to live with the choices we make.”
A rope knotted around my gut. “I know. But we have to live with the choices other people make too.”
A shrill ring cut through the room. This time my own phone rang.
“Don’t answer that,” Dad said severely when he saw the caller ID. He covered my hand with his.
The number was one I didn’t recognize. “It could be work.”
“It’s her.”
Her? “Mom?”
He nodded, his grip on my hand pleading. I stared at him, one part of me insanely curious to find out what she wanted, the other terrified to hear what she’d have to say.
Frozen, the phone seemed to ring forever until it stopped. Silence enveloped us, thick and heavy.
“Why is she calling me?” I whispered. I’d wanted that for as long as I could remember. For my entire life. I just wanted my mother to want me, no matter the reason.
“I don’t know.” His voice cracked. “I can’t tell you not to speak to her. I want to, but I can’t.”
“I don’t want to betray you.” There was longing in what I hadn’t said. That I wanted to at least have a chance with her, even if I was a grown man.
“You couldn’t. Don’t let my feelings shape yours.” The sound was rough, pained, but selfless.