Just a Number (34 page)

Not above begging for a response at this point, I drop to my knees on the floor beside my father when he continues to avoid eye contact with me. “He loves me,” I whisper, trying to coax his eyes to mine. Stubborn as always, he refuses.

 
“And I love him. Like I said, we didn’t plan this. It was only supposed to be a one-time thing.” When his face screws up in a way any father’s face would at hearing his daughter and best friend only planned to engage in a one-night-stand, I shrug. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. Owen tried to tell me it was a bad idea and that we shouldn’t…”
This
captures his attention. “But
I
persisted. He’s certain you’ll never forgive him, but you should know that none of this was his fault. Not solely. You can’t throw away three decades of friendship over this so easily, can you?”

He still hasn’t said a word, and I honestly don’t even know what he would say at this point, so I’m surprised when the first words out of his mouth are, “Carla’s known all along.”

I swallow so thickly, it’s audible. “She has… She, um, saw us over Christmas and confronted us. I asked her to keep it from you until we could talk to you, so please don’t be angry with her.”

He doesn’t appear angry—a little more hurt about the fact that the entire world seems to be in on this whole thing, perhaps, but not angry.

I wait next to him for whatever he might offer up next, but when he fails to say anything else, I sigh, defeated. Holding back tears, I snatch the keys off the table and head for the door, not wanting him to see how hurt I am by his unwillingness to participate. But before I can walk through the door, I stop, glancing down at the ground.

The minute I close the door, the first of several tears fall. It had taken a really long pep-talk on the drive here to even get me out of the car and through the front door, and what does he have to say? Absolutely fucking zilch.

I came here to try to help him understand and he just sits there, occasionally shooting me a glare because he didn’t like what I had to say. I didn’t expect him to just come around and accept it right away—obviously—but it would have been nice had he acknowledged even one damn thing I said. Did I want him to yell and scream at me and ask me what the hell I was thinking?

Well…no. I don’t think so, anyway. I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if the silent treatment is better than him yelling and treating me like the child I no longer am.

My conclusion: they both suck. I don’t want either. I want him to just…
understand
. Is that too much to ask?

Of course it is, because if I put myself in his shoes, I know I’d be just as upset. Not only did he find out Owen and I have been seeing each other, but we kept it from him. How will he ever be able to trust us again?

I slide into the driver’s seat of Owen’s car and sit there for a few minutes, going over everything I said and trying to decipher his expressions by memory. The more I think about it, the more I recognize that he definitely didn’t seem as angry…until I mentioned that this was all kind of his idea. I don’t think he appreciated that much—hence why I backpedalled.

But there it was; that one tiny glimmer that he was on his way to understanding. Sure, he’s still got a long way to go before he reaches acceptance, but I’ll take understanding. Baby steps, and all that.

Sniffling, I pull the visor down and look in the mirror. My eyes appear more blue than gray and are red and puffy, the whites completely bloodshot, and my cheeks are wet with tears. I wipe them away with my fingers and try to calm myself enough that I can drive. I’m in no condition to brave the highway just yet, so I decide to head down to the diner for a coffee and maybe a bite to eat.

My stomach growls, agreeing wholeheartedly with that idea.

I’m not sure I’ll leave for the city after eating or if I’ll try talking to my dad again. Perhaps I’ll give myself time to think about it and go from there. Yeah. That’s a good idea.

Happy with this impromptu plan, I put the Lexus into gear and head toward the diner. It’s not far from the house—I probably could have walked—so it doesn’t take long to get there. The smells that greet me upon entering are inviting and familiar, and I take mine and my dad’s usual seat in the corner by the window. It’s merely out of habit, and as I pull my chair out, I smile fondly, remembering all the Saturday night dinners here.

While I wait for my BLT and fries, I go over everything I said to my dad again. I realize I’m obsessing over the entire interaction, but I can’t help it. Until he comes around, I think this is what’s going to occupy every waking thought.

When my lunch arrives, I eat a few fries. This whets my appetite, and I dig into my sandwich. I’m suddenly ravenous, and when I’m halfway through my meal, the bell over the door chimes, and I look up out of habit.

