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“You too, Jordan. You’re both right.” I look to Mom, whose arms are crossed on her chest, a small smile on her lips. “Your mother’s been telling me this for years. You ladies are right.”
You could hear a pin drop. My eyes meet Tanner’s, as wide and shocked as my own.
“You’ve done amazing at Coleman and Sons, Tanner. Profitable, getting those big contracts, growing. You’ve done better than I did, better than your grandfather.” Tanner's shoulders drop. “I hated knowing that you took what I thought I was doing well with, changed it, and made it grow. It was wrong—this isn’t a competition, and you're my son. But I did, and I’m sorry.”
Tanner’s mouth parts, but he doesn’t have time to speak.
“And you. God, Ben. One day . . . One day, you’ll see. You have kids, and you have these ideas for them; you get caught up in it. You have expectations and then those change. Your mom—she’s good to the core. She saw the change and encouraged it, but I . . . I was so stuck in my ways, in my vision of what would be best, I drove you away.” Looking at my father’s face, I see it. It’s strange, seeing it there, knowing it’s there. That guilt. The remorse. The realization.
“Dad, it’s—”
“It’s not okay, Ben. It’s not.” He looks to Tanner. “And you. You’ve done amazing things over there, and I just gave you shit. You deserve a medal for fixing that mess I made, that your grandfather made. All I did was give you shit about not doing it my way.”
Tanner also goes to speak, but Dad interrupts him first.
“That first time I met you, I gave him shit, and you didn’t stand for it. Knew you were meant for him then,” my dad says to Jordan. Her cheeks go red, and looking from Jordan to Lola, it’s kind of funny to see the similarities in who we each chose as ours.
“And you.” His eyes move to Lola, her hand in mine tightening.
Her tough Lola shield is up, the one she erected when her father hurt her, the one I worked hard to be left behind, but beneath it, she’s anxious. “Thank you for bringing my boy home.” He stares at her for a long time, the entire table silent. Lola doesn’t speak, and from experience, I know Dad is waiting for her to do so.
But this is Lola we’re talking about.
The edges of my dad’s lips tip up, realizing this.
“You’re good for him. Real good for him, Lola. You’re a lot like my Joyce.” Lola smiles then, and my dad’s face tips to me. “Don’t let that one get away,” he says.
My eyes move from him to Lola and back before I smile.
“No plans to, Dad.”
Forty-Seven
-Lola-
I’min Ben’s childhood bed, and we just debriefed everything.
His talk with his dad after dinner.
How it went better than he expected, regardless of how overdue it was.
How he feelsgoodabout it.
How his dad is going to talk to his mom, try and set up a weekend at the shore soon.
It feels like the pieces are falling into place for both of us, and it’s clearly so heavily-rooted in the fact that we found each other.
I finally had my come to Jesus talk with Dad and Lilah and how his shit will no longer be my responsibility, how it's also not Lilah’s.
Regardless of the chaos and the mess—from our rocky meeting, hating each other, the shit with my dad, nearly being kidnapped—falling for each other was meant to be, that much I know.
And deep down, somewhere in my gut, I know Ben is it for me.
Part of me is sad my mom won’t be here to celebrate with me, won’t be here to fall for him herself. To see what I’ve done, how far I’ve come. But another part of me knows she is watching and is beyond proud of me.
“That’s so great, babe. I’m proud of you,” I say. His fingers comb through my hair, pushing it out of my face.
“I should thank you, really. What you said at dinner . . .”
