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“Probably.”
“Well, those are good idols to have,” I drawl, my fourth mouthful of drink going down a lot smoother. “This isn’t so bad. Maybe I’m a whiskey girl.”
“Easy, killer.” He peels at his beer label. “You don’t talk much about your dad.”
“That’s because I have no idea who the man is. I really have no clue why he wants me to be in his life at all. Appearances are deceiving. I may be here, but he’s not. Half of the weeks I’ve been here, he stays in Charlotte. After nineteen years, he’s still a mystery to me. An iceberg. It’s pretty bad when you can’t see any humanity in the man responsible for half your created life. When I got here—and although I was pissed about it—I tried to keep an open mind, but it’s proven pointless. If I had to choose one word to describe him and our relationship, it would be evasive.”
He nods and takes another sip of his beer.
“And your mother?”
“Absent,” I say softly, shaking off the threatening emotion and muster up a smile. “Painfully so, as of the last six months.”
He turns my hand over on the table and runs the pads of his fingers on the inside of my palm. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s life. I’m all grown up now. Mom did her job. Dad at least helped pay some of the bills. I really have no reason to complain.” But it’s hurt that seeps into me as I recall a time where I felt like my mother’s priority.
“I miss her,” I admit as I pull my hand away and shake my head. “They say she was born in a directionless generation. I honestly have to agree with that assessment. For years, she lived this big abundant life, always looking for more, wanting more and never really carrying any of her grand plans out. I admired her so much, and something—something—must have happened along the way. I still can’t figure it out. It’s like she forgot who she was and just…gave up.”
“She’s what, in her early or mid-forties?” Sean asks.
I nod. “She had me when she was my age. I guess you could say we grew up together.”
He shrugs. “So, she’s close to halftime. She’s probably trying to figure out how she wants to live out the second half.”
“Probably,” I rub at my nose to try and stop the budding burn. “I just wish she would let me help her figure it out.”
“That’s not your job.”
“I know.”
He gently nudges me. “Doesn’t make it any easier though, does it?”
“No.”
He doesn’t offer me anything more. He just sits there with me, letting me grieve, his touch reassuring as he squeezes my hand.
“So, besides your parents, who is your hero?” I ask, taking another sip of my drink.
“If I had to name one, Dave Chappelle.”
I rack my brain. “The comedian?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s fucking brilliant and real. He uses his platform in an incredible way, and his genius shines through. He says the shit many are too afraid to say and then tosses in some insight here and there that will stun you, make you think. He walked away from fifty million dollars, refusing to sell his soul in a way so many others would.”
“That’s so far from any answer I thought you would give.”
“Yeah, well, he’s flawed too, and he makes no apologies about it.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from Christy and Sean nods toward it. “Look up some of his stand-up on your little computer when you get home.”
“Maybe I will.”
“But do yourself a favor, never research your heroes.”
