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“Dr. Ormond.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Was she wearing a ring?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Dad. Come on.”
Jack shrugged. “I’m happy as I am.”
“Playing the field.”
“What’s wrong with that? You’re happy single.”
“I’m twenty-eight, not fifty-six.”
“Fifty-five,” Jack corrected. “And only a month ago.”
“The point is, you’re not getting younger.”
“Neither are you.”
Oliver gave him a look of disbelief. “You really want to see me settled down before I’m thirty?”
“I was married and a dad at your age.”
“Yes, but you’d met Mom. I haven’t met anyone that makes me think, this should be forever.”
“You will one day. When it’s right. And relationships are hard when you’re on the road as much as you are.”
“I take it you’re speaking from experience, Dad?”
“Relationships take a lot of time and energy. Don’t ever settle just so you can be with someone. That’s no way to live. Or love.”
“I had no idea you were such a romantic, Dad.”
“Hardly. I just don’t see the point expending time and energy into a relationship if it doesn’t add exponentially to your life. We’re only here on earth so long. Make every day matter.”
Traffic was growing lighter. Oliver put on his signal and turned at the corner. They weren’t far from his place. “Advice you’ve modeled every day of my life.”
“Must be annoying sometimes.”
“Sometimes,” Oliver agreed, smiling wryly. “But the rest of the time, you’re damn inspiring, Dad. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of you, too, Oliver.”
* * *
Jack took an Advil PM to make sure he’d sleep through the night and didn’t wake the next day until it was almost noon. He was groggy when he threw back the covers, but by the time he’d showered and shaved, his head was clear, and he wanted a strong cup of coffee.
Oliver was in the kitchen, sitting on a barstool at the counter typing away on his laptop. “You’re awake,” he said, adding a few more keystrokes before closing the laptop. “Coffee or tea this morning?”
“I think I’ll do coffee.”
Oliver started to rise. “I’ll make you a fresh pot.”
Jack waved him back down. “Don’t. If that’s from this morning, I’ll just reheat what’s left.”
Oliver settled back onto his counter stool. “I was keeping it warm for a while, but you were sleeping like the dead.”
“I took one of those pills to knock me out. I didn’t want to be tossing and turning with jet lag.” Jack crossed the kitchen floor, opened a cupboard, wrong cupboard, opened another and found the mugs. “What are you working on?”
“Studying the shoot schedule for the movie I’m directing in Vancouver next week.”
Jack filled his cup and put it in the microwave, hitting the reheat button. “How many weeks will you be on set?”
“Almost four.”
“And then?”
“I’ll be home for a week or two and then I’m off again.”
“Back to BC?”
“No, New Zealand.”
Jack waited for the microwave to ping before removing his coffee. He needed the moment to smash his disappointment. He’d hoped to see more of Oliver. Lately it was hard to get on the same page with his son. “You like what you do.”
Oliver nodded. “I do. Can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Do you still write at all?”
“I have a couple screenplays I’ve been working on, but I prefer directing. The writing is more frustrating.”
“Then write for yourself. Write something you like writing.”
“You like writing all those papers?”
Jack shrugged, sipped his coffee. It was tepid, not hot, but he didn’t have time to put it back in the microwave. Nor did he care about the coffee that much, either. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Oliver, wasn’t ready to leave the one person who meant most to him in the world. But he had a meeting this afternoon with the department chairs from Orange University in Mission Viejo, and he needed to get on the road soon. He didn’t trust LA traffic. “It’s part of my job. I don’t mind it.”
Oliver stood and came around the counter to open the refrigerator. “I can make you some eggs or avocado toast. I have yogurt and blueberries.” He glanced at his dad. “You’ve got to be hungry. You never eat on planes.”
“I could use some food,” Jack agreed. “But no need to put yourself out—”
“Not putting myself out. I’m glad to do it. It’s good to see you. I hate that I’m already leaving.”
“It’s never been about quantity, Ollie. It’s quality time.”
Oliver stared at his dad a long moment before adding quietly, “It really is good to see you. I don’t see enough of you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I was the one who chose to move across the country.”
“It’s where your work is.”
Jack leaned against the counter as Oliver scrambled some eggs and put a slice of hearty brown bread in the toaster. Oliver had come a long way with his cooking skills. In just minutes he was plating the scrambled eggs and avocado toast.
Jack ate standing up while Oliver washed the small skillet and spatula. “How long do you think it’ll take me to reach Mission Viejo?” he asked between bites.
“If you leave in the next hour, an hour and twenty. But that’s just an optimistic estimate. You know traffic here. It can be a nightmare.”
Jack nodded and concentrated on eating. He was just finishing the last of his toast when Oliver asked, “You think you’ll be happy here in Southern California, Dad? It’s not really you.”
Jack didn’t immediately answer, hearing something in his son’s voice that he couldn’t completely identify. Concern? Tension? Guilt? Jack rinsed his plate off, and then gave it a scour with soap. “Why isn’t it me?”
“You prefer more trees, fewer people. And ideally, a lot of rain, mud, insects, and if you’re lucky, disease.”
“You do know me so well. But it’s just for a year. I’m sure I can tolerate sunshine and a temperate winter.”
“If you’re going to take a sabbatical, why not go somewhere you’re dying to go? Orange County isn’t your dream spot.”
“No, but you’re just an hour and a half from me, and that’s pretty cool.”
“These next few months I’m rarely going to be here.”
“We’ll just keep doing FaceTime.”
“But that’s not why you took this job. You took it to be closer to me.”
