Chapter 9 #2
Hearing her say it aloud—betrayed—slashes through me. I fight to keep my voice steady. “I understand, honey. I’m sorry. I’d do anything to fix this, to not put you in this position. But I can’t lie to you.”
She inhales sharply, then lets out the breath in a rush. “So what now? You’re together? You’re… what? Dating? Moving in together?” Her tone wobbles between sarcasm and confusion.
“We’re figuring it out,” I say softly. “But it’s serious. We’re not just casually dating, Fiona. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. I love her. And I still love you. That’s never going to change.”
She brushes fresh tears off her face. Her anger seems to be deflating, replaced by a hollow sadness that makes my chest feel like it’s caving in. She looks at Lacey again, searching for words. “How could you not tell me you felt this way?”
Lacey’s lower lip trembles. “Because I was terrified you’d hate me. And maybe you do now. But I couldn’t lie to you forever.”
Fiona’s eyes brim anew. “I don’t hate you, Lacey. I’m just… hurt. And angry. So angry.”
Silence presses down on the three of us, broken only by the quiet hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Finally, Fiona drags her chair upright and sinks down into it. She stares at the table, lost in thought. Lacey and I exchange a tentative glance, unsure how to proceed.
I decide to break the tension by walking around to open the wine.
My hands shake as I insert the corkscrew.
Pop. The cork slides out. I pour three glasses, though I have no idea if anyone’s in the mood to drink.
When I set a glass in front of Fiona, she lifts it immediately, takes a long gulp, then grimaces slightly.
“So,” Fiona says quietly, “you want my blessing?”
Lacey cringes. “We just want your understanding. Your… acceptance. Maybe not tonight. But we hope eventually.”
Fiona lets out a bitter laugh. “Acceptance. Right.” She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t promise I’ll be okay with this tomorrow, or next week, or maybe even next month. This is… it’s a huge shock. The two of you have been sneaking around behind my back.”
“We didn’t want to sneak,” I say gently. “We wanted to protect you. Though I see now it might’ve just made things worse. We tried not to cross any lines, but the feelings were already there.”
Fiona sniffs. “You sure you’re not just chasing some midlife crisis fling? Some… fatherly protective nonsense that you’re confusing for love?”
The sting is sharp, but I force myself to remain calm. “No, Fiona,” I say softly. “This is no fling. You know me. I don’t do flings. I haven’t dated seriously since your mother and I divorced, and even before that, I’ve never felt this… complete. This alive.”
Fiona gives a tiny shake of her head. She looks at Lacey, who’s still standing. “And you? Why my dad, of all people? You could have anyone you want.”
Lacey’s voice wavers, but there’s resolve in it.
“Because he’s kind. And strong. And patient.
And he’s been there for me in ways no one else ever has.
I know how it sounds. I know it’s weird to hear me say that about your dad.
But, Fi, I can’t pretend he’s not the man I love just because it’s inconvenient. ”
Silence settles over us again, heavy and suffocating.
Fiona stares at the candle flame for a long time, her expression torn.
Finally, she takes another sip of wine, blinking back tears.
“I’m so angry with you, Lacey,” she whispers.
“Angry that you didn’t tell me the moment you felt something—anything—for my dad.
We tell each other everything. Or at least, we used to. ”
Lacey’s tears spill anew. “I know. You have every right to be angry. I wish I could rewind the clock and find a better way.”
Fiona’s shoulders slump. “You can’t. And Dad—” She lifts her gaze to me, fresh pain swirling in her eyes. “It hurts that you didn’t come to me first. I thought we were close.”
I reach for her hand across the table, and she lets me take it. Her fingers are trembling. “We are close,” I insist. “You’re my daughter, my biggest priority. But this was never going to be easy. I was afraid of losing you.”
Fiona nods, though tears slip silently down her cheeks. “And that’s exactly what I felt when I saw you two just now. Like I was losing something—losing you, losing my friend, losing the life I thought we all had.”
No one speaks for a moment. Lacey stands with her arms wrapped around herself, trying to keep from breaking down completely. I squeeze Fiona’s hand. “You haven’t lost me,” I vow. “I’m still here. I love you, honey. That will never change.”
She sniffs again, pulling her hand away to wipe her cheeks.
“Okay,” she says, her voice thick. “I’m not saying I’m fine with it.
I’m… I’m definitely not. But if you two are serious—really serious—and you both keep telling me you’re in love, I guess I can’t stand in your way.
