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She rolls her eyes as she takes a bite of salad. “They navigate snow successfully, okay? Yes, I can ski.”
“Well?” I challenge.
“Let’s go on a black diamond tomorrow, and you’ll find out.”
“Deal,” I reply, although there’s no chance I’ll be allowing my pregnant wife to ski down anything other than a bunny hill. I know that’s a battle we’ll have later—and elsewhere—considering Oliver is the only one who knows and she doesn’t know that he knows.
Dinner is followed by Torta di Pane, a lemony bread pudding that’s almost as good as the chocolate-covered biscuits I get here, and then everyone disperses. Candace claims jet lag and goes to lie down. Oliver disappears, hopefully to talk with Candace. Scarlett goes to let Teddy out. My dad takes a phone call.
I wander around the first floor until I end up in the study. I haven’t been to the chalet since last winter. This is my father’s favorite property, so I tend to avoid it. The holidays are usually the only time of year I visit.
The bookshelves and leather furniture look the same. I pour myself a drink from the bar cart in the corner and take a seat in one of the armchairs, looking out the glass doors that lead to the back patio. It’s snowing out. The exterior lights illuminate each individual flake as they drift down from the sky.
Scarlett comes into view, decked out in down and trudging through the foot of snow already piled on the ground from a storm before we arrived. Teddy bounces behind her, barking happily. I smile as Scarlett throws an orange tennis ball and Teddy bounds through the drifts after it.
The door to the study opens and my father walks in. He halts when he sees me, obviously expecting to find the space empty.
“I can go,” I offer. Knowing him, he has work to get done.
He surprises me by saying “It’s fine,” and taking a seat in the other armchair. “You’ve already made yourself at home,” he adds, nodding toward the drink in my hand and sounding more like his usual self.
I watch Scarlett throw the tennis ball for Teddy again.
He follows my gaze, taking in the view of the snowy yard for the first time. “Seems like things are going well between you two.”
“They are.” I pause. “She’s pregnant.”
My father’s smile is wide and full and more genuine than I’ve seen in a long time. “Well, how about that? Nice work, son. Congratulations.”
I shift uncomfortably. Never did I ever think I would have to say this next part to my father as an adult. “Congratulations to you too. Candace seems excited.”
My father is silent for a few minutes, adding layers of awkwardness to what already existed. Finally, he speaks. “I had a vasectomy shortly after your mother died.”
“Oh.” Rather than address the implications of what he’s really saying—becausefuck—I ask, “You didn’t want more kids?”
“Only with her.”
In the twenty-five years I’ve known him, it’s the most sentimental statement I’ve ever heard my father utter. “Mom would probably find that romantic.”
Everything about this moment is bizarre: the small yet genuine smile on my father’s face, talking about my mother like she’s more than a ghost we stopped acknowledging as soon as her funeral ended, how it’s come about by way of his current’s wife revelation.
“No.” He swirls the whiskey in the tumbler, a move I recognize. A move I copy. “She’d be disappointed. So,sodisappointed in me. Losing her was the worst thing I’ve experienced. I shunned everything that reminded me of her.”
I nod.Everyone, he means. “She’d forgive you, Dad.”
He hums a sound with a subtle undertone of thanks.
I glance outside to see Scarlett and Teddy have disappeared. “I should head upstairs. Scarlett is a light sleeper. I don’t want to wake her up.”
My father nods as I down the end of my drink and stand. I’m halfway to the door when he speaks. “Crew.”
I turn. “Yeah?”
He’s looking outside at the snow, not me. “Don’t mention any of this to Oliver. Candace isn’t one to turn down attention. There’s still a chance he’s not the father.” I’m sure I look like a goldfish. My mouth is gaping, but no sound comes out. He chuckles. Dark and ominous. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. Now I do.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking. That I didn’t thinkheknew. I want to ask if he’s planning to say anything to Oliver—or Candace—but I sort of don’t want to know. Mostly, I want to pretend this conversation never happened. “I suspected.”
He’s still staring at the yard. “You should probably request a paternity test yourself. Can’t be too careful.”
