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She looked at me, her face tight and emotionless. “What do you mean?”
I glanced at the flowers and then back to her. “He’s gone, and he was so awful to you… I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to–”
She was already shaking her head.
I sighed and sat down on the grass next to her, lifting my knees and resting my arms across them.
“He was your father, Jake. You still owe him that.”
“I don’t owe him squat,” I said with a humorless laugh. “The only thing he did for me was make me feel like a failure and make my mother cry.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. “Look, I don’t want to do this right now. Your father wasn’t a perfect man. But he cared…in his own way.”
“Yeah, well, his way sucked,” I said bluntly. “Why did you even stay with him?” I asked.
Mom reached up and patted my cheek. “Someday, you’ll understand, sweetheart. When you find someone you love–”
“I have,” I said, cutting her off.
Her surprised gasp cut off her explanation and made me smile. She raised her eyebrows at me, obviously waiting. When I didn’t say anything, she waved her hands. “Well, who is she then?”
“It’s Monica Storm,” I said, unable to contain the smile her name brought to my lips.
“Ahh.” She released an exhale of understanding. “Nice girl.”
I nodded. “She’s the best.”
I looked back to Dad’s gravestone. “I don’t want to be like him,” I said, unsure if my honesty was a smart move in this case. I loved my mom, but she lovedhim.And that just didn’t make sense to me anymore.
“You’re more like him than you realize, Jake.”
I flinched at her words, immediately rebelling against the idea.
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh, honey. You are, but I don’t mean that in the way you might think.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to take it as a compliment anytime soon,” I said, falling back into my own habit of making light of a painful situation.
“Maybe you should,” she said gently. “Your father worked hard, and he provided for us, even when it meant sacrificing his own ambitions. I know he had high expectations of you, but it was because he couldseeyour potential, Jake.”
I stood up, unable to listen to her extoll Dad’s virtues anymore.
“I’ll be at the truck whenever you’re ready to go,” I said.
Her voice called after me as I walked away. “Your dad found it hard to forgive when people let him down.” She was practically shouting now. “Sound like anyone you know?”
I ground my teeth together and kept walking. When I reached my truck, I pounded a fist on the side of the truck bed in my frustration. I wished I hadn’t said anything to Mom. I didn’t even want to come today.
I’d never understand her devotion to a man who made her life miserable. Telling her about Monica had been a mistake. I had expected her to be happy for me, and in some way, I thought she was. Admitting my fear of being like my father was an even bigger mistake. I hated that I let her get under my skin.
Through the truck windows, I saw Mom walking back down the grassy path.
Most of all, I hated that I was afraid she was right and that I was more like my father than I wanted to admit.
MONICA STORM
I pulled off my gloves and threw them in the medical waste container in the corner of the room, pressed the sanitizer dispenser near the door on my way into the hallway, and then let the door close behind me.
