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“It’s fine. Just… thought about my wedding day.”
The words blurt out before I can stop them and my dad stares at me hard.
“You thinking about getting married?”
I shake my head and then nod and then shake my head again. “One day. I’d like to.”
“I’d like that too,” my dad says and then swipes at his eyes. “But enough of this silly crying, tell me about the old ladies in the home. What have they been up to?”
I regale them with tales as the food comes and we dig in, my stomach slightly churning from all the lies I’ve been telling. Part of me just wants to lay everything out. My dad has always been so supportive of me, has been there for everything I’ve wanted to do. But now I’m doing his two best friends, and I worry it would ruin everything. They own a business together, have been friends since college.
I’m his son.
He doesn’t need to know.
Not yet. Not ever.
I’m not sure how that will all work out in the end, but I can’t think about it now.
No, I’m just focused on my French toast and eggs.
For the rest of breakfast we chat about everything and nothing, but I suddenly start to squirm when my dad asks me if I’m seeing anyone. It’s a random question thrown in there between asking me what I plan on doing this summer and if I still like pumpkin pie. As soon as that question leaves his lips, I grow flustered and stuff my mouth full of food until I can’t answer, and Avery, bless him, changes the subject, remarking on the very boring decor lining the walls.
When it’s time to leave, I give my dad and Avery a hug and then scurry off, looking in my rearview mirror as I pull out of the parking lot. I see Avery touching my dad’s face and speaking to him gently.
My dad looks over at my car with a strange expression, and I force my gaze forward.
I don’t want to know what they’re talking about. I just don’t. Ignorance is bliss.
Ignorance is my friend.
It’s probably not about me anyways. It’s probably about their plans for later.
Instead of going to Ford’s, I head back to my apartment, jogging up the stairs and into my bathroom. It’s there that I pull the plug out, clean myself up, and change my clothes. I do need to get ready for tonight, but my suit is at Ford’s house.
They’re probably wondering when I’m coming back home, but I just toss my phone on the bed and flop down, staring at the wall.
The image that filtered through my mind earlier. The three of us at our wedding makes my eyes sting once more.
That can’t ever happen right?
Impossible.
That’s what this is.
I groan and dig my fists into my cheeks.
Goddamnit.
* * *
My mom was never buried. Having died so young, my dad did not have the funds for a lavish funeral. So, she was cremated and her ashes were spread out on the banks of a small river she and my dad used to frequent. Lavender bushes line the shore, and I sit by them, leaning back and listening to the rush of water. It’s usually so hot here in California that oftentimes the river dries up, the bed visible beneath. But it’s been a rainy season and the water is wild.
I don’t come here that often. But sometimes I do—just to be close to her.
I don’t subscribe to the belief that she communicates with me somehow, but I do wonder what she would say to me if she were here. What she would do. How she would be.
How different I’d be too.
