Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (30 page)

“I know, right? That damn poison they keep injecting me with makes me throw up all the time. It's a perfectly good waste of food.” He cracks a smile, trying to ease the tension. But instead I instantly feel guilty for not coming to visit him sooner ... for not working to make amends before now. His days are clearly numbered and honestly, I had no idea he would deteriorate this quickly.

“Come here, son.” His eyes glass over a little and he stretches his arms open wide. I walk into them and he claps his hands against my back. It feels weird but good. I honestly can't remember the last time we hugged. I had to have been a little kid.

We stand like that for an indefinite amount of time, taking the moment in. It's not as awkward as I thought it would be. I know that Mom would be proud of me. Of us.
We've come a long way…

Dad is the first to let go. He slowly makes his way back to the kitchen table to pick up his teacup and walk over to the couch. It's the same tan woven couch from my childhood. I sit down next to him and smile at the cigarette burn on the side of the seat cushion, remembering the night a few friends snuck over and tried to convince me to smoke for the very first time. It ended in a glorious coughing fit, a permanent burn mark on the fabric and my sorry ass getting grounded for a month. Who knew you couldn't cover up the tobacco stench with Lysol?

“So what brings you back to St. Louis? And where's that lovely lady of yours, Phoenix? Did she come with you?” He takes a long pull from his tea.

My eyes shift to the floor. “I, uh ... needed a change of scenery for a little bit. Things have been stressful with work and I wanted to come back and check in on you.”

It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just not the whole truth.
I have really got to stop doing that.

I glance back to him and he gives me a pointed look. I was never much good at telling lies. I'm much better at just avoiding the truth instead. It must be one of the qualities I got from him.

“No ... you didn't. You don't just show up to check on your old man without so much as a heads up. What's going on?”

I take a deep breath and brace myself for my pending implosion. There's no way I can explain everything without completely losing myself. But if there’s one person out there other than Ivy who knows what it's like to lose yourself when you lose the one you love, it would be my dad.

“I fucked up.” It comes out in a rushed mumble, but he clearly understands judging from the solemn look and subtle nod he gives me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He licks his chapped lips and settles further into the couch. His voice still has the comforting lazy draw that I remember from my youth.

“Honestly? Not really.” I don't intend to be rude, but the last thing I want to do is explain to my dad that I'm a lying sack of shit. That I take after him a little more than anyone would like to admit. Besides, he doesn't need to feel the weight of my burden. That cross is mine to bear and mine alone.

“You know, you've got the same look on your face that your mother had whenever things weren't going well. You're so much like her, it's uncanny.” A sad smile plays upon his lips and he looks across the room at one of their wedding photos on the wall. After all these years of separation and even beyond her death, he still holds out hope. He still harbors deep regret. He still wants nothing more than to change the past and get back the best thing that ever happened to him. “Well, Phoenix, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I know I haven't been much of a father over the past ten years or so, but I do love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.” The words feel foreign on my tongue, but I don’t hate the way they come so easily. Maybe through anger and hurt the heart never really stops loving someone in any capacity? Maybe it just needs to be reminded of the good moments in order to be open to loving that person again?

I pull my phone out from my pocket and my chest crumbles when I see nothing. I thought for sure she would have sent me a text at the very least. Maybe she’s ready to move on?

My dad reaches out and grabs the remote off of the coffee table in front him. He flips it to SportsCenter and stretches his legs out in front of him. They're showing highlights from last night’s Chicago Cubs versus Milwaukee Brewers baseball game. Neither team is in the hunt for the pennant, but my heart instinctively aches at the thought of Ivy and her lazy passion for her hometown team.

Ivy. My little cubby bear.

Not much in my life makes sense. The one logical thing that has always remained constant is how I feel about Ivy. And that’s one thing I can’t control.

I tilt my head back and lean against the top of the couch. Above me is the same popcorn ceiling from twenty plus years ago. If I squint my eyes, I’m able to make out shapes and designs. It reminds me of the day I took Ivy out for a date in Central Park.

We’d spent the afternoon at the pond before walking over the Gapstow Bridge. At the crest of the bridge, Ivy stopped me and leaned against the side, staring up at the sky.

“Look at that,” she’d said as she pointed to a cluster of clouds. “It looks like two people kissing. Like in Gustav Klimt’s ‘Der Kuss.’”

Her voice was awestruck and the look on her face was downright ethereal. It hadn’t mattered that I’d never seen the painting she referenced because I knew it was beautiful from the passion in her voice. I looked in her gestured direction and never could find the couple kissing, but Ivy was always capable of seeing the things that most people were incapable of seeing. She didn’t view the world with her own two eyes. She saw the world through her heart.

Until I ruined her outlook indefinitely.

This entire time I’ve been trying to get her to see our situation with her head. Logically approach everything. Realize that there was no possible way I ever could have predicted the outcome we experienced. But that’s not how Ivy processes things. I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to force Ivy to hear me out and give the chance to explain that I never stopped and thought about the depths of the pain she’s feeling. How my actions impacted her heart.