Instantly, I’m stunned into silence, nearly choking on the small bite in my mouth, when I see my dad saunter in. His hands are in the pockets of his work jacket, and he greets the serving staff with a tip of his head…before he looks over to find me at our table. It’s a bizarre coincidence that he’d turn up here, and I feel like he hesitates before taking the first of several steps toward me, stopping at the table and looking down at me. We stare at one another for a very awkward minute or two before he clears his throat and glances out the window, his eyebrows pulling together like he’s concentrating on something in the distance. He’s not; this is classic Alan avoidance. I used to think it was adorable when he got nervous like this…that was before I was on the receiving end of it.

“This seat taken?” he asks.

I stammer unintelligibly for a minute before finally replying. “Uh, n-no.”

Another minute passes as he contemplates sitting down, and I silently beg and plead him to. Finally, he does, and I relax in my seat, my meal forgotten, my half-empty belly filled with butterflies.

“How was your lunch?” he asks, glancing down at my plate as he leans on the table, hands clasped in front of him.

“Good…” I pause, biting my lip nervously. “We really going to talk about the food, though?”

He chuckles, and I’m exulted to see his smile reach his eyes, making the outer corners crease. “No, I suppose not. Look, Amy—”

“Dad, I’m so sorry—”

We both speak at the same time, and then we stop, wanting the other to finish. When neither of us does, we laugh lightly, nervously. We’re more alike than I remembered. I can tell a little of the tension between us has lifted, but it’s still there, hovering precariously overhead and threatening to drop at any second if we don’t tread carefully.

Then Dad speaks. “No, Amy, let me talk.”

I swallow thickly and nod once, bracing myself for whatever is going to come next.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear everything you said today…I did.” He falls silent before continuing. “I was going to call you this afternoon.”

“You were?” His confession surprises me.

“And then you showed up. I thought I was ready to talk about everything, but when I saw you…I don’t know, I just froze. I didn’t mean to shut you out. You didn’t deserve that, regardless of the circumstances.”

One of the servers stops by the table and offers Dad a cup of coffee. He accepts and takes a sip before continuing. “I was an asshole. For leaving the way I did the other night, for today…for hitting Owen. For everything, really. I’m not proud of how I’ve acted.”

“Dad, I get it,” I tell him softly, “but you even noticed we were happier than you’d ever seen.”

He inhales sharply, swallowing the truth of my words. “I know what I said,” he replies.

“Do you?” I challenge. “Need I remind you how you were practically high-fiving Owen for moving on after Gretchen?”

“Before I knew he was moving on with
my daughter
!” he hisses under his breath, his mood going from mild-understanding to barely-contained rage in a half second. “What was I supposed to say, Amy? Congratu-fucking-lations? When’s the wedding?” He laughs humorlessly. “I don’t fucking think so.”

I stare at him, keeping quiet and calm until he controls himself. His eyes meet mine, and I can tell that he regrets blowing up like that. “Be that as it may, you were happy for him.” Tears sting my eyes, remembering how he accepted Owen’s little tryst, but had been against mine from the beginning. “And then there was me… You jumped to the conclusion that I was some stupid kid who wouldn’t recognize whether or not she was being used by a man. It hurt, Dad. Still does. I just wish you could trust us.”

“He lied to me—you both did,” he states, point-blank.

“Did we, though? I don’t recall you outright asking us if we were an item.” It’s a long shot, but you better believe I’m taking it.

“That’s a technicality,” Dad argues, eyes narrowing again. “You still should have told me.” I suddenly feel like a six-year-old being chastised by her father, and I look away, feeling unworthy of holding his gaze. “You withheld something from me, and that’s just…well, it’s not like you, Amy.”

My eyes burn with tears of shame, and I nod solemnly. “I know. But you understand
why
we did it, don’t you?”

His response is immediate and only somewhat expected. “I think I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me this.”

“Would it have changed anything?” I ask, careful not to inject any defensive tones into my voice. “If we’d have told you as soon as it all started, would your reaction have been any better?”

