42. Cliff
Chapter 42
Cliff
“ I t’s cold out here.”
“Really?” I ask. “Huh. I’m feeling great.”
“Shut up, Dad.”
We sit on the curb outside the house. The street has a thick layer of snow that almost covers the line between the sidewalk and the road. I forgot a coat. I’m in my Bulls T-shirt and thin pajama pants, soaked through from sitting on the ground. I genuinely wonder if my balls will be ice in the next few minutes.
I exhale out a misty fog of warm air.
“So … do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“No.”
I nod to myself. “All right then.”
Emily pulls her arms closer to her chest. She isn’t wearing a jacket either. Thankfully, she’s at least in a long-sleeved striped shirt and thicker sleep pants than mine. Her long blonde hair is braided down her back, exposing pink ears. When she visibly shivers, I sling my arm around her shoulders. She leans closer.
“Are you gonna sit here until I talk?” she asks through chattering teeth.
“No. I’m gonna sit here until you want to go back inside. Doesn’t matter if you wanna talk or not. You’re not freezing to death alone out here.”
“I won’t freeze to death,” she insists.
“And what if those are your last words?”
“I’m gonna be fine.”
“I won’t even be able to say I told you so. ”
“That’s because I’ll be the one saying I told you so ,” she counters.
“How? You’ll be dead.”
Emily smirks. I squeeze her shoulder. She buries her head into my chest. I smile to myself.
Muffled against my sweater, I think I hear her murmur, “Sorry for yelling at Mom.”
I hum in acknowledgment.
“Are you angry?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I admit. I rest my chin on her head. “That was inappropriate. You should never say that to someone. Especially not your mother.”
“She thinks she can tell me what to do even if she’s not here anymore. It’s crap.”
“She’s trying her best,” I say. “Your mom is only human. But I will say that things are complicated.”
Emily grumbles, “Is this when you tell me I’ll understand when I’m older?”
I shrug. “Maybe you will. And honestly, maybe you won’t.”
There’s a lot about Tracy I don’t understand and a lot of things I don’t agree with. But I won’t poison the waters for Emily or Brittany. I wouldn’t like it if Tracy did that to me, and I definitely don’t do it to her.
I wish there were a way to explain both sides of the story. That Tracy had dreams. That, sometimes, life doesn’t always go the way you want, and it’s never ideal to abandon your previous life to pursue a new one. But sometimes, if you don’t, life isn’t a life anymore. Tracy resented Copper Run. She resented me. Even the girls. And she would have continued that for the rest of her life. Sacrifices had to be made. Tracy leaving was the best outcome for our girls. It was like mixing oil and vinegar—Tracy and Copper Run—and we needed to let them separate. It didn’t seem like it at the time, and maybe it will never make sense to Emily.
“But either way,” I continue, “you are not to talk to your mother like that again, okay?”
Emily silently nods. “Okay.”
“Good.”
“I hate it when you get all dad-like on me.”
“We can’t be best pals all the time.”
A gust of wind passes by, making us huddle closer. I keep waiting for Emily to get up, but when she doesn’t, stubbornly shivering instead, I hunker down and endure with her.
“I’m not your best friend,” she suddenly mumbles.
I bark out a laugh. “That’s mean.”
“Michelle is your best friend.”
My gut clenches. My hand probably squeezes her shoulder more than it should as I try to ground myself again.
“She’s a very good friend,” I answer, more fact than opinion.
If I were to be honest, in my opinion, Michelle is the closest friend I’ve ever had—man or woman. We’re closer than Tracy and I ever were. Trace and I were parents out of necessity. We didn’t date long enough to get to know each other on a friendship level. We were running on hormones alone. I wanted the hot cheerleader. She wanted the funny class clown. But there was only so much of that she could take.
Michelle doesn’t put up with me. She chooses to be around me. I like making her laugh, and she likes my jokes and sarcasm. She’s realistic when I don’t want to be.
“Are you and Michelle dating?” Emily asks.
“That’s kind of between us, kiddo.”
“Are you?”
I exhale and finally admit, “Yes. No. I don’t know actually.”
“She’s leaving in two days,” Emily says.
“She is.”
“Are you gonna miss her?”
“Of course,” I say, the answer choking out of me.
“I’m sorry.”
I huff a half-hearted laugh. “It is what it is.”
Emily kicks her bare foot out, breaking up a small bit of snow on her pink toes.
“Em, you’re gonna get frostbite.”
“Make her stay,” she blurts out.
I growl under my breath in frustration. I would if I could. If it was the right thing to do.
I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You said you’re gonna miss her.”
“Because making people stay in Copper Run when they don’t want to isn’t a nice thing to do,” I say.
“Maybe she wants to stay,” Emily argues.
“She doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have a pretty good idea. Her dream is in Seattle, and dreams don’t go away. She deserves to have hers.”
I know this better than anyone. Dreams never go away. That whole saying about loving someone enough to let them go is true. I wish it hadn’t taken me thirty-three years to realize it.
Emily scoots away. “What if her dream is here? With you? And she needs you to tell her how you feel?”
