Chapter Thirty-Five
“What the hell is this?” His dad shoved a page against August’s chest and pushed past him into August’s house.
With a sigh, August caught the paper before it drifted to the floor and followed him inside. It was too early in the morning for this. “Nice to see you too, Father.”
“Don’t try that sarcastic bullshit with me, son.” His father puffed up his chest and glared. August guessed he was supposed to find the look intimidating. Not long ago, he might have. But he was a different person than he was two weeks ago.
“You have some explaining to do.” His father jerked his chin at the paper still crumpled in August’s hand. August smoothed it out and quickly perused it. Sloane’s PR efforts were really taking off. That woman was damned good at her job. Not that he would say that out loud right now. His father’s face was already an unhealthy shade of red, an impressive feat given his deep brown skin tone. The article, printed from the internet, highlighted their plans for the community center and the podcast, including a section on the inaugural episode. August didn’t have to guess what part had pissed his dad off.
“You made me look like a fool!”
August gritted his teeth. “I told the truth.”
His father sniffed. “How would you know what the truth is?”
“I found Mama’s journals. The ones she wrote in every night.”
His father jerked back in obvious surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“She talked about her love of cooking. How it was a joy she shared with her husband. She was a little annoyed that her husband was getting all the credit, but that would change soon, he reassured her. They just needed to get the family name off the ground. Ringing a bell?”
When his dad remained silent, August kept talking. “Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon the recipes she was working on, tweaks she planned to try. Imagine my even greater surprise when it dawned on me that her chicken cacciatore was the exact same dish that catapulted you to stardom. She loved you—that too was evident in her journals—which is why I’ve kept silent until now.
“I didn’t mean to put you on blast like that, but I’m not upset about it either. I’ve protected you for far too long, thinking that maybe if I was just a little more perfect, one day my dad would love me.” August shook his head in disgust. “But to get you to show up at my house, I had to put a dent in your precious reputation, because at the end of the day, that’s all you care about.”
At the end of his tirade, August’s chest heaved with exertion. Damn, that was the second time he’d gone off on someone in the past month. At least no one was there to record it and put it on social media this time.
Stilted, tense silence filled his living room. But he refused to break it. He’d said what he had to say. It was his father’s turn.
A muscle jerked in his father’s jaw as he glared at his only child. “Do you know everything I’ve been through?” he ground out.
That was his father’s response? Fuck not saying anything more. A lifetime of pent-up emotion came spewing out. “Of course I do. You tell anyone who’s willing to listen. Yes, being a Black chef in a white-dominated field was challenging, but you know who had it even rougher? My Black female mother, who wanted nothing more than to be a pastry chef. Yes, Dad, I opened a cupcake shop because my mother loved to bake, and I’ll never apologize for it.”
“How dare you?” his dad raged.
“How dare I? How dare I tell the truth? How dare I make the great Dale Hodges feel bad? I’m so fucking done. Mama put your feelings above hers. I’ve done the same thing since I was a child . But I’m done doing it. I’m done waiting for my father to show he loves me. I’m a good person. I do have people in my life who love me, who have my back. I don’t have to settle for the little breadcrumbs you throw out when it’s convenient for you. I let my father’s lack of love eat at me my whole life. How great could I be if my own father didn’t have time for me? If I was nothing more than a nuisance to him? But no more. No fucking more.”
His father’s face remained impassive. The only sign he might have been affected by August’s torrent of words came in his slightly downcast eyes. Finally, he lifted his head.
“I am Dale Hodges. I will not apologize for who I am or my life’s work. I am a damned good chef. Yes, I was jealous that innovation in the kitchen came so much easier to your mother than it did for me. I got tired of being turned down for jobs. Tired of laboring in kitchens waiting for my big break. When someone at a festival asked if one of her dishes was mine, I said yes, and I was hired. It was cowardly, but I felt I had no other choice than to keep going if I wanted to keep my job and advance in my career.” He paused, worked his jaw side to side. “She told me it was okay. I told myself no one was getting hurt in the process. And then she was gone and no one else knew. And I buried myself in work.”
