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He sat back in his seat, looking me over. “I thought you were Manning.”
I walked farther into the room and set his bourbon on the desk. Although there were more gadgets, it mostly looked the same. “This is—”
“I know what it is.” He picked up the tumbler but didn’t drink from it. He had a USC paperweight that had once been on my dresser.
He noticed me looking at it. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for dinner,” I repeated. With the way he glowered at the door behind me, I felt the need to add, “Mom didn’t know.”
“You could’ve given her some warning. Seeing you must’ve upset her.”
There might not’ve been a quicker path to making me feel like a child than standing in front of his desk. Here, I’d received summer reading lists, been scolded or praised over grades, and been assigned chores. It wasn’t a bad feeling so much as a familiar one. Though my dad’s study had been intimidating, it’d made me more nervous than afraid—the way he’d click about on his computer, doing what looked like important things as he’d ask about my day at school.
I was a mixture of all those things now—intimidated, nervous, afraid—but the difference was I’d grown up and, for the most part, had learned how to harness those emotions.
And that I was old enough to drink.
I took a long sip of wine and sat across from him. “I didn’t come in here to talk about Mom. I came to warn you that I’ll be at the dinner table whether you want me there or not.”
“My dinner table,” he said.
“Not just yours. All of ours.” He stared at me as if I’d wandered in off the street. Maybe I’d stunned him—my unflinching father. His silence only spurred me on. “Who makes the dinner you eat off the table every night?” I asked. “Which little girl has stitches on her chin from when she tripped and hit the edge? Who—”
“All right, all right. I get the gist.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “Give me a minute.”
Only when he shut his eyes could I really allow myself to look at him. He, too, was older. Graying at his temples, lines on his face and hands, he wore his age more obviously but more gracefully than my mother, who’d seemed tired.
Didn’t he have anything to say? Didn’t I look different to him, too?
“Of course you do,” he said.
I hadn’t realized I’d said it aloud, but if we had any hope at a relationship, it was probably best I started speaking up. There was no reason he should intimidate me anymore. Where he was concerned, I had nothing left to lose. He’d given up hope on me long ago. Not for the first time, I understood my sister’s apathy over anything that mattered to my father. If even her best efforts were met with disappointment, why try?
Finally, he opened one eye and then another. “Why now?”
“Why now what?”
“You left with no notice. We haven’t seen you in years. Of course I’m going to ask what brings you back.”
“I do,” Manning said from behind me.
I turned in my seat to look at the man I loved, the one who’d not only brought me back, but had my back. I hadn’t heard him come in, and maybe I was supposed to do this kind of thing on my own, but I was glad for his reinforcement.
Manning entered, closing the study door behind him. He created his own presence in the room instead of shrinking for my dad the way my sister, mom and I did. His eyes stayed forward as he approached my chair. “Mr. Kaplan.”
I sat back, unsurprised to find Dad watching me, even as he said, “Manning . . .”
“He’s the reason I’m here,” I said.
My dad folded his hands on his desk like he was the president about to address the nation. “I suspect he’s to blame for many of the choices you’ve made.”
“He is,” I said. “And I’m not ashamed of that.”
Dad ignored me, turning his attention to Manning. “What do you expect me to say to this?” he asked him. “I’ve treated you like a son for a long time now.”
“And you have no idea what that’s meant to me,” Manning said, gesturing to the bar cart. “We’ve consumed some pretty great fucking liquor in here. Had meaningful discussions. Made plans for the future. I’m man enough to admit having you in my life is important.” I glanced up when he paused to find Manning looking down at me. “I’ve missed that the past few years, but it’s the result of the distance you’ve put between you and your daughter.”
“Me?” he asked, calling our attention back. “Lake is the one who left, who never looked back, and who removed this family from her life as if we were some kind of tumor.”
