Page 69 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

“But—”

“It doesn't.” The firmness in his voice surprises me. “Sometimes married people need space to figure out how they got to a place that caused something so right to go wrong.”

I look back out the window. The fields have started turning gold in the evening sun. I used to love this time of year. “What happened?”

“They’ve been struggling silently for a while. No marriage is perfect,” he pauses. “People are not perfect.”

It’s not that I don’t know this; I do- God, how I do. I also know that love doesn’t turn from gold to brown and then die.

“What matters is that they have us, like we had them.”

I nod.

“Our job isn't to pick sides. Our job is to support both of them. Love both of them. Be there for them when they need us.”

I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, because. “And if they don't?”

“Then we mind our own damn business.” He smiles slightly.

So, I force one of my own and then force myself to agree. “Alrighty then.”

Dad reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, just once. “We're going to be okay.”

I nod, but I worry about Alex, and hope, no pray he doesn’t stop talking again, and Tessa because she’s not the type to break down, and I am a firm believer that an ugly cry, or a bitch session is healing. I also worry about her because sometimes it’s the strongest people in the world that surprise you the most when they break…

“The phone’s not going to ring just because you’re looking at it,” Dad says after he swallows down a forkful of meatloaf that I pulled from the freezer last night.

“If she calls, I don’t want to miss it.”

He scoops up some of the beans. “There are three phones in this house, you’ll hear it.”

I nod as I stab a few beans with my fork. Volunteer beans have grown along the back fence for years now. Nobody plants them anymore; they keep showing up every summer, climbing the old trellis Dad built years ago.

He holds up a forkful, “You froze a bunch this year.”

“Yeah.” I shrug.

“Even if you decide to go off to college next year, I still have you for four more summers. You up to helping your old man out with reviving that plot? I sure do miss⁠—”

“Tomato sandwiches,” we both say at the same time.

He smiles, and his eyes get just a little misty, “My baby girl is a senior.”

I smile back as my eyes get warm. “I’m never leaving you.”

“The hell you’re not.” He scowls.

“Gee, thanks, Dad.” I scowl back.

“Baby girl, when you were born, I made myself a promise, and that promise was I will do everything I can to make sure when you get to be my age, your life is better than mine.”

“Dad...”

“No, let me finish.”

“My job isn't making you happy every second of every day. That's impossible. Life doesn't work that way.” He shakes his head. “People die. Hearts get broken. Things go wrong.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “But if I do my job right, when you look back one day, there'll be more good memories than bad ones. More people you loved than people you lost. More reasons to smile than reasons to cry.” A tear slides down my face at that very moment. “My job is to help you build a life where the joys outnumber the pains.” He smiles. “You give me that. How selfish would I be to want you to stay?”

I sniff. “I want to be here.”