25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
brENDEN
After my meltdown the other day, I can see the concern in Travis’s eyes every time he looks at me.
Like now, at the diner.
He’s trying to be subtle, but I know he’s watching me as I sit here with May, picking at my Reuben.
We still haven’t talked more about why I was so upset.
But what’s the point?
I can’t explain it.
All I know is I haven’t felt normal ever since Elise and Grant showed up.
I’m lying to them, and my guilt about it keeps growing the longer they stay.
I’m forcing May and Travis to lie to them too, which also sucks.
But at the same time, they’re making me feel like I’m not a good enough father or business owner.
And whether intentionally or not, they’re digging up feelings about losing April that I painstakingly buried long ago.
I can’t go on like this much longer.
If it weren’t for having Travis around, to calm me with his thoughtful gestures and distract me with the incredible orgasms, I would’ve already lost it completely.
Though I won’t say May’s grandparents have been entirely awful.
Sometimes my brain tries to convince me they’re being that way, but actually, for the most part, they’ve been kind of great.
Much less uptight than I expected.
They’re clearly happy to be here, spending time with May.
And me too, I guess, by proximity.
But that’s also what makes it hard.
Because this thing—the four of us, and even Travis—is almost starting to feel like a real family.
But it’s not real.
It can’t last.
There has to be an end date, right?
They have to go home sometime.
And then Travis will stop pretending to be with me, and May and I will be all on our own again.
I look at my daughter, watch her ripping apart pieces of a buffalo chicken tender, and I smile despite the painful thoughts going through my head.
It’s been just me and her since she was two.
She’s always been more than enough for me.
But it’s not fair to assume I’m enough for her.
Maybe Elise was on to something when she said she wished May had two parents.
I’d be blind not to notice how easily May’s bonded with Travis, how she enjoys having him around as much as I do.
Travis.
What are we doing?
He’s at a table nearby, using a pitcher to refill someone’s water.
As if he can sense my stare, he glances over mid-pour, and we exchange brief smiles.
But then he cuts his eyes back to his task just in time to not overflow the glass.
We’ve fucked twice now.
I know what he tastes like, know what noises he makes when he comes.
I know the intimate way he watches me as we move together.
And I just don’t know how I’m ever supposed to give that up.
I don’t want to go back to the way things were between us, where all I know are his grunts and occasional smiles and his skill at changing a flat tire.
It’s dangerous to hope, but I can’t help it.
I’m hoping that there’s some way I can keep him.
“I need to ask you something,” May says, disrupting my thoughts.
“And I think it’s going to upset you, but please just listen.”
“I’ll always listen to you,” I assure her, a bit hurt that she’d ever think I wouldn’t.
She picks more of the breading off her chicken, her fingers covered in dark orange sauce now.
“Grandma and I were talking when we had brunch...” she starts ominously.
And while I have no idea what she could possibly be gearing up to ask me, I’m guessing she’s right in that it’s going to upset me.
“It’s just kind of weird that we never talk about my mom. You and me, I mean.”
My heart sinks like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Of course we don’t talk about April.
Because for one thing, I don’t think I’m capable of talking about her without breaking down.
And for another, I always thought it would hurt May to hear about what she lost.
In a way, I thought she was better off than I was by not being able to remember.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tell her, “I thought I was doing what’s best for you.”
“I know,” she says quickly, attempting to clean her hands with a napkin, but they’re too messy.
Travis appears out of nowhere with extra napkins, and after he walks away, she turns back to me.
“I’m not blaming you, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you too, kid.”
She smiles.
“I know you do. And I’m sure you don’t talk about her because you don’t want me to be sad. But I think you’re sad. You try to hide it, but I think maybe letting yourself talk about her will help. And I... I think I deserve to hear about my mom.”
“You do,” I choke out.
Because she does.
Maybe it was selfish of me to hold my memories back from her.
“Grandma talked about her a tiny bit at brunch the other day. And we were thinking maybe it would be nice to have a sort of memorial where we could all talk about her.”
