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Oliver’s words sting—probably because they’re true. However, my pent-up frustration and barely concealed guilt have me on edge today.
“Do you have something to say, Oliver? I didn’t quite catch that.”
He whirls on me. “I said, maybe if I’d had a dad who was actually around, I would be able to light a goddamn grill!”
“I’m teaching you how to light it now.”
“Walking over here and doing it for me isnotteaching me.”
“Well, maybe if you’d followed my directions, you would have gotten it right the first time.” I press the pads of my fingers to the backs of my eyelids as my head starts to throb. I need water. A cold shower. Sleep.
“Right,” he snaps. “Because you expect me to be perfect.”
I sigh, exasperated. “I don’t expect perfection of anyone, Oliver. Certainly not you.”
He recoils as though I’ve slapped him. I reach out for him.
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Both of you, enough.” Natasha appears on the deck. “Ollie, Give your dad a break. That’s not what he meant, and you know it.”
He flinches. “You’re seriously taking his side?”
“I’m not finished.” She turns on me next, her nostrils flaring. “Andyou, don’t you think workingwithOllie to light the damn grill would’ve been better than watching him try for fifteen minutes? Your commentary wasnothelping.”
“I gave him instructions,” I say. “I wanted him to figure it out on his own.”
“Sitting on your ass while he struggles isn’t helping him.” She pauses for a deep breath. “Ollie, you could have communicated your needs better. You should have asked for help with the grill instead of fumbling with it for so long. But—” She looks to me. “—you’ve been gone a long time, and although Ollie’s words were ill-timed, he has a point. You haven’t been around. And until you guys talk through your issues, it’s going to be athingbetween you.”
Shame flickers under my skin. It’s like she’s peering directly into my soul, counting my sins.
“I’m trying,” I say softly.
Her smile is sympathetic. “I know you are. But it’s not enough to do nice things for him. You guys have to talk about the hard stuff.”
I glance at Oliver, standing by the grill with his head down and his hands in his pockets.
“Got any tips for getting to the hard stuff?”
She squeezes my shoulder, and the touch warms my heart. “Start by being present. You can’t have a conversation if you aren’t listening to what the other person is saying. And you’ve been in your head all day.”
More likeyou’vebeen in my head all day, Natasha.
I nod.
“You’re right.” I turn to my son. “Oliver, I’m sorry I didn’t handle the situation very well. I know I can be…abrupt. But I’m going to try and do better. For both of us.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, okay.”
Natasha loops her arm through his.
“We can all stand to do a little better,” she says, meeting my gaze. “Myself included.”
* * *
After a surprisingly pleasant dinner, Oliver heads down to the dock to make a phone call, leaving Natasha and me in the kitchen, elbow-deep in warm water and suds. We work in tandem, her washing and rinsing the plates and grill tools while I dry them. I know I should be wary of how much I enjoy being alone with her, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything but gratitude for her company.
“Thank you,” I say, “for what you said earlier. I think it really helped.”
