Chapter 19. It Doesn’t Cost You Anything to Be Kind #2
“We’ve been talking about the woodworking expo next month.” Opa had a big grin on his face. “He said he used to go with his dad, so I asked if he wanted to go with me.”
“I took you there last year,” I pointed out. “Didn’t remember you looking this excited when we went.”
“I was excited. You didn’t remember because you spent the entire time sitting down at the food court reading your book. Anyway, I’m glad you connected me with Rob. He’s a wonderful young man. Polite and well-mannered.”
“He is.” I returned my focus to the road.
“Hard worker, and from the sounds of it, very close with his family.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“He’s funny, too. And patient with older people like me. Signs of a good person.”
“I agree.”
“Handsome, too, wouldn’t you say?”
I sighed. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work, okay?”
My grandfather chuckled, knowing that he’d been busted. “Why not?”
Because Rob believed in that far-fetched fairy tale called love and happy endings, and I didn’t. Because I had more pressing things to put my energy into, and a relationship that might not last was not on the list.
But I’d be lying if I said that he hadn’t been occupying a rent-free space in my brain since this morning.
Maybe even earlier, if I wanted to be truly honest. As much as I’d like to pretend otherwise, it felt like something had shifted between us, even though I had no business thinking of him in any way other than as a friend, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
“We’re here.” I changed the topic, hoping Opa wouldn’t push the issue. I found an empty spot next to a black rental sedan, then helped him out of the car. We walked into the tiny restaurant, and Opa made a beeline for a table at the back as he lifted his hand in a wave.
I followed his gaze, thinking that he was probably waving to the owner, but my steps faltered when I saw the person sitting at the table.
It was my father.
My hand shot out to catch one of Opa’s arms. “Why is he here?”
“He texted me last night. He’s in town for a meeting.”
That right there was proof that my relationship with my father wasn’t the best. Why didn’t he text me as well? The fact that he didn’t tell his own daughter that he was visiting should speak volumes, shouldn’t it?
“He always does this.” My voice was flat, void of any emotions, because you couldn’t have emotions about someone who wasn’t a part of your life, could you? “Waltzes into our lives and graces us with his presence whenever he’s in town and has nothing better to do.”
“He’s only here for a day. And he’s your dad, so let’s give him some respect, okay?” Opa’s voice was gentle but firm. “Your mom and Oma would have wanted you to have a good relationship with him. You can be nice to your own father. Don’t let me down.”
It was a view my grandparents strongly believed in, having been raised overseas in a conservative Asian country where most parents are put on a pedestal, regardless of whether they deserved it or not.
Seniority was everything, and if you were a parent, you deserved unequivocal respect from your children, no matter what.
I didn’t think my dad deserved unequivocal respect from me, but I knew this wasn’t the time to show that.
“Dad.” My father enveloped Opa in a hug, then directed his attention at me.
I wouldn’t be surprised if strangers mistook my dad as my older brother.
Despite the twenty-five-year age difference between us, he didn’t look a day older than mid-forties.
His dark hair, always styled into a neat, short cut, had grown longer since the last time I saw him, probably five or six months ago now.
There were a few sprinkles of salt and pepper at his temples, the only sign that he was a few years away from turning sixty.
“Kim,” my dad said, leaning in to hug me, “good to see you.”
I stopped myself from echoing the sentiment. I was fine with the fact that he was never going to be present in my life, but what I was not fine with was being expected to play the role of the doting daughter without ample notice.
“Are you surprised? I asked Dad not to tell you that I was coming.” My father smiled. “You look wonderful. I’ve missed you both.”
Did he really say that he’d missed us? Me and Opa? That was a blatant lie, wasn’t it? It had to be, because otherwise he would be here with us, wouldn’t he, instead of living on the other side of the world for his job?
Be nice, Kim. He won’t be here for long. Think of him as just another random person, and you don’t really care whether he’s here to stay or not, do you?
But deep down, I realized that I did care.
That he wasn’t here to stay. That he breezed into town only whenever it was convenient for him, and we were supposed to welcome him with open arms and pretend like it was just another day in our wonderful, totally functional family relationship.
My grandparents used to assure me that even though he wasn’t here with us, he always carried a piece of me in his heart.
It was probably true, because I’d get birthday cards every now and then, or Christmas gifts via my grandparents.
So I knew they were right. My father wasn’t a terrible person.
He was just … unavailable.
Physically and emotionally.
I’d reasoned to myself how it wasn’t entirely his fault.
How he was young when my mom died, and it was probably too much for him to deal with his grief while being saddled with the burden of raising an infant on his own.
Some people thrived at being single parents, but my dad obviously wasn’t one of those people.
It still didn’t make things any easier.
I glanced at Opa. This must have been hard for him, too, because this was his son who had chosen not to be involved in our lives. Opa had lost his wife, and in a way, he had lost his only child, too. And he probably loved his son too much to be angry about it.
