Page 69 of Hate You to Love You

The sky is pink, with streaks of clouds bursting into orange, the sunset giving the city an other-worldly glow.

‘Have you ever found it easier to walk away from someone than to tell them how you feel?’ I ask.

Dad is silent for a moment, pondering my question. ‘There have been so many times I’ve been afraid to tell people how I feel. But I try not to let that fear get the better of me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. When I was growing up, I used to be so afraid of telling your Lolo and Lola that I loved them. I was the kind of kid that found it embarrassing. What kid thinks telling someone you love them is cool? And there are friends who I grew up with in the Philippines that I don’t talk to anymore – not because we fell out with each other, but because we lost touch. Neither of us made an effort to say that we wanted to remain in each other’s lives.’

A breeze picks up. The trees surrounding the park sway as the leaves rustle around us. ‘So, how did you get past the fear of telling people how you really felt?’

Dad sighs and looks up to the sky. ‘Things become clearer when you get to my age. I’ve lost plenty of people in my life, whether through death or them moving on, and there are so many things I never got to tell them. I don’t live with many regrets, but I do know that if I could turn back the clock, I’d spend more time telling people I loved them.’

If I took out my phone now, I could tell Elliot I missed him. But that wouldn’t change the fact that he left.

‘I’m not saying it’s easy,’ Dad continues, ‘but it’s important.’

I smile. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘So,’ he says, getting up and taking Mum by the hand for a little twirling dance move. ‘Shall we continue with The Great Rom-Com Pilgrimage?’

I stand, laughing, and break up their cheesy dance, which has caught the attention of onlookers. ‘Okay, but only if you two agree never to do that again.’

The next few days are magical. We visit the houseboat from Sleepless in Seattle and Lake Union, stopping at bookshops for me and bakeries for Mum at every opportunity, and I begin to feel like everything will be okay. Even if Elliot isn’t in my life right now.

When we shuffle towards security at Seattle Airport for our flight to New York, I take a moment to look over the list of all the rom-com locations we’ve ticked off. I’m happy, if only for a moment.

But that moment is over in the blink of an eye. Because as soon as we hit the departure hall, the smile slips from Dad’s face. He holds a hand over his stomach and collapses.

chapter thirty-two

now

Elliot suggests we head to Bestseller, a literary-themed bar and theatre in central Dublin. It’s an overcast evening, dreary and grey, but the reflection of the lights makes the wet streets sparkle.

It’s dark inside the bar, the neon signs the only source of light. Leather-bound books fill shelves that stretch between framed posters featuring Irish authors and their works.

‘It was a lot easier to get a seat here the last time I was in Dublin,’ Elliot says to me, as we take a booth beneath a portrait of James Joyce. He slides a cosmopolitan in my direction and takes a sip from his cup of black coffee.

‘You remembered my favourite cocktail,’ I say.

‘How could I forget?’

A line has formed down the middle of the bar, as people wait to enter the theatre located behind a velvet curtain in the back. According to a poster on the window, there is an open mic reading tonight.

‘Did you travel to Dublin for work a lot?’ I ask, bringing the cosmopolitan to my mouth.

‘Yeah. Edinburgh for the literary festivals too. Once I even got to go to Paris with an author whose novel blew up over there after it was translated.’

‘Sounds like a dream.’

Elliot looks away. ‘Some might think so.’

‘There’s something I need to ask you,’ I begin. ‘Earlier today, when you said that life hadn’t turned out the way you expected it to – what did you mean by that?’

He shakes his head. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.’

I push my drink to the side, putting my hands together, and reach over to his side of the table. ‘Why would anyone feel sorry for you? You’re living your dream.’