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“I know he loves us,” I bite back, pressing my palm against the window. The faint print I leave behind is like my dad—barely there, a rigid outline of what once was, slowly disappearing. He’s a ghostly mark on the glass of our lives, one that time is erasing.
Sometimes, love isn’t enough.
“I’m good at reading people, Julian,” Uncle Dan states. His gaze pierces into me as if he’s a thumbtack and I’m a task written on paper, which he is pinning to his cork board.
“Your father pushed you away because he was scared. Terrified he would never be the parent you needed. When your mom died, he had her shoes to fill as well. He chose distance over disappointment because he knew he could never fill her shoes for you boys.”
The room seems to blur as I process his words. The specs of dust in the sunlight, floating slowly in the sunlight, take on memories from my childhood, slowly drifting away.
My father was scared of failing us.
I never viewed it that way.
“What do you expect me to do?” I reply. My words sound harsh, but I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just shocked and hurt and disappointed in myself for not noticing how scared my dad was and still is.
“I want you to start to fill him in. Call him once a week.” Uncle Dan stands, his presence commanding yet caring. “Build a relationship. Talk about anything – the company, everyday life. Just keep the communication flowing.”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship,” I protest weakly.
“Make one. Relationships are constant work. Call and talk about the company; talk about bullshit. Just talk. Then, slowly let him in. Tell him about this girl. I know you’re worried about how he will react, but he will be happy as long as you are, Julian. Just talk, whether it’s good or bad. Keep that bridge open. Trust me, it’s much harder to build on rubble, so don’t let it get to that point.”
He approaches my chair, “One day when your dad and I have passed, you will wish you called more.” He pats me on the back, “You have the ability to change that, to make a new wish.” Then he leans down and kisses the top of my head, making me feel like a small lost boy again, but a boy who still has his family watching from a distance.
We have the ability to change outcomes and not just be bystanders.
I watch him leave, the resolve building inside me. I go to my desk, pick up my phone, and dial my father’s number. The call connects.
“Son?” My dad’s voice comes through, stern yet laced with an underlying worry.
“Hey, Dad,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. “I need to talk to you. I have a lot of things I need to tell you.”
As I speak, I feel the gap between my father and me start to narrow, bridging years of distance with a simple phone call.
Chapter 38
Poppy
When my phone vibrates, I'm fighting the weight of my eyelids. As soon as I see who sent the text, my heart starts to thump harder, and the weight on my eyelids vanishes.
Julian: Are you awake?
I sit up and grip my phone tighter, then reply,
Poppy: Yes.
It’s ten-thirty at night, and after a large glass of wine I forced myself to drink, I’m more than overdue for a good night’s sleep. At least I was before a knock came at my door, filling my body with nerves. I jump from bed, go to the front door, and see the bottle of wasp spray and the chair I placed in front of it.
"Who is it?" I shout as I grab the spray.
"Me," Julian's voice responds.
I exhale, slide the chair away, and unlock the door. Opening it without a second thought about my appearance, Julian’s gentle smile tells me all I need to know: My worried face revealed all my thoughts.
“You look perfect,” he says.
I glance down and grimace. I’m wearing silk pajamas, which are classy except for the hotdog pattern on them. Naturally, this embarrassing gift is from Harper. She got them for me after I rejected her offer of a blind date, telling me this was the closest to a 'cock' I was going to get if I didn’t stop hiding.
Harper's persistent because she has no idea why I'm hiding. It's the one secret I can't confess to her, which causes me to lie and make excuses. A single secret might seem bearable, but what no one tells you is how one secret turns into a torrent of lies. Those lies are like gale-force winds slowly battering me. I hate having to lie to my best friend, but I'm so deep in falsehoods about my ex that I don't know how to get myself out of it. Even if I saw a way to tell her the truth, there was still the threat Andrew tied around my neck. It's been years, but he would come back to kill me and Henry, I'm sure of it.
