Chapter 20
We’re only an hour away from Skye, and even though it’s overcast today, the view is beautiful.
Mist hangs over the mountains, and it’s all so haunting. Ethereal. Like we’ve stepped into some other land, another time, a movie set for some high-fantasy film.
My father offered to drive, so he’s behind the wheel, and though I told Jacob he could take the front seat, he refused, saying he’d be fine in the back.
And so, for the first time on this journey, it’s my father and I sitting together in the front. And about fifteen minutes in, it’s Jacob who’s fallen asleep.
I suppose that makes sense. My face heats as I remember how little sleep the two of us got last night.
My father’s humming under his breath, slightly off-tune from the song on the radio. It’s strange to see him like this. His entire posture is different, his shoulders relaxed and his face open.
But then he catches me watching him, and a shutter falls over his eyes, his spine growing stiff.
He looks back at the road, and the air between us feels thick.
After stewing in it for a moment, my father clears his throat. “I wanted to thank you,” he says. “For yesterday.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t continue. “For what?”
“For…for including me. Asking me to come with you. And Jacob.”
“Oh,” I say. “It wasn’t—” I’m about to brush it off, say something like I was just being polite, but it would be a lie. “We wanted to spend time with you,” I say instead. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
His head turns, his gaze snapping to mine, then away.
“I…I wasn’t great company yesterday.”
My throat grows tight, and I cough, trying to force the sensation away. “I know,” I say. “That’s partly why…I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He blinks, but doesn’t offer any other reaction, and I feel a familiar pang of disappointment.
“But you seem great today,” I say lightly. “Excited to see Maggie?”
The tension in his jaw softens. “Yes,” he says. “I am.”
We grow silent again for a while until my father lifts his hand, turning the volume on the radio low.
“I was watching season seven yesterday,” my father says.
I look at him with surprise. “Yeah?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I’ve seen it before, but that’s the one I like best.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he says, his mouth curving into the smallest smile. “When Ricky arrives, and Jenn jumps off the boat and stays underwater so he can’t see that she’s on a date with Luis?” He chuckles. “That moment’s a classic.”
I’m stunned into silence.
My father doesn’t just watch the show. He actually knows it. He sounds…like a fan.
“Have you seen the last few seasons, then?”
“I’ve seen them all.”
I blink. “Why? Do you…do you watch other reality shows? How did you even—I mean, I remember you said it doesn’t air here, so I don’t understand why you—how you even found it.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Neelu, I watch it because you work on it.” He says it like it’s something obvious. Like it’s something I should know, but I don’t.
This man has barely shown any interest in my life. Has barely taken the time to get to know me. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand him.
“Why?” I ask.
His brows fly up. “Why?”
“Why watch it just because I work on it? Why would you—”
He gapes at me for a second, but turns back to the road quickly as we come up on a hairpin turn. The force of it pushes me to the side a little, and I glance over my shoulder, checking on Jacob, but he’s still fast asleep, leaning against the window, his mouth partly open.
We finish the turn, and the road becomes a little easier. At first I think my father’s going to let this topic drop, but after a while, he speaks, his words clear and surprising.
“You’re my daughter.”
A rough breath escapes my lungs. And for some reason, the corners of my eyes prick.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to cry in front of him.
I curl my hand into a fist and place it under my thigh, the pressure helping me hold my emotions at bay.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“What?” my father responds, startled.
“I’m your daughter?” I say, repeating his words.
“Yes?” he says, slow and hesitant.
“And that means what, exactly?” My tone is harsh, more bitter than I want it to be, but I can’t seem to help it.
“I—” My father’s brows crease. “I don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t understand. You—you let me go, Dad.”
He opens his mouth, his expression stunned. “But I—”
I interrupt, not in the mood for excuses.
I’ve been bottling up these words inside me, and they’re more than ready to come out.
“When Mom left you, even if things were over, even if there was nothing for the two of you to work on, I don’t understand how you could leave me like that.
How you could—why you wouldn’t try to be closer. ”
My father’s eyes grow wide, and mine start to sting. I look away, blinking quickly.
“I tried,” my father says, his voice stilted. “I looked for work, but there was nothing close to where you would both be living. And nothing like the job I had, so I thought—I thought I’d stay, and I could visit and—”
“And that was it? You thought that you could parent from across the ocean? That it wouldn’t matter? That it would just be fine to be an absent father?”
