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My throat clenched. “It is, huh?” I hoped this would not be a conversation that led to more tears.
“Yeah. Mommy wasn’t always nice, you know. She lost her temper sometimes. But she always apologized. She said she wasn’t perfect, but she tried to be better.”
“Well, that sounds pretty smart. Maybe I should try that.”
Olivia smiled. “You should.”
“When did you get so smart and grown up, Livvie?” I teased, pulling her in for a hug and lifting her from the truck.
She clung to me until I set her feet on the ground. “I’ve always been smart, Daddy.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, straightening up.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey?” I reached for her hand and we started up the walkway.
“You need a shower.”
“Hey!” I laughed. “That’s not nice.”
“But it’s true, Daddy.”
“Fair enough.”
* * *
After dinner,mom was watching a movie with the kids while Dad and I cleaned up.
“So… hows work going?” He was scraping mashed potatoes into a clean Country Crock container. It made me smile and shake my head; I’d bought my parents a full set of fancy Tupperware so they didn’t have to use old food containers, and it was still sitting in a box in the pantry. Apparently, it was more about habits than necessity.
“Work is good,” I replied, carrying dishes from the table.
My dad and I were not brilliant conversationalists together. We worked in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.
“How are the kids adjusting?”
“They’re doing alright, I think.”
“You think?” He set the serving dish in the sink and reached for another.
I continued transferring dishes to the island. “Olivia doesn’t tell me much of anything, and Ethan is just as likely to scream at me as he is to talk. So, I don’t actually know.”
“Well, perhaps you need to talk to them more.”
I snorted and grabbed the dishrag to wipe the table. That was pretty rich, coming from him.
Apparently, Dad didn’t need to hear my inner monologue to pick up on my reaction. “I know I wasn’t around as much as I should have been when you were a kid, Jake. Trust me, your mother and I had plenty of discussions about it.”
Dad never used the word ‘fought’. It was always discussions or talks.
“But I’m telling you now not to use me as an example for how to father.”
That pulled me up short, and I turned to face him. “Dad, I don’t resent you. I know you were busy with your career. You were still a great dad.” It was uncomfortable talking to him about this. He never discussed anything emotional when I was growing up, or in the long years since I left the house.
His tone grew gruff. “I could have been a lot better, I know that now. And I regret it. I can’t get that time back, and I’d much rather have spent it playing baseball and building bird houses than at the club, carrying on with a group of guys I don’t even talk to anymore.”
“Dad…” my voice was soft. I had no idea he’d been harboring these feelings.
