43. Connor
“I’ll get these, Dad, sit down,” I say as I stand to clear off the table.
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not much, we’ll get it done together.”
While the dinner was good and the conversation was fine, it wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. I’m not sure what I had in my head when I texted him the other night asking if I could come by, but something about the conversation just felt like I was making small talk with my own father. Even as we carry our dishes into the kitchen, I can’t think of how to say what I want to say. Being at a loss for words is not something I’m really used to. And it’s definitely not something I’m comfortable with.
“You wash, I’ll dry,” he instructs and turns on the sink. “These can go in the dishwasher, but we’ll hand wash the pans or your mother will come back and curse me.”
I plunk my plate down on the counter. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around after Mom died.”
God, that was awkward. But it feels good to get it out.
For a moment, we just look at each other while the faucet runs. Dad quietly shuts it off and leans back on the counter with his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry I’m not around now,” I add.
“I was hoping the sabbatical might help you put things into perspective, but I know what it’s like to be driven the way you are.”
“I don’t know how to fix it,” I confess. “I don’t know…how did you and Mom get through it?”
“We didn’t, really.”
Excuse me?“What do you mean?”
“Your mom was an unbelievable woman. The best woman I’ve ever known. We loved each other, and we loved you and your brother. But we fought about my work until the day she died.”
This is news to me. I remember Mom being disappointed sometimes, but I never remember them fighting. “When?”
“Oh, she found time, trust me. She didn’t want you boys to worry about it, so she would bring it up when you were with friends or out somewhere. You and Chris were a lot of work, in case you didn’t know—and Scott over there was adding to the mix. She loved all of you, but she had things she wanted to do, too, and she wanted my help.”
I take a second to absorb that information. “What kind of things?”
He smiles. “She was a photographer. A very good one, actually. To my untrained eye, at least.”
“Well, why couldn’t she pursue that while we were in school?”
“She tried, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she felt like she had to find time to squeeze in her career dreams. She had to treat them like they were a hobby because I was never around to help. But I was always just so focused on making sure we had enough money.”
“I mean…money’s pretty important, Dad, I think that makes sense.”
He chuckles. “Money is good, yes. It solves a lot of problems.” His face falls, and he stares at a spot on the ground. “It does not solve every problem, though. And it doesn’t bring me any comfort now that she’s gone. There’s no magic number, son. There’s no bank balance that’s going to make you feel like you can take a step back and relax. You have to make that decision independently, because work will always be there. People? Maybe not.”
I’m quiet for a moment. “Do you regret it, though?”
He pinches his lips together. “Every day.”
The lump in my throat continues to grow as I take in his words. As I realize that he probably would have told me all of this sooner if I’d made any time for him at all. The only person I do make time for is Chris, but I was horrible to him. And Jess? I don’t know how I can even begin to fix that.
Dad’s strong hand lands on my shoulder, bringing me out of my spiral. “Let’s have some whiskey.”
I smile. “No booze for me, thanks. But I’ll take a cup of coffee if you’ve got it.”
“You got it. We’ll just leave the dishes for now.” Then he looks up at the ceiling. “I will clean them up later, I promise.” He turns back to me and smiles. “I like to make sure she knows I take care of the house.”
After Dad pours the drinks, we walk back out to the living room when some headlights in the driveway catch my attention. “Um, are you expecting anyone, Dad?”
It’s dark outside, but not so dark that I can’t immediately recognize the bright red Toyota once the engine cuts off and the headlights shut down. Dad’s still silent, so the sound of my heart pounding through my chest is all I can hear.
“Did you invite Jess here?”
“Not exactly,” he answers.
The front door opens and in strolls Chris. Judging from the look on his face when he sees me, he’s just as surprised as I am about this rendezvous.
In perfect harmony, we turn to our dad and say, “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Oh,” Dad takes a sip from his whiskey. “Did I not mention that your brother would be here?”
To say the tension is high would be a significant understatement, as the three of us face off at the dining room table. Dad is at the head with me to his right and Chris to his left, staring daggers at me. We’re sitting here for Dad’s usual punishment—the punishment that, when he was around in our childhood, was always far worse than anything our mom would dole out. We begged to do chores, we begged to be grounded.
Just…please don’t make us sit through mediation.