Dale walked over to the fireplace and picked up a photo of August’s mother. It was August’s favorite and how he chose to remember her—her head thrown back in pure and unadulterated laughter. A brief smile cracked Dale’s lips. “She was so beautiful. So smart and clever.”
He returned the frame to the mantel and took the few steps to August’s side. August kept silent, steeling himself for whatever his father would say next.
Dale’s voice came out as a whisper. “Despite all of her accomplishments, what I admired about her was her ability to show everyone, especially you, how much she loved them.”
For the first time, August was reminded that his father was not the young man in his mid-thirties August always visualized him as. There was a slight stoop in his shoulders, more gray in his hair than black, lines around his mouth.
But then Dale lifted his head. His eyes were as resolute as ever. “I’m sorry I was never the father you deserved. Then, in my grief, I became even worse and never recovered. I told myself you were better off with your grandfather. That he was there for you while I was busy. I’m sorry.”
Stunned, August stumbled back, his father’s words reverberating through his head. That was more raw, unfiltered emotion out of his father than he could ever remember.
Silence, that familiar foe that always arrived and overstayed its welcome when he and his father found themselves in the same room, made an appearance once again. But he couldn’t let it win. Not this time. He had to speak. To bridge the gap that had always existed between father and son. “Thank you for being honest and apologizing. It means a lot to me.”
Dale scrubbed his face with shaky hands. “I’m so sorry. I miss her so much. That’s not an excuse, but it is the truth.”
August stepped forward. His father fell into his arms. For the first time ever, August saw his father cry. He dropped his head as tears welled in his eyes, as well. Maybe, just maybe, they could heal together instead of separately.
“You okay?” Sloane asked from the driver’s side of her car. They were driving to August’s place after a day at Sugar Blitz Two.
August shrugged. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She gripped the steering wheel harder. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you had a deeply emotional talk with your father after you talked about him in such an open, honest way on your podcast.”
A wry chuckle filled the air. “Oh. Yeah. It was rough, but it had to be done. Sugarcoating got us nowhere. I just told the truth.”
“It was still brave.” She pulled to a stop at the red light and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. I’m in awe of you. You deserve everything nice in the world.”
“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly.
Whatever had him so enthralled had nothing to do with her. Sloane glanced down at the phone in his hands. She sucked in a breath. He’d been scrolling through Instagram and stopped at an ad promoting his ex-wife’s San Diego bookstore appearance.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked. Something had been bothering her since their first incognito date at the bookstore.
He dropped the phone to his lap. “Sure. What’s up?”
Sloane sucked in a breath and clenched her stomach muscles like that could stop the butterflies rampaging inside her. “Is she why you’re doing all of this—to prove something to her, especially since she’s coming back to town? Did you decide to pursue something with me to prove you’ve moved on?”
He sighed. “Yes. And no.”
Sloane tried to hold her heart together, but a tiny fissure appeared in the tissue anyway, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Luckily, August spoke before she was forced to test out her voice.
“She’s been giving interviews promoting her new book. Before I agreed to all of this, I saw one where she talked about how our relationship held her back. How I held her back. I admit I did feel some type of way about it. And it did push me to act, to take on a more active role in Sugar Blitz’s success. But hear me when I say this. I’m not trying to prove anything to her, or anyone else for that matter, by being with you.”
She sighed, happy she had the road to concentrate on while she spilled her guts. “I was so young. You chose her over me. I know why, and I get it. I don’t begrudge you for it, but I guess a small part of me is still hurt by it.”
August vehemently shook his head. “Hey, listen to me. What we have has nothing to do with her or anyone else. The only two people in this relationship are you and me.”
Sloane glanced at the phone lying so innocently on his lap. Melinda smiled confidently at her. She believed him, but she also knew things were rarely that simple. Old insecurities and wounds were hard to let go or recover from. For her and August.