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If Dad’s trying to make a point, it’s not particularly subtle.
“We did speak some at the wedding,” Dad continues. “But I realized long ago, we don’t have anything to talk about.” He sighs like it pains him. “But we’re too old to have bad blood between us. So I’m never going to allow that to happen again.”
And how does Dad realize there’s even a point for him to make? There’s no way anyone could know Max and I had a fight. Or are all parents blessed with psychic abilities where their kids are concerned?
“Well, that’s big of you,” I tell him. “It’s hard to come back from a major disagreement.”
He pauses for a moment as if deciding whether to say the next part. I can almost see him shrugging at my mom opposite him in a “Should I?” kind of way.
“How’s… Charlotte?” he asks. If Mom’s there, she must have given him a firm nod.
“Charlotte?” Just saying her name creates a fist-sized knot in my stomach. “More of a question for Max. I haven’t seen her since the wedding either.”
“Oh… yeah…” His voice drifts. “She seemed to leave in a… hurry.”
Why is he still pursuing the Charlotte line of questioning? He asked me about the exact same thing at the evening party. And seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense about it then, too. I need to cut this off.
“Like I said, I think she hurt her foot. So Max got George to take her home.”
“Oh,” Dad says. “Thought you’d told me she had to rush back to work.” He pauses. “But my memory’s not that great so…”
Shit, yes. Maybe that is what I told him when we were sitting at that corner table. This is why I don’t lie. Lying is really fucking tricky.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not sure. We’d all had a bit much champagne.”
Why would Dad be so curious about all of this? I’d swear on my life he was in the tent when Charlotte and I walked to the woods and couldn’t possibly have seen us.
Although, when we came out, my brain was so consumed with stopping me from sprinting after her that I neither noticed, nor cared, where anyone was or who was watching.
“Oh… yeah…” he says again. “Lovely young woman.”
“Yes.” Probably best to leave it at that and change the subject. “So, you got any tech problems for me today?”
“What?” he asks, like this is a shocking suggestion and he’s never called me with a tech issue in his life. “Oh, no. Just called to see how you are.”
“Okay.” This is all so suspiciously odd.
“Well, there is this winemaking app Walker made me upload to my phone.”
Knew it. “Download.”
“What?” Dad asks.
“Download. You downloaded the app to your phone, not uploaded it. But never mind. That’s not the point.”
Homemade wine is Dad’s new hobby, and Walker, being the brewer of the family, is helping him. Not that you brew wine. But since it’s still a form of alcohol-making, he was the designated helper for this particular adventure.
“Yeah,” he says. “There are some bits of it I can’t figure out. But you can look at it next time you’re here.”
“Okay. Well, it’s good to hear from you, Dad.” And it is. Lying here listening to his voice is the most comforting experience I’ve had in a month.
“Yes, anyway,” he says with renewed purpose, like maybe Mom just gave him a poke and told him to get on with it. “All that business with Eric made me realize you shouldn’t give up on your family without a fight.”
So is all this because they think Max and I have argued and they want us to be friends again? Even if they have somehow mysteriously figured out that part, they can’t know he’s essentially ruined my life. If they had, I’d hope it’d be Max who was getting this little pep talk.
“Right, Dad. Yeah. Good lesson.”
“Okay, then,” he says. “Your mom’s just pouring some coffee and cutting a slice of cake. The Blythewell baker makes the most stupendous lemon and walnut cake. Never tasted anything like it. We’ll get some next time you’re here.”
