Chapter 24 Rose
“Alright, thanks, babe!” Wilkes calls back, already turning onto the sidewalk, breaking into a jog.
We’d gone back and forth about using his home gym, but I needed to build a relationship with a studio if I was serious about taking on regular clients.
I’d found this one near my old apartment a year ago, then fell off after I moved.
It’s small and well-equipped, though—Iyengar wall straps included, which his home gym doesn’t have.
When I called the owner about renting outside of class hours, she jumped at it. Yoga studios aren’t exactly lucrative.
The session went well. We worked on opening his hips to offset the tightness from his weight training, and he felt the difference right away. Now he wants to outfit his home gym to match.
I’m still watching his form as he disappears down the block when my dad steps into my line of sight. I’m so surprised, I blurt, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He winces. “Ah. Easton told me where you’d be.”
Traitor.
I take him in. Just like when I saw him at the wedding, Dad seems older than he should be, new lines framing his face, shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before.
“Okay. Well. What is it?” I ask, stepping back, though not really having anywhere to go. Wilkes was my only client today.
“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Jo thought it was a good idea for me to—”
I roll my eyes and move around him.
“Wait, Rosie. Honey, wait. I’m not here because of Jo.”
I cross my arms.
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
I shake my head and step back toward the studio door. “No, Dad.” I feel bad even saying the words, but I’m barely holding my shit together these days.
“I didn’t know how to reach out. After everything.” He scratches his neck again. “Jo just reminded me that things don’t fix themselves. That’s all I meant by bringing her up. I came because I need to do the hard thing.” He pauses. “You’ve always been mad at me, Rose.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
“You’ve never had time for me, so when could I be mad?”
“You were always so strong. You never seemed to need me. And when I try to help, you just get mad.”
“I was strong because I had to be.” I cross my arms tighter. “Especially after Mom died. You weren’t there. But you always made time for Pearl.”
His eyes go wet. It’s an uncomfortable thing, watching your father cry on a busy New York sidewalk.
I should feel something softer. Instead, I feel like a little girl who’s angry at her dad.
“When she died,” he says, “it was like losing my translator. I didn’t know how to talk to you.
You were always so headstrong. And Pearl, she needed so much extra attention.
I don’t think you know how bad things were with her mother.
That’s no excuse, but it is the reason why. ”
I look down at the pavement. He’s right that it isn’t an excuse.
“It started before Mom died,” I say quietly, feeling my throat want to close.
“You always treated us differently. Why do you think she never wanted to marry you?” Maybe that’s a cruel thing to say, but it’s true.
She never said it outright, but I heard enough through closed doors to understand.
She loved him—he was fun, adored her, and made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
But she could never get past how differently he treated me, how rigid he was toward me.
Dad looks like he’s losing Mom all over again. And I hate that I put that look there. I should backtrack, but I just… can’t.
“I wasn’t ever mad at you,” I say. “But you never supported me. Not really.”
“I just wanted great things for you. You could have been an incredible doctor, Rosie. You have so much potential.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I feel my voice go sharp. “I’m happy. I chose the path I wanted. You just saw it as taking the easy way out. Did it ever occur to you, I didn’t want to be a doctor? That your path isn’t the only valid one?”
“Of course it isn’t. But I thought you wanted medicine. I thought you didn’t go to med school because you were being—”
“Lazy?” I hiss. He’s thrown that word around so many times, it’s no wonder it’s exactly what Pearl thinks of me.
“Obstinate,” he corrects. We both know that’s shit.
“And what you said to Pearl? That I was dangerous?”
“That was a mistake. I didn’t—she was over one night, after you’d been by asking me about nurse practitioner scope of practice. You’d just finished the business plan. It made me nervous, I’ll be honest.”
The accusation is like a stab. “You actually thought I’d pretend to be—”
“No, sweetheart, I know. It was you talking about the blood panels, the tox screens. I didn’t think you knew how to—”
“I know how to read them. I went to school for this. You don’t listen. You don’t care enough to listen.”
He looks down. “I didn’t realize. And I do care, sweetie. Of course, I do.”
It’s hard to believe him. We stand there. Then he says, “Pearl overheard me say some things. She asked me about it, and I had some wine and was a little loose-lipped. I should have shut it down then, especially knowing your rivalry.”
“I have no rivalry with Pearl.”
“Don’t you? Wasn’t it you who dumped glitter in her bed when you were a teenager—”
“That’s because she—” I stop. “A stupid teenage prank and deliberately, maliciously torching my career are not the same thing.”
He concedes that, at least. We go quiet again.
The air between us is still thick. “Rose, I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.
I just came here because I wanted you to know I’m working on it.
On myself. None of this was ever about you, or your fault.
I know I have a long way to go. But I hope we can try to have a relationship again. ”
“I’m done trying, Dad. I’m done being the one who shows up. If you want a relationship with me, that’s on you now. I’m done.”
I turn and walk away before he can answer. The guilt pulls at me the whole way down the block, but I don’t stop. My head is pounding. It stings to hear him say all that out loud. But my shoulders feel lighter.
Unfortunately, the only person I want to talk to about it is Logan. I pull out my phone. He’s still blocked. I can see the messages he sent, sitting there unanswered.
I miss you.
I miss him too. But missing someone isn’t the same as forgiving them.