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Looking up, he took off his reading glasses and startled when he looked at me.
Every damn time.
Like he was shocked that his only son might want to talk to him.
“Iain, you’re looking well.”
He motioned to the chair opposite him.
“I’m feeling better. Thanks, in large part, to my boyfriend, Dawson,” I replied as I sat down.
I rubbed my sweaty palms on my jeans. “You look surprised to see me. I did mention I was coming here today.”
My dad nodded, then ran a hand through his short silver hair. “Sorry, it’s just that, when you walked through the door…you look, I mean, your smile. It’s so much like her.”
I glanced over at his desk and the picture of my mom, the only one in the house, that sat there. In the picture, she was posed on the deck of their sailboat, her long blond hair blowing in the wind, her red lips and matching jacket bright against the blue sky in the background.
I remembered that jacket. And her lipstick. The smell of her rose perfume. Twenty years suddenly felt like nothing.
“That’s the reason I’m here. To talk about mom.”
My dad shook his head and reached for the glass on the table.
A tumbler of whiskey, neat.
“I can’t, Iain; you know that. I just can’t talk about her?—”
“That’s the problem, Dad. You never did. She’s been gone for years. We buried her two decades ago, but you never dealt with the grief. And I was the one who paid the price. You shut me out.”
“I…I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, taking a long sip of his drink. “And why are you saying all this to me now? What brought this on?”
“A stalker nearly killing me, that’s what brought this on. And I’m in a relationship. A man I’m in love with. But I want to give Dawson all of me, and I can’t do that unless we talk about this. About you and Mom. About the loss of our family.”
“I’m still here, and you’re here. We’re both okay. Isn’t that enough?” he snapped.
“No, it’s not enough, and it’s not okay. You pushed me away when I needed you. I didn’t understand why because I was a kid. All I knew was that my mom was gone, and I needed my dad. But you weren’t there. Well, physically, you were somewhere here in this house but never looking at me or talking to me. Do you know how alone I felt? She died, but you went right along with her.”
Dad stood up and walked over to the window, facing the front yard. Taking another long gulp of his whiskey, he finally turned around.
“I made sure you were always taken care of, Iain. You wanted for nothing.”
I scoffed. He still wasn’t getting it.
“I’m appreciative of the fact you put a roof over my head and hired a nanny to raise me. But I was your son. Your child. A ten-year-old boy who needed love from the only parent he had left.”
Dad ran his free hand over his jaw. “I had to work long hours and?—”
“Stop with the excuses. You had enough money, and you could have made the time. Burying your hurt under the guise of work was your choice, but it made you a shitty father. And thank God for Brodie and his family, or I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
“You’ve made a good life for yourself. You turned out fine. Lots of money and fame.”
“Yeah, I did turn out fine. With the help of my friends, who are my family now. Not you.”
“Is that all?” he asked as he took his final sip of whiskey and walked back over to his desk, slamming the glass on the tabletop. “You came all this way just to insult me?”
“No, I came to tell you how I was feeling. I was hoping, foolishly, that you might want to actually deal with Mom’s passing and move on. Maybe talk to a therapist. With me.”
He shook his head. “Shrinks. All they want to do is ply you with medication, like they did with your mother. Or make you confess your most painful feelings.”
