“Might I point out that so do you?”
“But what if that’s all there is? What if it’s just a connection of need?”
“Does it matter? Harry, your life will be filled with women. Don’t overthink first love.”
“Suppose it’s not first love?”
“Suppose you take a risk and find out?” As he did when Ella got pregnant.
“Dad, what was it like when you met Mom, when you first saw her?”
Felix glanced up at the decorative red light fixture hanging above their table. “She was beautiful. It was passion at first sight.” And a whole lot of lust.
“Not love?”
Someone behind them coughed. Felix frowned and leaned across the table.
“That took longer. Your mother also had ‘serious family stuff going on’ the first time we met. Your grandmother had just died, and Mom left London shortly afterward to go home and be near your grandfather. We didn’t really get together until five years later, when she returned for her thirtieth birthday. It all happened quite quickly after that.”
“Wow.” Harry bobbed in his chair. “Mom never told me that bit.”
“Which bit?”
“About you meeting and then being apart for five years.”
“What exactly did she tell you?” And which part did she leave out?
“That she fainted on the Tube, and this handsome Englishman raced to her rescue. It sounded very romantic.”
“Indeed. Although I’m not sure about the handsome part.”
Ella, as pale and delicate as a fairy in an Arthur Rackham illustration. Ella, so vulnerable and needy. That moment she’d started to crumple, to sink without a sound, he’d barged through the rush-hour crowd so he could catch her before she hit the dirty floor of the carriage. Thought had drowned out all reason: “No, you can’t die. I haven’t met you yet.” He’d wanted to keep her safe, protect her. Had he? Had he done any of those things?
“Did you have many girlfriends before Mom?”
“I thought we were talking about you.”
“I’m curious, Dad. You and I never talk about this shit.”
“Unlike you and your mother, I choose to not talk about my feelings, Harry.” Felix’s left foot tapped the floor. “To do so makes me intensely uncomfortable.”
Felix pulled out his phone to check his messages before remembering he’d taken a leave of absence from work. Robert still copied him on everything, but Felix was forcing himself to not engage. Either you were in or out, working or not working. He had never felt so redundant.
“But did you date women? You know, before Mom.”
“Of course I did. I was twenty-seven when we met.”
“So?”
“So?”
“Other women?”
“Harry. I’m not good at relationships.” Felix looked round to make sure no one was listening. The tables were far too close together. Anyone could be eavesdropping. Harry thumped his elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyes wide and eager. “Let’s put it this way: yes, I dated a lot of women. Some beautiful, some smart. But I never understood them and they never understood me. I tried to do what a boyfriend was supposed to do. Compliment them, be chivalrous . . . But your mother was different. From the beginning.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Harry grinned. “C’mon, Dad. Boy talk.” He twitched through a grimace and blinked compulsively. “It’s all a big mystery to me. Girls aren’t exactly rushing to date the weird guy.”
“You’re not weird if you hide it.”
“That’s not going to work for me. I’m more of a what-you-see-is-what-you-get person.”
Felix picked up his Perrier and finished it in three swallows. “Maybe you could try harder to disguise the tics.”
Harry didn’t answer. He merely knotted up his napkin.
This was why confidences were bad, very bad. It was too easy to say something that could be misconstrued.
“Your mother understood me.” Felix sighed. “That was the difference.”
Harry glanced up through his hair. “What you mean is that she accepted you the way you were. Warts and all.”