“Ryder.” Dad tilts his head. “What’s on your mind?”
A beautiful, twitchy woman who always saw the good in people. I twist the cap on my water, silent for a moment as I gather the words. “I screwed up.”
Not exactly how I planned to say it, but the truth is probably best.
“How so?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m almost thirty and still hate the idea of disappointing my parents.
They never put off any sense they were disappointed, but words from others over the years have left me with a heady fear I’m constantly on the verge of letting them down. I’m not outgoing like them. I wasn’t the brainiac they could brag about. I’m good at baseball and working out.
My dad would argue my meager list of talents and probably add ten more, but he’s biased.
On this, though, it could go either way. I’m leaning toward disappointment.
“Can it stay between us?” I ask.
He grunts. “You know how I feel about that.”
No secrets. It’s his hardline rule with my mom. He doesn’t keep secrets, nor does she.
“I know,” I tell him, “but I’m not comfortable having everyone talk about it. Mom will probably call, and I haven’t figured out how I even feel yet.”
My dad considers me for a pause. “All right. But if you tell me you’re dying or getting traded or dating someone, I’m telling your mom.”
A grin curls in the corner of my mouth. “None of the above.”
With a deep breath, I tell him about the blunder over the weekend. I tell him how facing Ava after all these years shocked my system, and all I could say was her name a few times. I explain as best I can the conflict of wanting to run away and toward her at the same time.
He takes a drink of his water, but his lips keep twitching.
“Dad.” I nudge his shoulder. “Are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. “It’s not funny.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because.” He pinches his lips into a tight line. “Okay, it’ssort offunny. You really called the cops?”
I rub a hand over my face. “Yes, and I wish I hadn’t.”
“Okay.” He holds up a hand in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t laugh, and I wasn’t laughing that it was Ava, just that I can imagine you thinking you’re a hero, and it all blowing up. I would’ve enjoyed your face for a few minutes.”
“My mouth was stuck open,” I grumble. “I looked like a dead trout.”
Dad has to pause again, probably trying not to laugh like he promised, but soon his expression sobers. “I’m sure it was difficult to see her after all this time.”
I nod. Words aren’t enough to describe the terror and elation at seeing her, so I don’t try.
“Do you want to talk about what happened? You’ve never told me everything.”
I shake my head. The shame from all that was said between two best friends eats me up when I allow myself time to think on it.
My mind drifts to the two voicemails on my phone. Why do I keep them? They’re probably nothing more than Drake repeating everything he said once before.
“Maybe you should get in touch with her and apologize,” he says.
“I wasn’t being malicious.”
