Thank God I never told her how I really feel. I was so close to revealing it last night while we were making love—that wasn’t just sex, I’d bet my right kidney on it—but something held me back. Some kind of self-preservation that is also apparently psychic.
The other part of the argument still nagging at me was the discussion about Lauren doing something sexual with Max, who, if I remember right, was Christina’s ex from a while ago.
I sip iced tea and kick my feet on the coffee table, click on the TV. Blindly eye the basketball playoffs between two teams I don’t really care about.
It’s clear Lauren didn’t tell me about whatever went down with Christina’s ex years ago. I don’t have all the pieces, but evidently he and Christina were still together in some capacity when this sexual encounter occurred. I wouldn’t judge Lauren, of course, wouldn’t shame her over it, because I’m sure she’s done enough of that, knowing her the way I do. But it hurts me more than I want to admit that she kept something that big from me.
Never even hinted at it happening.
Why? Was she ashamed? Or are we not the best friends I thought we were, and she didn’t feel it was something to share with me? Are there other things she’s kept from me that I’m not aware of?
Looks like Lauren is good at keeping secrets. I’m starting to learn new things about her, things I never would have guessed at before. My stomach tightens at that thought.
There’s a thunk behind me, and I spin around, suddenly on alert. My dad’s standing in the doorway, fatigue etched in deep lines around his eyes and mouth. The wariness leaves me, and I dart around the couch to stand in front of him, take the bag from his clenched fist.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey yourself.” At least he looks and sounds sober this time, unlike the last time we talked. I’m kinda nervous to say too much for fear of driving him away.
“Thirsty?” I ask. “Want me to get you anything?” I drop his bag on the dining room table and head to the fridge.
“I’m good for now.” Dad shuffles into the living room, and I hear him settle into his favorite recliner. The recliner base kicks up, and the volume on the TV is raised.
I grab a soda and make my way back to the couch. He and I watch TV in silence for a while, nodding when a guy makes a good play, grunting at the commentary. I’m eager to ask him questions, but I keep my mouth shut. It’s clear he needs some space. I learned early on that pushing people only alienates them.
At halftime, Dad turns the commentary down and gets up to snag a beer from the fridge. I hear the pop of the cap, which he tosses into the garbage. He comes back, sips. Slides a glance over to me.
He wants to say something. I just need to wait and let him get to the point at his own time. I keep my attention on the TV, pretending interest in whatever they’re blathering about. Blah blah turnovers and fouls. I like basketball in general but I can’t focus on the game. Not with so much shit on my mind.
“I want you to take over the bar with your brother,” Dad says quietly.
I swivel my head to stare at him. “Pardon?” I can’t have heard that right.
“Well, or at least help him run it until he finds a partner,” he continues like I didn’t speak. “I don’t think it’ll be too hard. With the remodel, it’ll be a much better investment for someone.”
“But…the bar was your dream,” I say, stunned. Hell, it’s even named after him. This isn’t what I expected. Not at all. “I don’t understand. You leave for several days and then you come back and…what? What are you going to do now? Start a new career at your age?”
Dad levels an even look at me. “Why not? I’m not dead.”
I flinch. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just…” I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair. Shift on the couch so I’m facing him. He looks so tired, so aged. This wasn’t exactly the homecoming I was hoping for; it’s been months since I saw him. “I’m worried about you, Dad. You’re not yourself.”
“Haven’t been myself in a long time.” He’s still quiet. Dad’s not one to raise his voice normally. “It was wrong for me to just take off like that—leaving Xander in the lurch to run the business alone wasn’t right. I’ll talk to him about that, make it up to him. But all the driving around, just letting myself think, it helped me realize I’ve been surviving but not thriving.” Dad pauses, takes a draw from his beer.
“There wasn’t a better way to rediscover yourself without scaring your sons shitless with worry?” I ask in a pointed tone.
He shrugs. “That’s fair, and I’m sorry. Your mom would have had my hide over that. She was always protective of you boys.”
To say the least. Mom was smothering on her best day. But her overprotective nature aside, she did care about our feelings, I admit. She really would have lashed out at Dad for scaring us this way.
“I miss her too,” I tell him.