“A memorial?”
No.
My gut reaction is to say no.
Because I don’t want that.
But May pushes her plate aside and gives me a gentle yet imploring look.
“Dad. We both lost her, but I didn’t even know her. I think it’s harder for you than it is for me, and I think you’re holding in a lot of stuff that you might need to let out. I can handle it. I don’t want you to be sad, but I can handle it if you are.”
“I’m not... I don’t...”
It feels like I’m drowning.
Like my lungs are filling up with water, not air.
Then as if by magic, as if he could sense my growing distress, Travis appears beside me and places his hand on my shoulder, his long fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to make things inside me settle.
I don’t think he was eavesdropping on our conversation, because all he says is, “Hey. You good?”
Glancing up at him, I force myself to nod.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
That’s not one hundred percent the truth, but under his touch, I do feel much closer to fine.
Like he threw me a life preserver when I was drowning.
Although really, I’m sure that if I was drowning, Travis wouldn’t hesitate to jump in himself to save me.
He gives me a long, searching look, then squeezes my shoulder.
“Okay.”
After he returns to helping other customers, I turn back to face May.
My daughter never asks for much, but she’s asking me for this.
And as much as the idea of talking about April and being forced to dredge up all my pain fills me with dread, I would give my daughter anything she wants.
So I’ll have to give her this.
“Travis can be there,” she says.
“What?”
“If you want him to. I know he didn’t know my mom, but if it would make you feel better having him there with you, I think he should be.”
“Why do you think he would make me feel better?” I ask, averting my eyes down to my half-eaten sandwich.
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and when I risk a glance up at her, I find her smiling at me knowingly.
“Because he always makes you feel better.”
It seems like I should argue that, but I can’t.
Because it’s true.
There’s a reason I ran to Travis on Mother’s Day when I couldn’t handle all my emotions.
And while he can’t fix any of this stuff for me, he did make me feel better.
And maybe I didn’t recognize it so much before, but I’m realizing now that he’s been doing that for me for years.
Travis has always shown up for me whenever I’ve asked him to.
But this time he’s done it in such a big way that I honestly don’t know what to say to him.
At some point, thank you stops cutting it.
When I sneak into the back area of the diner—where I’m not supposed to be, and yes, he’s going to yell at me—to find him at the grill cooking pancakes, I’m overwhelmed with everything I feel for him.
He not only agreed to be at this freaking memorial, but he offered to close the diner early so we could have it here.
Because apparently, Elise and Grant told him that April loved coming here for pancakes on their vacations.
When he asked Elise if she liked the idea, her eyes watered.
Then she thanked him, and hugged him, and looked at him in a way I’m not even sure she’s ever looked at me.
Almost like family.
Turning around now, Travis spots me standing in the small kitchen.
“Get out of here!”
I chuckle at how right I was.
“I just want to help.”
“That’s nice, but according to my insurance company, you aren’t allowed to help, so get your sexy ass out.”
“The restaurant’s not even open,” I argue, enjoying our typical banter even more now that there’s an element of flirting to it.
Up until a few weeks ago, I thought this man was as straight as an arrow, and I’ve never been so happy to find out I was wrong.
“It doesn’t matter. Out!”
“But—”
He gives me a stern look and repeats, “Out!”
Huffing, I tell him, “Fine, but at least let me help bring things to the table.”
This time the look he gives me is much softer.
“Go stand on the other side of the passthrough.”
Good enough for me.
That’s still behind the counter, which still makes me feel kind of special.
And really, I was only looking for a task so I wouldn’t be sitting out there miserably with May and her grandparents.
It seems like we’re waiting for Travis before we start this thing, so they’re being weirdly quiet.
They look sad already though.
Who thought this would be a good idea?
I don’t understand the point of talking about the most painful thing we could possibly talk about.
We all went through it once.
Why do we have to do it again?