Fine. If he could sit through the evening and be kind to my dad, then I could, too.
Be kind, Oma used to say. It doesn’t cost you anything to be kind.
I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep my bubbling irritation in check and muted the negative thoughts swirling in my head. “You look well.”
“I’ve been trying to exercise more, eat healthier and all that. Anyway, enough about me. How’s everything going, Kimmy?”
And that there was the real reason why I hated that nickname. That was my father’s special moniker for me, as if a cutesy nickname would make up for all the time he wasn’t around, and things would magically be fine and wonderful between us.
“We’re good. Everything’s going well.” I hoped the subtext was clear: We’re doing great, even without you here.
“I’m glad.” For a brief second, a sad look crossed my dad’s face. “Your mom would have been so proud of you.”
I mumbled my thanks and focused my attention on the menu, even though I can recite everything by heart.
“How long are you here for?” Opa asked.
“I’m flying back to Singapore tonight.”
Opa only nodded, his shoulders slumping a little.
“I’ll probably be back in town again next month. Might stay a bit longer then.”
My head snapped up so fast at that, I might have heard the reverberating crack my neck made. “What do you mean, longer? Like, two, three days?”
Dad cleared his throat. “More like two or three months.”
Silence fell on the table following this announcement. Opa looked wary, as if trying to decide whether he’d heard his son correctly, and I knew exactly why.
“Are you sure?” I blurted out. “You said the same thing eighteen months ago.”
Opa had been overjoyed then, and I was cautiously hopeful, thinking that we would finally have him back.
That after Oma had passed, my dad would realize that he needed to spend more time with his father, with me, because we were the people that really mattered in his life, and that we would finally, somehow, be a normal family.
Well, spoiler alert: It never happened. Something about a new role that was too good to pass up.
It had left Opa heartbroken, and me pledging to myself to never believe anything that my father said, ever again.
“It’s different this time.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I’m definitely staying.”
My grandfather relaxed a little. “That’s great, Daniel. It will be good to have you home.”
A million things were running through my mind.
The main one, I wasn’t going to lie, was dread.
If he really was sticking around this time, that would be the longest stretch of time I’d ever have to interact with him.
The longest he’d stayed with us in the past was five weeks, when I was fourteen, because he was recovering from a broken arm and the news channel he’d worked for wouldn’t have him back until he had fully recovered.
I’d never had to put up with him longer than that, and to be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Why so long?” I blurted out. “What about your work?”
Opa directed a frown at me, and for a moment, an avalanche of guilt followed my question, replacing the dread.
But my father didn’t seem to notice my tone. “I’ve got some time off coming up, and I thought it would be nice to spend it back home. I’ve been thinking about getting a place here, so I have somewhere to stay when I’m in town.”
Time off? My dad? And he chose to spend it with us?
And he wanted to get a place here?
Something wasn’t right, and I didn’t like it.
Because his being here for a long period of time would only lead to one thing: hope.
The tiniest hint of hope that my father and I might have a chance at a normal father-daughter relationship, and when that eventually fizzled—because it would—it would only lead to more disappointment.
Our food came, and Opa asked my dad questions about his work and life in Singapore.
I wasn’t listening, because my mind was too busy recalibrating, trying to adjust to the fact that for the first time ever in my entire life, there was a strong possibility that I’d have my dad around for a couple of months.
Should I be thrilled about it?
Because I wasn’t.
My grandfather didn’t seem to mind, though. Opa was chuckling at one of my dad’s stories, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying seeing his son again. I was happy for him, but that didn’t mean I had to feel the same way, right?
But I didn’t want to ruin the night for Opa, so I kept quiet and nodded and made perfectly acceptable replies whenever someone spoke to me.
Mostly my grandfather, because my dad didn’t even try to initiate conversations with me or ask questions about my life, which had made me even angrier.
I barely survived the rest of dinner, and by the time my father hopped into his black rental an hour later, my chest felt tight, and I was mentally drained from the interaction.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Opa said as we watched him drive away. “He said he wanted to surprise you, because it had been a while since he came home.”
“Please just tell me next time. That kind of surprise doesn’t really do anything for me.”
“I know.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “He’s making an effort to start a relationship with you, Kim. Wouldn’t you want that? At the end of the day, he’s still your dad.”
“Maybe biologically,” I said. “But not in every other sense of the word. You and Oma are the only parents I’ve ever known. And sure, a relationship with him sounds nice, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m lucky I’ve got you, and that’s enough for me.”
There was a long pause before my grandfather finally replied. “I’m lucky to have you, too.” He gave me a small smile. “In fact, have I ever told you that you’re my favorite granddaughter?”
“I better be.” I linked my arm through his. “Can we talk about something else? What do you say we go for a walk? Go get some desserts?”
Opa smiled at me. “I would love that.”