But here we are. Grown-ass men being forced to arbitrate because we couldn’t play nice.
“Do I need to go over the rules?” Dad asks.
“No,” Chris and I grumble.
“All right. Connor, start us off.”
“Okay, great. Let’s start with: why the hell are you driving my girlfriend’s car?”
Flames immediately light up in Chris’ eyes. “Your ex-girlfriend, moron, you cocked that up real good.”
Dad slams his fist on the table and we quiet. For a man who spends his retirement years trying to be jovial, he slips back into no-bullshit-business-mode with frightening ease. “You want to try that again?” he asks me.
“Yes, sir.”
This is so embarrassing.
I draw in a deep breath and open my mouth to speak, but Dad cuts me off. “Not about the car,” he warns. “Defend yourself.”
I regroup, taking my time because Dad and I can sit in silence all day, but it always makes Chris uncomfortable. I watch him shift in his seat, tapping his finger lightly on the table. And I wait for the satisfaction of seeing him so uneasy, but it never comes. For all his faults and how much he drives me crazy, he’s my best friend. He’s always been there for me when I needed him. And even when I didn’t.
“I can’t…defend myself.” That seems to take them both by surprise. “I should never have said Mom would hate that you’ve given up on your dreams and that your life is mediocre.”
Dad blows out a breath. “Jesus, Connor, you said that?”
“Hey, you’re supposed to be impartial!” I accuse.
“That is rough, son.”
Chris is smirking and I’m actually happy to see his fingers are relaxed now.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him.
Dad looks at Chris. “You have the floor. Did you do anything stupid that you need to apologize for?”
Chris shakes his head. “Not this time, no.”
Dad glances at me, and I nod in confirmation. Chris has rarely said he’s sorry in mediation (or anytime, really), but if he did something wrong, he at least made up for it in other ways. This one, however, was all me.
“All right then, shake on it,” Dad instructs.
We smile at each other and shake hands across the table, pulling in for a hug and a slap on the back.
“Okay, but seriously,” I say. “Why are you driving Jess’s car? Is she okay?”
He looks at me for a moment. “She’s borrowing my truck. She got an internship in LA.”
My heart falls to my feet. “LA like Los Angeles LA?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“She already left?”
Chris nods, his face full of pity.
“When, um, when did she head out? When did she go?”
“Saturday.”
I run one hand through my hair and shove the other one in my pocket, clutching the drawstring bag I carry with me at all times, ever since Chris tossed it on my desk. “Shit,” I mutter. I glance at my dad, who literally just told me how much he regrets the time he lost with my mom. Then I look back at my brother. “She got there safe?”
“Proof of life has been confirmed.”
“Is there…any chance I have…of…” I can’t formulate the words, but he knows what I’m trying to say.
“Only one way to find out.”
I nod. “We’ve got to go to LA.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? No, I meant call her. Like on the phone.”
But my mind is made up. “I can’t give her this bracelet back over the phone, we’ve got to go to LA.”
“Bro, listen to yourself, this is ridiculous. And what is this ‘we’ shit?”
“You can take my car,” Dad chimes in, much to Chris’ irritation. “More room,” Dad supplies.
“Well, then what are you going to drive?” Chris asks.
Dad waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll drive Connor’s car.” He’s been dying to get his hands on my sports car since I bought it last year. It was the only time he could indulge Chuck with auto talk.
“I’m not even driving right now, that’s perfect!”
Chris rubs his face in his hands. “So you want to go back to your place, and drive your car here to Dad so that you can pick up Dad’s car and drive it to LA?”
“Yes.”
“So you can give Jess…a bracelet.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m involved in this stupid idea because…?”
“Because you love Jess and want to see her happy. Or at a bare minimum, you want to be front and center when she throat punches me for the things I said to her.”
He considers that. “But also you need a driver.”
“Right, there’s that.”
Dad and I look at him expectantly as he weighs his decision. “All right,” he says finally.
I punch the air and give my dad an enthusiastic hug.
“I’ll talk to Scotty tomorrow for the time off,” Chris continues, “You are not his favorite person right now, by the way, so I’ll have to lie about why. We can leave Friday night.”
“I’m gonna make it right, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you will. But I’m going to film everything just in case. Scott will really get a kick out of seeing his little sister throw a right hook into your windpipe.”