I remind myself I’m doing this for May.
It sounds horrible to me, but if she wants me to rip myself open for her, I will.
“Can you carry this stack without dropping it?” Travis asks me from the kitchen, as he sets a giant platter of pancakes on the passthrough ledge.
I want to be insulted, but it does look heavy, and I’m not the most coordinated person.
“How about I bring out the toppings and leave this to you?”
The way he smiles at me makes me want to get him naked, cover him with some of his homemade whipped cream, and then lick it off him.
But I try to wipe that fantasy from my mind as he passes me bowls of blueberries and sliced strawberries.
The last thing I need is to pop a boner while everyone else is crying.
Once we have the food set out on the largest round table and everyone’s served themselves, I have nothing left to distract me from the building panic.
What are we supposed to do now?
Do we just start saying shit about April?
Who goes first?
And is there any chance I can get away with not speaking at all?
Travis pulled the blinds down over the diner’s big glass windows to give us privacy.
I appreciated it when he did it—because lord knows, I don’t want the whole town to witness this sobfest.
But now it’s getting claustrophobic in here.
“I know this is a little unorthodox,” Elise starts, glancing around the table at each of us.
“We had a memorial service after April passed away, of course. But May was only a baby, and after she and I discussed it, I realized that she’d appreciate the opportunity to hear more about her mom. So we don’t need to be formal here. We can all share whatever we’re comfortable with.” She turns to May and places a hand over her wrist.
“And if there’s anything you’d like to ask us, please do.”
May sets down her fork, a huge chunk of pancake speared on the end of it.
“I wouldn’t even know what to ask.”
“That’s okay,” Grant assures her.
“You can just jump in if you think of anything.”
“Would you like to go first, Brenden?” Elise asks.
As everyone’s eyes focus on me, I avert mine down to my plate where I’ve drowned my pancakes in a lake of syrup.
“No,” I say meekly.
Thankfully, no one pushes me.
Elise begins talking about April as a child, her favorite games and books and movies.
I swirl my fork through the syrup lake while I pretend to listen.
When Grant joins in with Elise, I force myself to eat just so I’ll have something to do.
They keep the conversation flowing for a while, and May chimes in with comments and questions.
Beside me, Travis is quiet, but I can tell he’s listening.
Once they move on to talking about April in high school and college, it gets harder for me to let their words float in one ear and out the other.
I have things to say.
This was when April was my favorite person in the world, and I want to talk about how awesome she was.
I want to tell May how much of her mom I see in her.
But I’m afraid of what will happen if I open my mouth.
I’ll either start sobbing instead of talking, or I’ll start talking and never be able to stop.
Neither of which is productive.
It keeps itching at me though, the desire to talk about those years with April.
But is it appropriate to tell her parents and daughter about how often April snuck out of her house to spend the night at mine?
Do they need to hear how much Elise and Grant drove her crazy?
They definitely don’t need to know that she gave her first blowjob before I did, and then I made her demonstrate for me with a hairbrush handle because I was worried I’d do it wrong.
Although I’m avoiding eye contact with anyone, I can sense May watching me.
Without looking at her, I can’t tell if she’s concerned at how silent I’m being, or if she’s disappointed in me for not participating.
Either will make me feel like a failure.
Travis’s chair scrapes across the floor as he scoots closer to me, but the conversation continues.
He puts his hand on my leg, right above my knee.
The form of comfort doesn’t magically work like it has every other time he’s touched me like this.
But I’d give anything for him to keep his hand there anyway.
Actually, I’d give anything for him to pick me up and carry me right out the door, but I know that’s not going to happen.
“Dad?”
My eyes instinctually look up to find my daughter’s, and I can see she’s been crying.
I feel awful.
It’s my job to shield her from things that would make her cry.
I’m failing.
I’m failing.
I’m failing.
I need to get her out of here.
“Can you please try to talk about her? For me?”
Oh.
She doesn’t want to leave.
