The tension on his face is back, the lines around his mouth tight.
“You seem…you seem like you care about him, but I don’t understand…” Jacob sighs. “He’s been sick. Hecouldn’tvisit you, and I don’t understand why you wouldn’t come here. Even for a short while.”
I step back. His hand falls from my arm, but he continues.
“Anything could have happened with the surgery, and it’s—I used to think maybe you had a fear of flying, or some other travel-related phobia, but now I know you travel all over the place, and it doesn’t make sense. You can do all of that, but you couldn’t find timeto come see your dad?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense to me. It doesn’t seem like you.”
I flush, heat traveling up the back of my neck. “I didn’t know,” I say.
His forehead creases. “You didn’t know…”
“I didn’t know he was sick,” I say, my voice small. I hate the way it sounds. The way all of this makes me feel. “He didn’t tell me.”
“But how…What do you mean—”
“Everything you said, the diagnosis, the treatment, the surgery. I didn’t find out about any of it until a few months ago.” I let out a loud breath. “Some of it I didn’t find out until just now.”
His mouth opens, then closes. Then opens again. “But he never made it seem—”
“Did he tell you that I knew? That I was…avoiding him or something?”
“No,” Jacob says. “He didn’t—” He clears his throat. “He didn’t say anything either way. I just assumed he had told you. He told me and Maggie everything.”
I flinch, and Jacob’s eyes soften.
“Neelu—”
“He did tell me eventually. It took him a while to get ahold of me, so maybe…maybe part of it was my fault.” I look down at my feet. “I didn’t know why he was calling, and I didn’t answer for a long time. But even when we talked, even after the surgery, he never asked me to come here. To visit him.” I stop, my throat growing tighter. “Even then, he didn’t want to see me.”
“That’s not—” Jacob reaches toward me, his arm lifting in my direction, but I step away before he can touch me.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice wobbly. “Just don’t.” Tears build again, but I hold them back. “I get that you think you know my dad, and you’ve spent all this time with him, so maybe you do, but you don’tknow anything about our history. Or what he’s like with me, or—” I shake my head, a tear escaping the corner of my eye.
I turn then, not wanting to cry in front of him. I walk quickly to the entrance of the inn, and even when I hear him calling my name behind me, I don’t look back.
Another tear falls, and I wipe it away with the back of my wrist.
I don’t know what I’m doing here,I think when I reach my room, when I climb into bed.
I felt this way during the rehearsal dinner, and during the wedding, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt it more than I do now.
13
I fell asleep quickly last night, but now I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
Per the welcome packet we received upon check-in, complimentary breakfast ends in twenty minutes. I know I should head down and eat something before we leave via bus, then train, then bus again, but I don’t know if I want to see Jacob or my father just yet.
I don’t even know if I should continue on with them.
Jacob’s on top of things, my father’s clearly in good hands, and Maggie’s fine. I should probably stay here for the repairs to be finished and just let the two of them go on without me.
My stomach rumbles, and I force myself out of bed, pushing my hair out of my face. I need to eat something, even if it’s just to suppress this vaguely nauseous sensation rising within me.
I get dressed quickly, clipping back my bangs instead of trying to style them. When I arrive for breakfast, the four small tables in the dining room are empty.
I take a seat, a little relieved to see that neither Jacob nor my father are here, just as an older woman enters the room.
Her hair is snow white, and the backs of her hands are so pale they appear translucent, blue veins visible from a distance. I’m not sure how old she is, but she looks older than my father or Maggie. I’m surprised she’s not retired.