Jesus Christ on a cracker. I am such an asshole.

Even though sleeping with Genevieve wasn't a calculated move, I still can't help but feel at fault for everything. Yes, I should have told her ages ago, but that wouldn't have mattered. I'm sure it would have yielded the same outcome.

“Why did you do it, Dad?” I blurt out, lifting my head to look at him. I don't understand what would motivate someone to knowingly cheat on someone they love.

“Hmm?”

“With Mom. Why did you cheat on her?”

He looks at my questioningly, instantly knowing how I fucked things up with Ivy. I don't give him the details, how it was her sister and happened before I ever even knew Ivy. Not that it matters because that fact doesn’t matter to Ivy. I don’t know why I’m suddenly desperate to know. Perhaps there’s some clarity my subconscious is searching for?

“Honestly? I have no good reason. I was young … really fucking stupid. I had it all and then everything that was good and right in my life was gone in a haze of indiscretion. I had absolutely no idea what I had in my possession. I took your mother for granted for twelve years. And you for that matter.” He shifts uncomfortably.

“How'd you get her back?”

“I wish I knew. Sheer dumb luck? I knew all along she was too good for me. But she made me want to be a better man. And when you two left, I realized just how much I desperately loved her. How watching her walk out the door that fateful day, my heart ripped out of my chest and I never even wanted it back. It was hers for the taking and I spent the next decade of my life trying to make sure she never lost it. I could never love anyone else as much as I loved your mother.”

Dad is quiet for a moment and shifts in his chair uncomfortably. “The affair was the biggest mistake I ever made. But I’m convinced that the day she walked out on me and took you with her was the day that saved our relationship. I know that may be difficult to understand, but it took losing you both for me to truly understand how much I loved you both. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the emotional scars that I’d left on her, but once I grasped that, it became my mission to make things right. I am forever grateful to your mother for giving me that second chance.” His eyes wander from his tea and up to me again. “And I'm grateful that you were willing to give me that second chance, too.”

He doesn't need to say anything more on that subject. We both know how he fell short as a father for my formative teenage years. I know I could continue to crucify him for his past sins, but I've been working hard on forgiveness. And frankly, I appreciate him putting his pride aside for me through it all.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. It doesn't justify harmful actions. Forgiveness just prevents their past actions from continuing to impale your heart. It's the only true way to move forward. And I know that if I can't get Ivy to truly forgive me, this is going to eat at our souls for an eternity.

“Look ... I don’t know what is going on with you and Ivy. And I’m here to talk or listen and do whatever I can to support you. But I want you to know that you are worthy of her love. Never second-guess that. She is one of the luckiest women in the world to be loved by you, and hopefully she realizes that. But she can't just
know
you love her. She needs to understand the true extent of your love. She
has
to feel that. If you love her like I think you love her, you need to make her feel like she's the only girl in the world. That no matter what happened today or in the past or tomorrow or hell, even twelve years from now, she is, was, and always will be the only one for you. If you are able to make her feel that, she won't ever be able to shake you from her bones.”

If only it were that easy.

For years, I watched my dad try to make things right from afar. In time, Mom finally found it in her heart to let him back in. He tore down the walls he initially helped build and they learned to love again. Not that they ever really stopped. I'm pretty sure Mom loved him all along, in spite of the hurt he brought her. They were made for each other and he’d paid the ultimate price for his mistake.

I take a collective breath and hold it tight in my chest.

“I hope so, Dad.”

My phone vibrates on my thigh and I flip it over quickly. I get tunnel vision as Ivy’s name stares back at me. My heart rattles in my ribcage and my pulse goes haywire. The phone dares me to read her message. It challenges me to clench onto that last thread of hope. It threatens to either destroy me or make me whole once again.

“Everything all right?” he asks.

“It’s her …” I whisper.

My stomach twists and I swallow hard. I open her text message, read her words, then exhale through blurry eyes.

Relief.

THE PAST FEW DAYS I'VE done nothing but throw myself blindly into work. Phoenix isn't due back until after the show opens, so I'm doing anything and everything to keep my mind from trying to make any rational decisions on behalf of my heart. Conversely, I’m trying to not allow my heart to dictate my head, at least not before we actually attempt to talk through things. I don’t know if we’ll ultimately work things out, but we owe it to each other to at least try. Or rather,
I
owe it to him for being a complete and total beeyotch and not truly listening to his side of things.

I feel like I've been living at the gallery recently, preparing for the opening of Sleeping Shadows. And in a way, I have. It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works for me. It’s too painful to stay at home … alone … with nothing but the memory of him everywhere I look. So I’m better off working long hours and proving my worth to James Horesji and ensuring a successful show.

It's for the best though. Brock's opening is tomorrow and as I expected, I've been left scrambling to accommodate some last minute changes. It feels like there won’t be enough time to do it all. There’s never enough time. Though I don’t dare mention that to Brock. He doesn’t care because he’s convinced time doesn’t exist, and I don’t have it in me to argue about it.