He sucks in a breath.
“No, I…I came to see you. And I asked for you to come see me, but after that visit…” He trails off, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
I scoff. “You came once a year,” I say. “You think that was enough? And that trip?” I shake my head. “You barely talked to me. You barely spent time with me. You barely even—”
“I didn’t know how to! You were so clearly miserable. You didn’t want to be there. And I couldn’t blame you. I didn’t know what to—how to make you happy, and that was just for a week. You were obviously much happier with your mom, and I—”
“Do you know how badly I wanted to come see you? How excited I was? I begged Mom to let me go, and when I got here, it was…it was heartbreaking.” A hot tear spills out of the corner of my eye.
“I just wanted to connect with you, but it was like you didn’t want me there.
You looked at me like you didn’t know what to do with me, asked me the same questions over and over again like you didn’t know what to say. ”
“Because I didn’t. I didn’t know how to talk to you.” My father’s knuckles turn white. “I’ve never known how to—”
“But why?”
He swallows, but as the seconds pass, he doesn’t look over. Doesn’t say anything, and I throw up my hands.
“I can’t believe you. Maybe you didn’t know how to talk to me as a kid, which, whatever, but when you ended up in the hospital, when you were literally diagnosed with cancer, didn’t you think that was something I might want to know?
That I might care about that? That I might worry about you?
” My voice breaks, and it’s then that I catch Jacob’s face in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide open, no longer asleep. His gaze fixed on me.
I wait for him to chastise me, to intervene on my father’s behalf, to defend him as he’s done before, but he doesn’t do anything of the sort. He just stays quiet, watching me, his face unreadable.
“I didn’t want that,” my father says. “I didn’t—it wasn’t your responsibility.”
“You should have let me decide that,” I say. “You should have given me a choice!” My blood boils, anger rising to the surface. In the back of my mind, I know we have an audience now, but I can’t find it within me to care. “You should have at least told me about it.”
“I know,” he says, his voice small. “I should have.”
I go still.
“I didn’t know how to, at first, and then I called, but I know that was too late.” He winces. “I should have told you earlier.”
I stare at him, his acknowledgment of his fault in the matter taking me by surprise.
“It seemed better…You seemed to prefer it when I backed off, so I figured that was what was better for you. That you were better off without me.”
And now my temper flares again. “So, you’re saying this…this dynamic between us is my fault.”
“No. I’m not saying—”
“I was a kid.”
“I know. I—” His mouth opens, then closes. Then opens once more. “It’s my fault. I didn’t…I should have tried harder. I know that. Even with the distance, I could have tried harder. I just didn’t know what to—how to do that.”
My pulse rings loud and heavy in my ears. And I turn, looking out the window.
I don’t believe him.
Because look at what he was able to find with Maggie. And James. And Jacob. He found a family to call his.
And I’m not part of it.
A shaky breath leaves my mouth, and out of the corner of my eye I watch Jacob straighten.
“Uncle,” Jacob says softly, and my father startles.
He must not have realized Jacob was awake.
“There’s a lookout coming up in a kilometer,” Jacob continues. “Let’s pull over there.”
My father glances at the dashboard, checking the digital clock.
“But Maggie—”
“Let’s stop there,” Jacob says, his voice firm, and my father listens, driving the remaining distance in silence, stopping when we reach the lookout.
—
The second my father puts the car in park, I open my door, practically leaping out.
I hear my name called, but I don’t turn back to see which man said it.
Instead, I take a slow inhale and let the mist settle over my skin. Cool and calming.
I didn’t come here for this, I think. I didn’t come here to hash things out with my dad. To find some kind of reconciliation. I didn’t come here wanting any of that.
Didn’t you? another voice says, some young, small part of me that makes me tear up again, blurring the rich landscape of green in front of me.
“Here,” a voice says, and I feel heavy fabric settle over my shoulders.
My sweater.
I push my arms through it and pivot to find Jacob, the lenses of his glasses fogged up.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and sweet, and for a moment, I want to fall into it.
I want to press my forehead against the center of his chest. I want to scream.
And maybe cry, and know that someone will be there through all of it.
Will be willing to listen, to hold me. Will be willing to stay.