“You don’t feel I was entitled to act the way I did upon finding out that you and Owen—a man you called
Uncle Owen
up until a few years ago—are…” He seems to struggle for the words, and then he rights himself, making his question much less crude than I imagine he’d been thinking. “Together?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him truthfully. “I was honestly a little stunned that you were so angry with him.” He eyes me curiously, but allows me to continue. “You’ve known him for so damn long, Dad. I guess I figured that, maybe once you found out it was Owen I was seeing, you’d realize there was no way he was taking advantage of me. Has he ever given you a reason to not trust him?” Something about what I’ve said makes him laugh, and I grow a little irritated. “What?”

Dad shakes his head. “You and Carla rehearse that?” I shake my head, my eyebrows furrowing a bit more. “She said something eerily close to that last night.”

“Well, she’s a very smart woman. You should listen to her.”

Dad chuckles. “So I’m told.”

“I’m serious, though, Daddy,” I tell him, changing my tone and my term of endearment in hopes of helping him with the transition. “He’s never made you think he was the kind of guy to take advantage of women before. He was married to an evil wench for thirteen years—”

“And just recently got out of that relationship. Why wouldn’t he go off and have a meaningless fling with someone much younger and more prone to not want a commitment?” His words sting a little, and I wince.

Deep down, I know I’m reading too much into what he’s said, but he must see the insult in my eyes before I drop them to my half-eaten meal, and he jumps to clarify. “You’ve always been wise beyond your years, Amy. More mature and responsible than your peers, but you’re still so young. You’re just starting out in life while Owen’s already lived and settled down. Kiddo, this is your time to make mistakes and not be bogged down with someone else’s drama or have your heart broken because you’re playing a part in his midlife crisis.”

I reflect on what he’s said for a second before I look back up at him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe that’s what I wanted?” He stares at me, dumbfounded. “Listen, I’ve dated boys my age—all through high school and even college.
They’re
the ones looking to use and abuse girls, Daddy…”

This makes Dad’s eyes widen, and his hands clench his coffee mug so hard I fear it might shatter and we’ll be making a trip to the ER. “Nolan?” he asks, his face reddening and his nostrils flaring. “Did he…?”

“What?” I inquire, confused and shocked. “God, no. Nolan was great, we just…didn’t work.” I take a deep breath, clearly losing him and unintentionally making this worse for him. “I always steered clear of that kind of boy, Dad. I knew the destructive paths they paved, and I wanted no part in it. I’ve never looked at a relationship as temporary, and you should be over the moon with that. You taught me that love isn’t fleeting and that sex shouldn’t be taken lightly. I’ve been so damn responsible, and while I know you don’t want to hear it, I think that’s why I originally thought Owen and I could have something…different. You of all people know he’s always been loyal to a fault with Gretchen, and I’ve always had longer-than-average relationships for my age…why couldn’t we both just…” I trail off when I notice him shift in his seat uncomfortably, but I decide to just rip the Band-Aid off; we’re both adults here. “…have that short, meaningless fling. It was something we both agreed on, and neither one of us banked on anything more coming out of it. I realize now that I wasn’t meant to have flings. You raised me to crave the satisfaction that a monogamous relationship offers. Somewhere along the line, we fell for each other, and we’re happy. You’ve even mentioned it on more than one occasion…and yet…”

He ponders this, his eyes narrowed and curious. “I want you to know that, had I known you were the woman Owen was—” He stops himself, practically choking on the words, so I jump in to save him.

Slowly, I reach across the table and lay my hand over his forearm. “We never—not in a million years—meant to hurt you.”

“And I understand that,” he says with a shrug. “But, I can’t just forgive and forget overnight. It’s going to take some time.”

Nodding, I pull my hand back and place it in my lap, cracking my knuckles. “I know.”

Dad sighs. “Look, I’m only just sorting through everything and trying to figure out how to deal with it, but I wanted to talk to you before you left town.”

I pull my eyebrows together, confused about the tail end of his statement. “Wait, you knew I was here? I thought you’d just come to grab something to eat and this was all a coincidence.”