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I laugh. “As okay as they can be, I suppose.”
My father is well aware of some of Armstrong’s antics. While the Mooreheads have paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep their youngest son’s scandalous behavior from becoming public fodder—for the most part—not all of it has managed to stay under the radar.
“Where’s Mom?” My stomach twists at the possibility that she’s going to cancel.
My dad gives my hand a reassuring pat. “She’ll be joining us shortly.”
“Okay. That’s good.” Last week, she and I volunteered at the hospital together. It was emotional, but cathartic to have that experience. It’s only taken me more than a decade to realize that healing happens a lot faster when you stop placing blame and start putting in an effort to make a change.
We’re led to a table, and I take the seat across from my dad.
“She really enjoyed volunteering with you,” he says.
“I think it was good too.” I focus on smoothing out my napkin in my lap. I’d expected it to be awkward, or maybe even painful, but more than anything, it had felt like the beginning of closure for me. “Is she doing okay?” The anniversary of Robyn’s birth and death is quickly approaching, and it’s a hard time of year for my mother. For all of us.
“She’s keeping busy, which I think is helpful.”
I nod. “That’s good. And what about you?”
“I’m always busy.”
I smile, aware that he’s trying to diffuse the sudden sadness.
He leans in, dropping his voice. “I’ve been watching the media feeds; you’ve done a great job setting things up for the older Moorehead boy.”
I chuckle. “He’s hardly a boy, Dad, but thanks. It’s amazing what a haircut and a new suit will do for someone’s image.”
“Mmm … He’s done good things based on what I’ve seen; all his work in developing countries will definitely appeal to the public. Lord knows Moorehead needs some positive publicity after the last couple of years.”
It’s my turn to mmm since I can’t really comment either way.
My father reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze. “You know, Wren, I can help you get the kind of position you want if this ends up being too much for you.”
“I know, Dad, and I really appreciate it, but going about it this way feels less like nepotism. Besides, the challenge is good for me.” I don’t have to agree with or accept other people’s bad decisions. I just have to find ways to help reframe them in the public eye. And thankfully, Lincoln doesn’t have a terrible reputation in the media to clean up, so it’s much easier this time around.
My father gives me a knowing, sad smile. “I think you’ve had enough challenges thrown at you, but I know you want to make your own way. Just know that I’m here to help if you want me to.”
I nod, but I can’t quite meet his gaze. “I appreciate that, but Mom already helped me get this position, so I feel like halfway to favoritism is better than all the way, you know?”
“I understand, and I’m aware your mother’s heart was in the right place when she suggested working for the Mooreheads, and that you took this position as a means to make things better between you, but it shouldn’t be torture either. Your mother thinks the best of all people, which is a noble trait, but you and I both know that’s not always the way things really are.”
“I promise it’s better this time around.” And leaving the Moorehead position would feel a lot like abandoning my attempt to repair my relationship with my mother. “I’m a big girl. You don’t have to worry about me.”
He squeezes my hand again. “You will always be my baby girl, even when you’re forty and you have your own child to love.”
I know he means it. And I believe his sincerity, but I also remember how devastated my parents were when they lost Robyn only days after she was born. I shoot him a wry grin, swiftly moving the subject away from painful memories. “I’d need a boyfriend in order for that to happen. Anyway, let’s talk about the fundraiser this weekend. I think it’s going to be great for the subsidized hospital daycare program.”
“If everything goes well, we’ll be able to get that project under way, which will be wonderful. As much as the Moorehead family seems to struggle with drama, they certainly know how to pull on heartstrings with their charity fundraisers.”
“That they do.”
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” my mother says, startling us both.
“Abigail. You made it.” My father smiles broadly and pushes out of his chair. Despite having been together for more than three decades, and all the ups and downs they’ve been through, including the loss of a child, his face still lights up whenever she enters the room. It’s a testament to his love for her.
