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Wow. Apparently you can’t have philosophical conversations with butterflies in front of children anymore. People are so close-minded.
I meander down another path and turn the corner.
My dad is standing there.
I freeze. Jaw dropping. Oh, come on. Seriously? I can’t have one beautiful Sunday in my beautiful happy place without being reminded of the fact that my father has never been more disappointed in me in his life?
The memory whips through me like a hurricane. Rips into my chest, leaving nothing but pain in its wake.
He must see it seeping out of my face, the joy I usually feel here, because his features crease with unhappiness.
He walks over to me. “Hey.”
“How’d you know I was here?” I say in lieu of greeting.
“Your husband told me where you were.”
I lift a brow. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You actually said the words your husband without flinching.”
“Yeah, well…” Dad slides his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing cargo pants and a white T-shirt, and I don’t miss the way some of the women around us check him out. Dude’s still got it going on in his forties. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ryder and I are friends now.”
Ryder keeps telling me the same thing, insisting they’ve cleared the air and all the tension is gone. Ever since the men’s Frozen Four win, there’s been something lighter about Ryder too. His teammates backing him up with the media was humbling for him, and he and Case are friendly again. He and my mom are even friendlier, practically best friends now. Even my brother is on board—those two have stupid nicknames for each other. So it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s made genuine headway with my father.
As for me, I’ve been making a diligent effort to avoid anything related to my dad. I’m still so mad.
Except I’m not mad.
I’m devastated.
“You were right,” Dad says. “He’s a good guy.”
“I know.” It’s become a habit now, when I’m on edge, to twist my thin silver wedding band. It’s like Ryder’s presence washing over me, relaxing me.
We walk down the path and cut toward another one that’s empty. There’s a wrought-iron bench near one of the fountains. Dad gestures at it.
Once we’re seated, he gives me a sad, earnest smile.
“Forgive me,” he says simply.
I don’t say anything.
“I know I screwed up. I reacted poorly.”
“Very poorly,” I mutter.
“It’s just…a lot of things were happening in that moment. I was shocked, obviously. Totally didn’t see that one coming.” He looks over dryly. “You’ve always been so terrible with surprises, like when you tried to plan your mom’s surprise party and sent her an invitation?”
A laugh pops out. “That was a mistake.”
“Yeah, I’m just saying, you don’t surprise me very often. But this came completely out of left field. So there was the shock. And I guess in the moment I felt angry that you made this life-altering decision without even consulting us.”
“I’m sorry.” Then I shrug. “It didn’t need consulting.”
“You really mean that?”
“Yeah. Nothing you could have said, or any advice you would have given—or Mom, or Wyatt, or any of my friends—would have stopped me from marrying him. He’s it for me. He’s the one.” I twist my wedding band again. “Like I said, I don’t envision it being perfect. I’m sure eventually the sex won’t be as good—”
Dad coughs. “G!”
“Sorry, but you know what I mean. The honeymoon phase will fade. We’ll get stuck in ruts and routines, and probably want to kill each other half the time. But it doesn’t matter. He’s the one I’m choosing to do all of it with. Like you and Mom.”
He nods. I’m startled by the look in his eyes. It’s not resignation, but acceptance. I note that difference, wondering if maybe he has come around to this.
“So that’s why you were such a jerk?” I prompt. “Shock and anger?”
“No. I thought that’s what it was at first, and then I realized there was something else too.” His voice becomes rough. “I was hurt.”
“Hurt,” I echo, and experience a flicker of guilt. I don’t like the idea that I hurt him.
“I always pictured myself walking you down the aisle.”
The admission grips my heart and squeezes it tight.
Damn it. Now I know why my mom can never stay mad at him. It’s because he goes around saying things like that.
“Let’s be real,” he continues. “Your brother’s never getting married—”
“Fuckboy till the day he dies,” I agree.
“But I thought I had a shot with you. You’ve never been super girly, but I heard you and your mom talking about wedding dresses before. I assumed yours would be this fluffy white thing. You’d look beautiful in whatever you chose, though. I was looking forward to seeing you in it. Walking you down the aisle. Dancing with you at your wedding.” He looks over, hopeful. “I know you already tied the knot, but you should totally consider having a wedding. Your aunt Summer would kill to plan it for you, you know that.”
