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His eyes were trained on me like a laser, making it difficult for me to breathe. I swiped down his cheek, rinsed the razor, and repeated the process.
“I guess it depends on the mood I’m in. Last year, I grew a scruffy beard.”
“I remember.” I cringed.
I had come across an article on him in a sports magazine when I had been at the doctor’s office. He had been sporting a full beard, and I’d thought,Why does he have to hide his amazing jawline behind gross facial hair?
He raised an amused eyebrow. “Not into facial hair, I see.”
I made a face. “I hate body hair in general. I wax everything—my armpits, my upper lip, my legs. I’m bare everywhere.” Suddenly, my cheeks flamed at my overshare.
I thought he might give me that cocky smirk, but he swallowed hard instead. “Everywhere, huh?”
I pulled back and threatened him with the razor. “Shut up. I’m in possession of a dangerous weapon.”
“Okay, okay.” He clamped his lips shut.
I continued to clean up his face, shaving him from his cheek to under his chin, rinsing the razor under the faucet and repeating the process again.
An unwanted memory pushed through the surface.
“My dad had a beard after my mom died. Like he gave up on all personal hygiene.” A hard laugh escaped my lips. “And it annoys me to no end because he still has it.”
Austin shrugged his good shoulder. “Maybe he just wanted a change.”
If all my father had wanted was a change, that would have been acceptable. But it was as though he had become lazy in life. My mom had hated when he didn’t shave, and now that she was no longer breathing on this earth, it was as if he had grown the beard to spite her.
“He’s changed all right, but not for the better,” I muttered under my breath.
I hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but that was what years of bitterness did to you. I was usually good with the brain-to-mouth filter, whereas my sisters would show their frustrations flat out.
“How’s he doing?” Austin asked cautiously. “It’s been years. Is he dating anyone?”
“No. But sometimes, I wish he would.”
Sometimes, I wished he would because it would indicate that he’d moved on. When my mother had passed, my dad had lost it. He went through all the stages of grief. First denial, even when he watched the coffin being buried underground. Then, he’d just checked out, and he’d been checked out ever since. He’d go traveling for months and then show up for a weekend here and there, just to disappear again. It was his habit, his MO, and we never questioned it, though we knew he needed a good beating with words. I knew it was one of his ways to cope. Still, there were so many times when I wanted to check out and I didn’t. Problem was … I was never selfish enough to actually do it.
A lump formed in the back of my throat. “I’m not even sure who he is anymore. He’s like this person I don’t even recognize. It’s sad because we were close, but when my mom died …” My voice trailed off, and that familiar tightening in my chest occurred, the same feeling that always stirred when I thought of my mother passing. “He left the bar to Nana. The fun-loving bar he’d owned, even before Mom started her agency. I used to love how they lived their lives—always together, but also separate.”
I wrung the towel in my hands as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, a mix between my father and my mother. I was brought back to a random Christmas and all of us opening presents on the living room floor. My mom sitting on my father’s lap, drinking her coffee as both of them watched us, giddy with happiness and delight and all the presents we received.
I had to clear my throat. “He’s in Europe right now. We called him to let him know that the wedding was off. He didn’t answer.”
The disappointment of his silence still pulled at me. I wished I knew how to get through to him. I wished he’d try. I was tired of wishing.
Austin was watching me with curious eyes. I wondered how much Brandy had told him.
“He spent all my mother’s insurance money on traveling the world.” I flinched because saying it out loud only proved how selfish my father really was. “And he continues to do so. Because that’s what he promised her when she was alive—that they’d travel all of Europe when they retired. Well, she never made it to retirement and … it makes me so …” I bit down on my bottom lip before I finished my sentence.
It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t talk about my dad in this way—in a negative light. Our family drama didn’t need to be out for everyone to see.
As I patted down his freshly shaved skin, I peered down at him and forced a smile. Gone was the heat from earlier, and left in its wake was all the pent-up sadness of my family’s loss … losses.
“All done. I should go now.”
“Finish your sentence.” He tipped his chin, his eyes expectant.
“What sentence?” I rinsed my hands off, pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about.