She wants to keep sitting here and talking about these things that are making her cry.
How is she so strong?
She certainly didn’t get it from me, because I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through this.
She must have gotten it from her mother.
But didn’t April tell me I was strong, and that I’d teach May how to be too?
My lungs start to fill with something other than air until Travis squeezes my leg.
I glance down at my soggy pancakes, then back up at May.
My brilliant, wonderful daughter.
I agreed to do this for her, but I’m not really doing it, am I?
I’m supposed to teach her how to be strong.
And it’s becoming impossibly harder for me to hold back my memories.
Because here we are, having pancakes for dinner, which April would’ve loved.
And suddenly, something that April said to me when she asked me to adopt May comes to mind, along with another memory.
But this one’s not of April.
“I don’t know if this counts...” I start slowly, letting my voice adjust after the disuse.
“But do you remember your seventh birthday? We had a party on the weekend, but I asked what you wanted for dinner on your actual birthday, and you said cookies. It made me remember the talk I had with your mom when she asked me to adopt you. One of the things she said was that she wanted you to grow up healthy, but she also wanted you to know that sometimes it’s okay to have cookies for dinner.”
Elise makes a small noise, but I keep my focus on May.
“So I made the cookies, and we ate them together right at the kitchen table, and we talked about the silliest things. And... maybe it didn’t mean anything to you. You just thought it was cool I was letting you have cookies for dinner. You probably don’t even remember it now. But it felt like your mom was there with us, and it was one of the best nights of my life.”
There’s an excruciatingly long moment of silence after I stop talking.
Then May says, “Of course, I remember.”
She gets out of her seat and comes around to me, bending down and throwing her arms over my shoulders.
I hug her back like she’s a lifeline.
And as soon as she steps away, I break.
A wretched sound rips from my throat, and she spins back around, looking concerned.
I quickly insist I’m okay, but the tears have escaped now.
“Dad?”
Waving my hand frantically, I say, “It’s fine. I’m fine. All good. Please ignore me.”
“Dad.”
“No, no. Don’t let me ruin the party. Everyone can keep talking.”
I have no idea what I’m saying.
Words are just spilling from my mouth, anything to trick them all into looking away from me as I fall apart.
Because I’m supposed to be strong for my daughter, damn it .
And how can I do this to her?
How can I let her see me so weak?
As May reluctantly takes her seat again, she gives me the saddest smile.
“Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know the part about my mom, but I do remember how much I loved that night with you.”
It takes everything I have not to sob out loud.
It’s like I finally wrenched open a rusty valve, and now that the tears are flowing freely, they may never stop.
Elise offers me the slightest saving grace by continuing the conversation, drawing eyes to her.
And as much as I want to be ignored, I can’t help adding some more of my own anecdotes about April to the mix.
But I’m crying silently the entire time.
Stop it, stop it, stop it , I beg myself.
This is not me.
This isn’t what I do.
I smile and laugh and make people feel good.
I don’t drag down the mood.
Right when I’m about to get up and flee, because I can’t stand to let everyone witness this any longer, Travis scoots his chair even closer so that it’s jammed up against mine.
He puts his arm around my shoulders, tugging me to his side.
I go willingly until there’s no space left between us.
It feels like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
And with him supporting me, rubbing my back, kissing my hair, I make it through this.
By the time everyone’s ready to go, I’m so emotionally wrung out, I’m not sure I can move.
There are a lot of pancakes left on the table.
There’s a big mess left on the table, actually.
I want to help clean it up, but all I do is sit in my chair as if I’ve been permanently fused to it.
I live here now.
At least I know I’ll always be well-fed.
I’m aware of Elise and Grant saying goodbye.
Aware of Travis telling me and May to wait for him to take care of the mess and then he’ll drive us home.
I’m aware that May gets up and helps him, the two of them talking quietly while they clear the table.
The dried tear tracks on my cheeks make my skin feel tight.
I need a warm shower.
Or maybe an exorcism.