I don’t want to sabotage my dad’s happiness. Or yours, Lacey.”
Lacey exhales, relief flickering across her features. “Fiona, thank you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “That means more than you know.”
Fiona holds up a hand, shaking her head.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not gonna pretend everything is great.
I need time to process. I need time to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to talk to you about normal friend stuff now.
Or how I’m supposed to talk to Dad about things without picturing the two of you… together.”
A flush creeps up Lacey’s face, and I feel my own cheeks heating with guilt. “We understand,” I say. “I promise we’ll respect your space. And if you need to set boundaries, we will.”
Fiona blows out a breath, reaching for the wine again. She takes a quick swig, then sets the glass down hard enough to make a thump. “Yeah,” she mutters, looking at Lacey. “I mean, you’re still my friend. I just… I can’t be as close, not right now. Maybe not for a while.”
Tears slip down Lacey’s cheeks, and she hugs herself tighter. “I—I understand,” she whispers. “I hope someday we can rebuild.”
Fiona nods. “Me too.”
The candle flickers, casting dancing shadows across our faces. An odd hush settles over the table, not quite comfortable but no longer laced with the same raw hostility as before. I clear my throat, trying to ease us into something resembling normalcy.
“Should we, uh, eat?” My voice cracks slightly. “The food’s probably getting cold, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”
Fiona looks at the spread, her eyes reddened from crying. She shrugs. “Sure. I’m not sure how much I can stomach, but let’s try.”
Lacey moves first, stepping around to retrieve the chicken from the warming tray on the sideboard. Her movements are tentative, as though she’s afraid to make the wrong step. I grab the serving utensils, and we plate the food. Fiona sits stiffly, sipping her wine in silence.
We begin to eat, the cutlery clinking softly against the plates.
The tension hasn’t fully lifted—it hangs in the air, tangible—but at least there’s no more shouting or tears for the moment.
I watch Fiona pick at her meal, and my heart aches for her.
She never asked for this. She had a normal life, a best friend she trusted, and a father who was single and not complicating matters. Now all of that is upended.
Fiona breaks the silence, her tone subdued. “So… how long? How long have you two been, uh, together?”
I glance at Lacey, who looks back at me with uncertainty. “We haven’t been, you know, official for very long,” I say carefully. “A week, maybe two.”
Fiona nods slowly, absorbing the words. “Does Mom know?”
I tense. My ex-wife, Fiona’s mother, is not exactly the easiest person to deal with. She’s already prone to gossip and drama. “Not yet,” I admit. “That’s going to be another conversation.”
Fiona’s eyes flutter closed, as if she can’t bear the thought.
“Well, I guess that’s up to you guys. She’ll flip, for sure.
But if this is real—” Her voice catches.
She sets down her fork, staring at me with a mixture of sadness and resignation.
“Dad, you say you love her. I’ve never heard you talk like this about any other woman, not even the few you dated after Mom.
And Lacey… I know you. I know when you’re serious, and I can tell you are. ”
Lacey sets her fork aside, a tear sliding down her cheek again. She nods. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever.”
Fiona sniffs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “You two are crazy, you know that, right?”
A small, tremulous laugh escapes me, and Lacey follows with a watery smile. “Yeah,” Lacey says, voice shaky. “We know.”
The conversation lulls again. We eat a bit more, though none of us have much appetite. The chicken is delicious, but it feels like ash in my mouth. I keep glancing at Fiona, hating the heartbreak carved into her expression.
Eventually, Fiona sets her fork down, half her meal untouched, and draws in a shuddering breath.
“Dad, Lacey… I’m going to try. Okay? I’m going to try to accept this because I love both of you.
But I can’t be all happy and excited about it right away.
It’s just… it’s weird. It hurts. But I want you to be happy, Dad.
And Lacey, I… I don’t want to lose you completely. ”
Lacey pushes back her chair, crosses to Fiona, and kneels beside her. Fiona stiffens, but she doesn’t move away. Gingerly, Lacey places a hand on Fiona’s arm. “I’ll do anything I can to make this better,” she whispers, her voice tight with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”
Fiona’s jaw clenches. She hesitates for a moment, then clasps Lacey’s hand. It’s not exactly a warm hug, but it’s a gesture of some sort of acceptance. My chest floods with a bittersweet relief. There’s still so much tension, but there’s a thread of hope there, too.
“I guess we’ll take it one day at a time,” Fiona mumbles, swiping at her tears again.