Page 69 of The Marriage Mistake

“What’s the deal with the piano?” I asked when Darby was working on the pot we’d used for the cheese sauce.

“It’s boring,” she said.

“Right.”

“I hate it.”

“Why do you play?”

“Because Dad says I have to.”

“Oh.” That didn’t seem like Jack.

She was quiet for a beat, scrubbing so hard part of her bun fell out. Then she stopped, threw the yellow happy-face sponge down, and glared at me. “I have a recital next month at the same time as Vikki’s birthday party, and he won’t let me skip it. My best friend! They’re going to a cabin on the water. It’s Halloween-themed, because her birthday is the first of November and Halloween is Saturday this year. Everyone’s dressing up. It’s going to be so fun, and I’m missing it because of stupid piano.”

I grimaced.

A spark lit her eyes. “Maybe you could talk to him?”

My head was shaking before she’d even finished the sentence. “No. That’s not my place.”

“Please, Ember?” Her eyes were so big and blue. She looked so desperate.

I lifted a finger and pointed it at her. “Stop that. I won’t come between the two of you.”

She deflated, and guilt bit me.

“Have you told him how you feel about playing?” I asked more gently.

“Every day!”

“I don’t mean complaining about practicing, I mean being honest, Darby. When you’re calm and you can explain your feelings without snapping.”

She scowled at me. “He wouldn’t listen.”

“You should try,” I said. “Your father cares about you very deeply. He’d want to know.”

She sighed, picked up the sponge, and started scrubbing again. “Maybe,” she grumbled.

We finished the dishes, cleaned the countertops and the stove, and then took the baking dish out of the oven. Golden breadcrumbs topped the cheesy goodness beneath. I hummed. I loved this dish. Total comfort food. When I was on my own, I didn’t make it often because it didn’t freeze that well and it didn’t seem worth the effort to make one portion. But now I’d get to enjoy it with Darby…

And Jack, who chose that moment to open the kitchen door. He inhaled. “Ooh. What are we having?”

“Mac and cheese,” Darby announced, grabbing shallow bowls from the cupboard. “Looks way better than yours,” she shot over her shoulder.

I flinched, but Jack just grinned and approached to inspect. “It does,” he said, and winked at me.

A knot of tension in my heart dissolved. I’d really believed he’d be mad about this. Why had I believed he’d be mad? Jack wasn’t one to hold onto small grudges. He was utterly confident in himself; admitting that I might be the better cook didn’t hurt his ego. He stripped off his jacket and sighed in contentment, and I realized that his reaction was the exact opposite of what I’d expected. He appreciated my cooking. He appreciated me.

As I watched them serve up their dinners, comfortable banter flying between father and daughter, a slight but profound shift happened within me. From one moment to the next, I believed—no, I knew—that Jack was safe. That I was safe with him. He wouldn’t berate me or ice me out. He wouldn’t make me feel small, the way my own father had. He wouldn’t look for chinks in my armor to catalog and exploit.

He would hold me in the palm of his hands and treasure me. Guard me. Protect me.

Up until that very moment, I hadn’t known I needed that. I hadn’t even realized it was missing from my life. A safe harbor. A place to come in and shelter from the storm of life. A person with whom I could be myself and be accepted.

My hands shook slightly as I spooned cheesy pasta deliciousness into a bowl for myself. Then the three of us sat around the kitchen table and ate together.

Like a family.