When it’s time to go, May comes over and gives my hand a squeeze.
I’m afraid to look at her, but then she says, “Thank you for being so strong for me,” and my eyes shoot up to hers.
The words don’t make sense, but she looks so sincere.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say, my voice raw and scratchy.
It’s not until Travis grips my side and urges me up that I realize I’m supposed to stand.
I follow him outside like a puppy and climb into his truck after May.
The drive to my house only takes a couple minutes, but I spend each of them silently bemoaning the fact that my daughter is sitting between me and him.
I need to be closer to him again.
Feel the press of his body against mine and just know that he’s there.
And because he’s Travis, he doesn’t even make me ask for that.
After pulling into the driveway, he leads me into my own house with an arm around my waist.
May disappears, and he takes me up to my room.
At least I’ve finally stopped crying.
He’s not a fan of emotions, so dealing with me like this must be hard for him.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him as he helps me get undressed.
“What in the world for?” he asks.
I gesture uselessly at myself.
“For me. This. You didn’t sign up for taking care of me.”
He gives me an odd look and steps closer, one hand curling around the back of my neck and gently bringing my forehead to his.
“I think I did. In case you haven’t realized it yet, there’s not a single part of you I don’t like. You bring so much sunshine into my life, but don’t think I can’t handle the rain too. I’ll be here no matter what.”
“I... um...”
What could he possibly mean by that?
I was saying that him having to take care of me wasn’t part of the fake dating or fun hookups deal.
But it sounds like he’s talking about something more than that.
Not a single part of me he doesn’t like?
There’s no way he means that the way I want him to, right?
I’ve tried to pretend I haven’t been falling for him these last few weeks, because I never imagined he could fall for me too.
Except now we’re alone, no one to put on a show for, and I’m a terribly unsexy, tear-stained mess.
And he’s looking at me like he’d move mountains just to be in this room with me.
So I don’t question it.
I watch him take off his own clothes, then I get into bed when he pulls down the covers for me.
Instead of going around to the other side, he gets in right behind me, nudging me forward enough to make room for himself.
But he doesn’t let me go far.
He’s the perfect big spoon, molding his slightly larger body around me, one arm slung over my waist and securing me tightly against him.
“You’ve been holding all that stuff in for a long time, haven’t you?” he asks, his lips tickling the back of my neck.
“What stuff?”
“About April.”
My body tenses.
He’s not wrong though.
And with the way I completely fell apart, trying to deny it would be stupid.
“I don’t talk about her, but I think about her every day. I just never wanted May to find out how sad I am inside. I mean, I’m happy too, don’t get me wrong. I love my life, but I’ll always miss the people I’ve lost.”
The arm around my waist squeezes me comfortingly.
“It’s okay to be sad sometimes, you know. Do you want your daughter to think she has to hold in any negative emotions? Or do you want her to be able to talk to you when she’s sad?”
“Of course I want her to be able to talk to me,” I say, as his words sink in and I realize he’s right.
I want May to have healthy coping mechanisms.
He places a kiss at my nape.
“So you should be able to talk to her too. Being a dad doesn’t make you any less human.”
I hum in agreement, feeling foolish that it took me this long to understand that.
And maybe it’s weird that someone who’s not a parent, and claims not to even like children, is the one who helped me get here.
But maybe not.
Travis might not talk a lot, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening, that he doesn’t understand.
I’m beginning to think he understands me better than anyone else could, because he pays attention so well.
As we lie here naked together, warm skin to warm skin, the idea of initiating something sexual occurs to me, but I let it pass.
Sex with Travis is fantastic.
But somehow this form of intimacy is even better.
It’s friendship and understanding and contentment and stability and fulfillment.
It’s everything all at once.
He holds me as my eyelids grow heavy, as his breathing slows.
He holds me like he never intends to let me go.
The two of us may have started out faking this, but as we drift off to sleep together, I’m certain that nothing has ever felt quite so real to me.