Chapter 25 #2
I slid into the booth across from him, putting my purse beside me on the cracked red seat. It creaked under me as I shifted, crossing my leg over the other.
“I got you water and orange juice. You still like orange juice in the mornings, right?” my dad said, sounding unsure, which was unlike him. My heart tugged, and I nodded.
“I do. Thank you.”
Slightly awkward silence filled the space between us like it always did. I lifted my menu and grazed the options, my stomach rolling enough that I didn’t feel hungry.
“What do you usually get here?” he asked a moment later.
“The omelets are really good, and so are the French toast and pancakes.”
“I remember you used to only ever order French toast wherever we went. I swear that was the only thing you’d eat when you were six.” I chuckled alongside him, remembering that. It was a phase.
“I refused to eat it for like a year after the craze died down.”
“You would pretty much demand that it be the only thing the two of us eat.”
Across from me, my dad shook his head, lines near his eyes and lips crinkled. While he read the menu, I found myself really looking at him, noting the silver gracing the sides of his temples and beard. There were more prominent wrinkles on his face that weren’t there when I was younger.
He wasn’t old, not by a long shot, but seeing the gray hairs really drove home that he wasn’t getting any younger. That I could be losing precious time with him.
When the waitress came by the table to get our order, I found myself telling her I wanted French toast, nostalgia curling in my chest. When she turned to my dad, he ordered the same thing without hesitation. The small familiarity of it made something ache inside of me.
“Congratulations on winning the first game of the season,” I said after the waitress left.
“Thank you. The team played really well.” My dad rested his arms on the table. “It means a lot that you came.”
His green eyes, the exact replica of mine, flashed with quiet emotion, like my presence meant more to him than he was able to say out loud.
“I forgot how much fun games are,” I admitted. “The fans are a bit crazy.”
“They can get spirited, huh?”
Conversation lagged after that, neither of us really knowing what to say. Years of dancing around each other did that.
“Dad, I…” I wrapped my hands around the glass filled with orange juice. Here, in the back corner, most of the conversations were muted, so it was like the two of us were in our own bubble.
I steeled my spine, jumping headfirst. “I think we need to have a talk,” I finally got out.
“Oh?”
“For years now, things between us have been…strained.” He opened his mouth to say something, probably to protest, but I quickly continued. “You can say otherwise, but we both know it is.”
He was quiet for a moment before he let out a deep sigh that sounded tired and almost resigned. “I know I’m the one who messed things up.” His fingers tapped lightly against the table before stilling. “I know I wasn’t around the way I should’ve been as you got older.”
My chest tightened. Hearing him admit it so plainly wasn’t something I expected.
“I know it's no excuse but,” he rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words, “as you got older, it seemed like you didn’t need me anymore. It was like I became the annoying guy you didn’t want around, instead of the dad that you spent time with.
I guess it felt like you had everything handled and didn’t need me around as much. ”
A short laugh slipped out of me, but there was no humor in it. “Did you ever consider maybe I acted like that because I didn’t have a choice?”
His brows pulled down, hands clasped in front of him.
“You chose football,” I said quietly. “Every time. Games, practices, recruiting trips—it was always football. And after a while, it felt like I was just…second to it.” The words I always held back finally slipped free.
I met his eyes. “As soon as you got this head coaching job with the Titans, nothing else but them mattered, including me.”
The words hung heavy between us. My dad leaned back, absorbing it as his jaw worked.
“I never meant for it to feel that way,” he said. “But the truth is…I probably did choose it more than I should’ve.”
His honesty hit me directly in the chest, almost stealing my breath. For a while, I thought I had made it all up in my head, that I was just projecting that my dad picked football over me, and I was being dramatic. To hear that I didn't felt like a punch to the gut.
“Emmie, raising you has been the greatest thing I’ve ever done.
I’d choose it again in a heartbeat.” He said it fiercely, like he needed me to believe him.
“When I got the coaching job, it surprised me…but it also brought back the dream I’d carried as a kid.
And suddenly, I had the chance to go for it. ”
He sighed, his gaze dropping to the table before returning to me. “That doesn’t make it right. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean I didn’t care or think about you.”
Tears built behind my stinging eyes, threatening to fall. His own hurt reflected back. I folded my arms, unsure what to do with that. Thinking about someone and actually showing up for them weren’t the same thing.
“You had a funny way of showing it.” I said it softly, but the hurt came through clear as day. My dad nodded once, like he couldn’t argue with that.
“Why didn’t you ever come to my skating competitions?” The words flew from my lips. “I looked for you and you never showed.” Years of hurt threatened to pull me under.
“I went to all the ones I could. I sat up high so I wouldn’t distract you or get in the way,” he confessed.
“Y-You did?”
The sad smile he gave me almost cleaved me in two. “I did. And if I couldn’t be there, I watched on my phone or TV.”
Marcy’s words from a week ago came to mind. How my father would message her.
He gave me a sad smile. “I wouldn’t have missed my daughter skating or her going to the Olympics.”
“Why did you never tell me?” I croaked, losing the battle with my tears. All this time I’ve been holding onto this anger that he never showed up or cared, but he did. He did show up. I just never knew that he did.
His hand reached across the table to grasp mine. “I’ve been a shitty father, and I know I deserve your anger,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I thought…maybe you didn’t want me there, and I wanted to respect that. I figured it was better to keep my distance and let you do your own thing.”
The words landed deep in my chest, knocking loose something I wasn’t prepared for. Guilt and sadness took hold and refused to let go. My shoulder shook as I tried to hold back my sobs.
I spent so long being hurt and angry that I didn’t even try to take a step back and see my father’s perspective. To see that, while I was hurting, so was he. He made me feel like a second choice to football, but at the same time, I made him feel like I didn’t need nor want him around.
“Dad, I…” I couldn’t get the words out.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay.” He quickly slid out of his side of the booth before coming to mine. He squeezed himself next to me, throwing an arm around my shoulder to tuck me against him. “It’s okay,” he repeated softly against my head.
Years’ worth of resentment, hurt, and anger crumbled around me. I had convinced myself he didn’t care enough to notice but he had. I was just too blind to see it. We both were.
“I’m so proud of you. So proud,” he whispered against my head.
Guilt twisted in my stomach, thick and suffocating. My throat burned as tears rolled down my face. We weren’t innocent in how our relationship was, and I knew that, but it didn’t stop that shame from forming.
“I didn’t make it easy for you either,” I admitted, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”
My dad let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it in for years. “Hey, we both messed up,” he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “But I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”
I pulled away from his side, wiping my cheeks. “I would like that.”
“I missed you, kid.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head like he used to do when I was little.
“Missed you, too.” My throat tightened again, but this time, it didn’t feel so heavy. In fact, I was lighter.
A clearing of a throat beside our table captured our attention. The waitress stood there awkwardly, holding our French toast like she knew she was interrupting something important.
“Oh, thank you.” My dad slipped out of the booth, moved around her, and took his seat back on his side of the table.
I quickly wiped under my eyes and grabbed my napkin for my nose as my plate was put in front of me. “Thank you.”
The waitress didn’t linger and walked away. This time, the silence between my dad and me didn’t feel as thick as before. I knew it would take time to get things where it wouldn’t be as awkward, but this didn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it just had to be a start.