Chapter Thirty-Nine
When I initially asked Estelle if I could go to Silverpine, it was with the intention of working, but with a much-needed change of scenery.
Being alone in my apartment with only my laptop as company was making me feel unhinged.
As soon as she signed off on the request, I booked the first flight out to Portland.
I’d spent so many years avoiding home that I forgot the kind of peace that comes with being here.
Silverpine is the only place I seem to feel any normalcy these days.
New York doesn’t offer the same comfort as finding Dad quietly reading the news in his office or going next door to see what spring vegetables C? has planted in her garden.
Sometimes, when I let myself detach from work, I hear the pad of footsteps climbing the stairs, and a tiny bud of hope ignites in me.
I hold my breath each time, in case I meet a familiar face coaxing me out for a game of catch or a ride around town in the Jeep.
Curiously, Dad isn’t in his office when I go downstairs.
Even stranger is the trail of cardboard boxes that’s been strewn around the house sometime between my morning coffee and my call with Estelle.
I peek into each one for a clue, but they’re empty.
I suspect it’s a belated New Year’s purge, or the damage after another furniture haul.
Which would also be odd, because I didn’t hear any delivery trucks pull up on our driveway.
“What are you doing?” I ask once I find Dad in the garage.
He’s too distracted with opening old paint cans to register my question. Once he confirms they’re dried up, he places them in another cardboard box and finally looks over at me. “How was your call?”
“Good. My boss asked me to stop working.”
At this, his brows come together, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“She didn’t fire me,” I clarify. “She says I’m overworking myself and wants me to take a break. All paid time off, of course.”
“You have a good boss,” he says, but his face is still tight with doubt.
Ever since I showed up in Silverpine unannounced, my father seems to think I’m on the brink of a meltdown.
And yet, he hasn’t hit me with the obvious But why here?
when I told him I needed a breather from New York.
It probably hasn’t helped that I’ve been stingy with details, and Dad has never been the type to pry.
Silence closes in on us. Dad and I have always been terse with our conversations, but it isn’t typical for us to be this awkward.
“If you’re not working—”
“So, what are you doing—”
Our words overlap, and Dad gestures with his hand for me to speak first.
“What’s with the boxes?” I ask.
“I was just clearing things out. Your room could use a purge too, now that you’re here.” His face is noticeably stony as he says this. “You’ve been hoarding things forever. All those clothes from high school, and there’s your drawers too.”
He means one drawer in particular, the one packed full of Mom’s discarded VHS tapes.
Truth be told, moving out and leaving it behind meant that the drawer didn’t occupy my mind the way it once had.
But it’s been different for Dad. He has to be here all the time, coexisting with it, like an unavoidable sore spot.
“I’ll get to it,” I say unconvincingly.
“Dani.” I can hear the sigh in his voice. “How long are you going to be staying here?”
“Just a week. I’ll be gone by Saturday.” A humorless laugh rises to my throat. “Do you want me out of your hair that badly?”
“It’s not that. It’s just . . . well, your timing is not so great.”
He turns back to the paint cans, allowing the silence to stretch between us once more. Though his hands are busy with prying the lids open, his absent gaze suggests he’s anything but focused.
A cold sensation settles over my skin once I realize I might not like what I’m about to hear. I don’t think there’s anything in the world that can prepare me for bad news from Dad. Not since the morning he told me Mom wouldn’t be living with us anymore. “What is it?”
“A realtor is dropping by at the end of the week.”
“Wait, why?”
He lifts a hand and gestures to the boxes around us. “I’m thinking of selling the house.”
I know I’ve heard him correctly, but my brain scrambles to catch up. That chill sinks from my skin into my bones, and for a disorienting moment, all I can do is let my mouth hang. “What? Are you serious? Why now, all of a sudden?”
“It’s been on my mind to downsize for a while.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I sputter. “Where are you going to live?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he shrugs, like he hasn’t just dropped earthshattering news on me. “Maybe Jersey. Philadelphia is an option too.”
“You’re moving east?” I gasp, completely flummoxed now. But at the mention of it, my thoughts snap back to Thanksgiving. “Then when I caught Chú looking at listings . . . they were for you?”
“He’s really trying to sell me on Philly. He has a great time whenever he visits Nathan there, apparently. Now he’s always finding listings to send to me.”
“Hold on, back up a bit.” I press my hand against my forehead. This entire conversation feels a lot like hallucinating. “Aren’t you supposed to run this stuff by me first? This is my house too!”
“Dani, you’ve come home four times in the last five years.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I shoot back. “If I hadn’t come back home this time, would you have even told me?”
“Of course I would’ve,” he says. “I was trying to figure out how, but it hasn’t been easy. I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”
“Understandably! You made this huge decision without consulting me first! What if I don’t want to sell the house?”
