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Okay, that was so not what I was expecting. I’d have guessed he was calling to inform me he was an alien before I’d guess he was calling to see if I had received Madison’s wedding invite. Why on earth would it matter to him if I had received it or not? Surely he knows how uncomfortable this is for me?
The drawn-out silence is becoming rather unbearable, so I clear my throat. “Yes, I did.”
“Splendid. Are you attending?”
Am I attending? Is he fucking serious right now? “No, I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh?” He appears surprised. “I’d hoped you could have put your differences aside for the day. This means a lot to Madison, Dixon. I know she’d love for you to be there.”
My mouth falls open as I cannot believe my ears.
He goes on, “Marriage is a very important thing. It signifies unity and commitment. I really hope you’ll reconsider.”
Yes, he’s right. It signifies unity and commitment to the wrong person. If I didn’t respect Max as much as I do, I would be telling him to shove it up his ass. But I swallow down my anger. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Excellent.” My answer seems to satisfy him. “You have all the details?”
“No, I um, seem to have misplaced the invitation. Can you please give them to me?” I quickly hunt around my desk for a pen and piece of paper.
“Of course. It’s tomorrow at one p.m., down at Mist de L’Océan.”
“Tomorrow?” I yell, my pen veering off the page as he reveals his bombshell. “And that’s the venue in Westhampton Beach, is it not?”
“Yes, that’s correct. Nothing is more romantic than a beach wedding, or so I’ve been told.”
Indeed.
“Okay, Max. I will try my best to attend. No promises.” My sharp tone conveys my anger.
“I understand, Dixon.” He pauses. “Please excuse me for being so forward in calling you. Madison was not certain whether she should invite you because she was afraid you wouldn’t come. But she decided to go with her gut. And I’m pleased that she did. Due to obvious reasons, I can understand why you might feel uncomfortable attending, but sometimes, you have to let go of the past. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to move forward. Forgiveness doesn’t change the past, but it does change the future. I really hope you can be there.”
Screw Max and his words of wisdom. “Good night, Max.” I hang up before he could lecture me further about why I should attend Madison’s wedding.
I lean against the edge of my desk, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. What just happened is that Madison is getting married…tomorrow. And Max has turned rogue.
It’ll be a cold day in hell before I attend this bullshit affair as I’m quite certain I would spear-tackle the groom, drown him inthe ocean, and feed his body to the sharks. My mind is a million miles away, and it’s not until I hear the wheels of my father’s chair squeak over the floorboards that I come back to the here and now.
Looking up, I see he’s watching me, eyes filled with concern. He looks down at the phone in my clenched fist and grunts.
“Va bene, Papà.” But he stubbornly shakes his head, calling bullshit. “Let’s finish watching the game, okay?”
I push off the desk but slump back down onto it when he suddenly rushes forward and rams me in the ankles with his chair. “Ouch! What the hell? You’re losing your mind, old man!”
My insult only spurs him on. He reverses a few paces before charging forward once again. I’m too slow, and he catches my leg as I attempt to duck out of his warpath. “Would you please stop trying to run me over?” I yell, hobbling to hide behind my desk.
He doesn’t allow the huge oak desk to deter his tirade, however, and powers his chair to drive even faster.
“Stop!” I kick out my leg, using my foot as a wedge against his footrest. The motor whines in protest as he stubbornly maneuvers the joystick to keep advancing. “You’re fucking crazy.Aiuto!”
My cry for help seems to stop his outburst, and the motor chugs out a sickening whirr as he takes his hand off the controls. “What is the matter with you?” I ask when I think it’s safe to talk.
He doesn’t reply and gestures with his head that he wants the piece of paper and pen. I don’t argue because I’m afraid he’ll run me over if I do. I rub my sore shins as he slowly writes something down.
My father says the occasional word, but most times, he communicates through facial expressions, words, or writes things down. The doctors don’t know why he chooses to correspond this way, but I’m happy he’s communicating at all.
When he’s done, he throws the piece of paper at my head. Bending down, I pick it up and see that in a shaky print, he’s written the words, “I didn’t raise a coward. Go.”
Unable to mask my smile, I flip the page around. “No, you didn’t. You also didn’t raise an idiot.” He raises an eyebrow in contest. I ignore his quip. “She’s marrying another man. It’s too late. I know you liked Madison, but I blew it.”
