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You ready for that phone call yet?
Hazel
Yes.
I press call.
The phone rings at least six times. Convinced Hazel has cold feet, I put my thumb over the end button when the ringing stops and is replaced with silence.
I pull my cell away from my ear and check to see whether or not the call disconnected. Sure enough, she’s there.
“Haze?” I murmur.
Silence.
“Haze, you there?”
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hey. You okay?”
Silence.
“Haze?” I repeat.
“I’m so sorry, Dad.”
Like a knife to the chest, I ignore the stab of pain, the sentiment hanging in the air. And I know she can feel it too. The regret. The distance. The time and how quickly it passed.
“Why are you sorry?” I rasp.
“I invited Mom. I was being a bitch and wanted to make Kate uncomfortable.” She sniffles. “It’s my fault––”
“What happened to Kate isn’t your fault.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better. I was such a––”
“Kate has epilepsy. She’d left her meds at my place the day before, and I didn’t notice until this morning. Even if you hadn’t invited Mom to the restaurant, it’s possible Kate would’vestillhad a seizure.”
“You don’t know––” Hazel tries to argue.
“You’re right. I don’t know for sure, but my assumption has a hell of a lot more merit than yours. The medication keeps her from having episodes. Even though she only missed two doses, it makes sense that she was more likely to have an issue, especially when she’s always been sensitive with her dosing. The doctors said the same thing at the ER.”
Hazel’s shallow, unsteady breaths filter out, but she doesn’t argue with me. Not this time. Instead, she lets my words sink in, recognizing how little she knows about the woman I’ve been seeing, the woman she’s hated since the moment she found out I was dating someone other than her mother.
I stay quiet, unsure of what to say, while fighting my disbelief over actually having a conversation with my oldest daughter. It’s been two years. Two years of the cold shoulder. Two years of unanswered messages and brutal stonewalling.
I was blindsided when Hazel told Kate she’d be willing to give our relationship another try if I ended things with her. But I’m not going to end things with Kate. Even before the shitshow from this morning, I’d already made up my mind. So where does it leave me with Hazel? Does she know where I stand?
It’s hard. Balancing respect and distance while still proving you care. After the divorce, I spent most of my nights tossing and turning, debating whether or not I should push Hazel. Whether or not I should push Miley. Whether or not they knew I loved them and would do anything for them. But was it enough? Was I enough? There was so much left unsaid, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever have another opportunity to apologize for how things ended, no matter how much it hurts.
“I’m sorry, Hazel,” I rasp. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between your mom and me. I’m sorry I moved out. I’m sorry for the yelling and the fights. I’m sorry you had to witness it. I’m sorry if you ever felt like your home wasn’t a safe space. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there afterward. I was trying to respect your wishes, but…” I lean my head against the back of the sofa, my body feeling drained and heavy. So damn heavy. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t have work tomorrow,” she whispers.
I lift my head and clear my throat. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You know, if you want to have breakfast or dinner or…”