How I feel.
I run a cold hand through my hair and shake it back out. I can’t tell her I love her. It would only make things worse.
“Tell her,” Emily whispers.
I snort and side-eye her. “Are you stealing Cupid’s job?”
Emily shrugs. “Michelle’s great is all.”
“She is pretty great, huh?”
“Yeah.”
We fall silent. The neighborhood of Copper Run has never been so quiet. The wind, me, and Emily. And maybe the low hum of excessive yard lights from Winston’s house.
A shiver rolls down Emily’s spine again. “It’s cold out here.”
“Hey, you’re the one who chose to sulk on a curb. Not me.”
She doesn’t respond with a snarky comment. Instead, she leans her head on my shoulder and exhales another puff of warm air. “I’m gonna miss Michelle.”
I lean my head on top of hers. “Me too, kiddo. Me too.”
Michelle didn’t stay after the Christmas morning disaster. I didn’t expect her to, which is good because Emily turns her nose up at her mom with a ferocity I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
The three of us stand in the kitchen, with Carol in the other room, watching over Brittany.
“You’re happier in New York,” Emily says matter-of-factly.
Tracy looks from me to Emily with wide, offended eyes, as if I’ll help her. I don’t intend to step in.
“Not because of you,” is all Tracy can think to say.
“I know you blame me for … why you had to stay here,” Emily says. “I didn’t ask to be born though, and you don’t get to treat me how you do.”
Tracy gawks and shakes her head. “Em?—”
“I’m serious. I want to be treated like I matter, Mom.”
Tracy blinks and sighs out a small, “You do. I … I’ve considered having you move?—”
“ Having me move? You don’t get it at all. We’re happy here. Me and Brittany? Super happy. I don’t want to move. I get a say sometimes, you know. What we have here is enough for us, and we’re happy. You’re happy there, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But we wanna be happy here.”
Tracy is stunned for a few minutes before nodding to herself. Emily storms back into the living room after her outburst. I shrug and follow. My girl needed to get it off her chest.
Tracy didn’t have much of an argument for that, and her snappy comments lessen after that conversation. When she warms by the fire, she makes sure to ask more tentative questions about Emily’s life. She asks about Josh. Emily still doesn’t tell her about the pregnancy scare. That will be my responsibility, but that’s fine. It’s what I’m here for—to have the rougher conversations.
Emily makes chicken potpie that night, proud now that her Home Ec class is done. Tracy says it’s the best potpie she’s ever had—which is a little generous—but I agree to phone home the point. We have dinner on the early side because Tracy’s bus leaves that evening. By the time I’m carrying her suitcase to the front door, things have settled enough that half smiles are all around in the living room.
Brittany runs and hugs her mom goodbye. Tracy swings her back and forth, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head before smoothing down her hair.
“Be good. And tell that boy Luke that he can ask you on a date when you’re sixteen.”
Brittany nods in agreement. I’m pretty sure her mind is stuck on her new Lisa Frank coloring book instead. Good. I’m exhausted with boys around the house.
Emily stands from the couch and reluctantly pulls her mom into a weak hug. It’s awkward and almost uncomfortable to watch. But when Emily’s eyes close, I can tell it’s maybe the start of something good. She needed that hug more than her mom did.
“Be good?” Tracy asks.
Emily nods. “I’ll try.”
I grab Tracy’s luggage and gesture toward the door. Outside the window, a taxi rumbles in front of our house, blowing puffs of exhaust on the plowed street beneath. Tracy nods, and I walk her out to the sidewalk with her suitcase carried over my head. It couldn’t roll on the icy sidewalk even if I wanted it to.
Setting it down, I pull her in for a hug. “Nice to see you, Trace.”
“You too.” She looks back at the house and sighs. “I feel … like I should be here more. I don’t even know them anymore.”
“Don’t feel guilty.”
“I should.”
I shake my head, holding her by the shoulders. “Feel how you feel. But don’t do it because it seems like something you should feel.”
She sucks in a shaky inhale. “I do feel bad, Cliff. Every day, I do.”
“They’re safe here. They’re happy. So, go do what makes you happy. Come visit when you can. Don’t change what’s been working. No need to be annoyed by me more than you need to.”
She blinks and shakes her head. “You don’t annoy me.” She looks down at her shoes and shrugs. “It … didn’t work out. But you’re a wonderful dad. You’re doing good here. Really good.”
“Thanks.”
“And by the way,” she says, “I can tell she really loves you.”
“She?”
“Your neighbor.”
The smile slides off my face. Tracy straightens her posture and nods assuredly.
Love?
I swallow and laugh.
Tracy scowls and interjects a cutting, “Don’t be an idiot, Cliff.”
I tuck my hands in my pockets and hike my shoulders up to my ears. “I try not to be.”
She pokes a finger at me. “I’d better see her again.”
I grin. “Bye, Trace.”
“Bye, Cliff.”
We hug again, holding each other a bit tighter this time.
She gets in the taxi. I load the suitcase in the trunk, and then I pat the side of the car. It putters away. Tracy doesn’t turn back around. She never really has though.