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I ask him to find a football game, because all I want to do is listen to him explain what’s happening on the field. It’s soothing in ways I’m not prepared to examine.
I don’t let myself fall asleep.
When the game is over, I insist on going back to Kelsey’s. He wants to walk me back, but I convince him it’s too late to walk. I order a car, give him a swift kiss, and leave the penthouse.
The next day, when Slater texts to see what I’m doing, I tell him I’m busy. Then I convince Kelsey that I’m desperate to go shopping. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t believe me, but she loves shopping too much to question my sudden interest in it.
She drags me to all her favorite boutiques. I feign interest and even let her buy me a leather skirt that I’ll never wear.
I’m sitting outside a dressing room late in the afternoon when I get a call. A therapy practice in DC has a position open in their children’s division and they want me to come in for an interview. I’m astonished by their interest because I haven’t applied for any jobs yet. When I reveal my surprise, the woman tells me she got my name from my former boss.
I haltingly agree to the interview and then call my former boss. She tells me—in the no nonsense way she says everything—that she immediately thought of me when her friend mentioned the position. She reminds me that good therapists are hard to find and tells me that she thinks I’m perfect for the position. I’m honored and a bit excited.
Kelsey insists we go to dinner to celebrate. By the time we get back to her place, we’re both exhausted.
Slater doesn’t text me again.
I’m mostly relieved. Last night was too much. I crossed so many lines. The intimacy was intoxicating, the sex didn’t feel casual, and the conversation wasn’t superficial.
I have no idea what to do, so I decide it’s easier to avoid him than try to figure it out. It isn’t as if either of us sought another night together. He only asked me to dinner because the opportunity presented itself.
The next morning, I leave New York on the earliest train. My father and Libby pick me up from Union Station. It’s exceedingly unusual. My father hates city traffic and almost never ventures east of Georgetown. And the fact that Libby is with him doesn’t make sense.
He merges into the heavy traffic of the roundabout with a few mumbled curses. Cars zigzag in and out, and his hesitance makes him a liability. After lots of honking and two near collisions, he says, “We thought we’d take you to brunch.”
It’s not even nine, so it’s more breakfast than brunch, but food is food and I’m starving. “That sounds nice.” It’s a lie. The tension in the car is so thick I could cut it with a knife. I can’t think of a single time I’ve gone somewhere with just my father and his wife. Not once in all these years. My anxious brain spirals with what could be wrong, but I don’t ask.
Rush hour traffic isn’t nearly as bad as it can be, and we’re parked and inside the tiny diner near my apartment in less than half an hour. I sit alone on one side of the booth while my father and Libby share the other. We peruse our menus in awkward silence.
Once we’ve placed our orders, my father looks me square in the face. “We need to talk.”
My heart starts beating faster. This feels eerily like when my mother told me she was selling the house.
“About what?” I ask with a hefty dose of trepidation.
“Your brothers. When you came to Kyle’s birthday, I realized you barely know them. Kyle played two years of high school football, and you didn’t even know he played.”
I blink. While I’ve thought the exact same thing, I didn’t expect my father to confront me about it.
Should I apologize? Go on the offensive? It isn’t only my fault.
“I’m not blaming you,” he says, as if he can read my mind. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. We need to start getting along. All of us.” He looks pointedly at Libby, whose face bears a sharp, familiar look.
“I know. I’m going to try harder with Kyle. And Steven, too.” I toy with the straw wrapper still on the table. My relationship with my brothers is complicated, and I want to improve it. But fixing it isn’t going to be simple.
My father looks at the ceiling. “When your mother and I split up, I thought it’d be easier on you if I didn’t push.” I hate the way he says “split up” as if it was a mutual decision. “You were dealing with so much. Your mother was angry. I wanted my house to be a stress-free environment, but you girls never took to Libby, and she never tried to connect with you. I thought everyone needed space to adjust. It’s been eighteen years. I should never have let it get to this point.”
It’s the most self-aware I’ve ever seen him, and it throws me.
I start to speak. “I?—”
“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I know you don’t feel welcome in my home. Your brothers barely know you.” His gaze darts between Libby and me. “I can’t force my wife and daughter to like each other, I know that. However, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you both to try.”
The entire outburst is so unlike my mild-mannered father. I want to soothe him, to assure him that we’ll do better, but at the same time, I’m angry. I have years of resentment built up inside of me. I can’t brush it away just because he wants me to. My fingers drum on the table, but words don’t come.
“Libby,” he barks into the silence.
“I hope you know you are always welcome in our home.” Her nose scrunches. “Your father believes my behavior is the reason you stay away.”