“I didn’t bring it up to negotiate with you—”
“Right, because you can’t have a real conversation with me.
” My jaw clenches, and I exhale sharply though gritted teeth.
I can feel my hands trembling. “You do this, Dad! It’s like you’re so afraid of talking about anything uncomfortable or difficult or painful, you’ll do anything you can to avoid it!
That’s why we never talk about Mom, isn’t it? ”
I wince as soon as I say it. Shit. I’ve gone and dropped the M word.
Dad looks like he’s miles away. I watch with a sinking feeling in my stomach as his hand pauses on the lid of a can and slides the container out of reach. I don’t know what kind of reaction to expect. We’ve never had this fight before, and I was beginning to think we never would.
But he doesn’t sound defensive when he finally speaks. Instead, his voice comes out small and a little somber. “Dani, do you know why I want to move out east?”
I stare at him, waiting for him to answer his own question.
“When you told me about the Asia correspondent job, I wasn’t so crazy about you going so far away. If I’m being honest, I was relieved you didn’t leave. It made me realize what a shame it is that we live so far apart.”
“You want to move to be closer to me?”
“Would that be the worst thing?”
“No, of course not.” I take a couple steps to the Civic in the middle of the garage, leaning against it. I’m surprised I’ve managed to stay on my feet this long. “But I really wish you’d talk to me first.”
Dad stands next to me, crossing his arms as he rests on the car. The seconds pass in this shared stillness, our eyes trained on the wall as if the right words to say will materialize there.
“Your mother got remarried.”
“I know,” I say. He glances at me, surprised. “I happened to call her during her honeymoon. How did you find out?”
“One of her cousins reached out,” he replies. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know.”
“She looked like she was having the time of her life. Now that I think about it, the Italian coast really suits her,” I try to sound casual but end up frowning at the floor. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods after a beat.
“I barely hear from her anymore. She doesn’t seem to care how I’m doing.
It’s been years, and she hasn’t tried to see me again.
” Emotion clogs my throat, but I swallow it down.
“Was it always like that? I mean, I have these memories from when I was a kid, and it seemed like she wanted to be around then. What happened to her?”
Dad sorts carefully through his thoughts.
When his jaw finally relaxes, he speaks in a quiet and measured tone.
“No, it wasn’t always like that. Our marriage started happily enough, although in hindsight, we did rush into it.
Your mother’s visa was about to expire, and we were two lovesick students who thought being together was all that mattered.
We didn’t stop to consider we might want different things. ”
“You mean like having me?”
His face crumples slightly at this, marred with hesitation.
“She knew how much I wanted a child. I asked her to settle down in a small town, and she was worried about how that would affect her art career. But she did try, for the first few years, because she loved you. Until one day . . . one day, she started picturing a life that didn’t include you or me, and she made her choice.
Your mother brought the divorce papers to me, and by then, I was sick of fighting. I was just so tired.”
Dad tilts his head back and lets out a long sigh. I’m almost too scared to see what face he’s making. I don’t think I could handle watching his heart break again.
“I’m sorry, Dani.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of me.
“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to carry the divorce around with you.
You’ve never been one to ask questions either, so I guess over the years, it got easier to just ignore it.
To pretend we were fine. And I thought we were.
But I realize that was the easy way out for me. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you by mentioning her,” I respond. “I was always so confused about what I was allowed to say or feel.”
“I know—I know, and that’s my fault.” He shakes his head but then looks at me intently. “If you’d like, I can get in touch with her. It’s not too late to set something up. Maybe she can go to New York and stay with you a while.”
I can see the apology weighing down his eyes.
The shadow of remorse is unmistakable. My gut feels at odds with itself as guilt and grief press against each other.
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had the sense that the more I love something, the harder it is to hold.
That’s why I can’t get rid of Mom’s tapes, not when they are among my last remaining connections to her.
I’ve thought that if I don’t let go, maybe the universe will eventually reward me for my stubbornness.
Every so often that childish hope pops up, like whenever I miss my mom, or even now, when I think of saying goodbye to our house.
It’s the same part of me that wishes Parker would tell me he wanted a serious relationship.
But I’m tired of holding on. When it hurts this much, perhaps the only option is to let go.
“I’m okay, Dad,” I assure him. “If that was something she wanted, we wouldn’t have to persuade her. I’ll keep that door open in the future, but I’ve had twenty-two years to learn how to live without her.”
Reaching out, I take his hand in mine and give it a light squeeze. The unfamiliar gesture elicits the slightest twitch, but his gaze is warm and full of affection. He doesn’t say anything but gives my hand a small tug back.
As I’m heading to the door, he asks, “You’ll really be okay if I sell the house?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. With my feet paused on the stairs, I take a lingering look around the garage. “It’s hard to imagine anywhere else as home.”
This might be the one thing I’ll never learn to let go of.