Not Pretending Anymore(21)

Over a dinner of pasta carbonara that was surprisingly good, considering it was made by a juvenile, my father told stories from my childhood while Declan seemed to enjoy every minute. Kayla just nodded most of the time, which was fine by me. I didn’t want to have to pretend to be enjoying a conversation with her. With my dad, on the other hand, as much as we’d had our troubles, I genuinely enjoyed his company. I’d missed him.

Kayla got up to do the dishes. Declan and I offered to help, but she insisted we stay and talk to my father. With just the three of us in the room again, the tone of the entire evening changed, as if someone had flipped a switch.

“Why did you really come along, Declan?” my father asked. “Is it because my daughter didn’t want to face me alone?”

The room went silent for a few seconds.

My roomie, who never lacked for something to say, looked at me before stumbling over his words. “No, I…”

“Yes,” I interrupted. “I needed his support. I was nervous for so many reasons—scared mainly, because I didn’t want to see you sick. I have a lot of regrets about our relationship, but in the end, you’re still my daddy. I was just afraid, afraid to be afraid.”

“I know,” my father said. After a few moments of silence, he turned to Declan. “Thank you for accompanying her.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“How did you two come to live together?”

Declan grinned mischievously. “She couldn’t resist my charms.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the story,” I said.

“Actually, I got in by default. Everyone else was so godawful, she had no choice but to give in—that and I made her cupcakes.”

“Very resourceful idea.” My father laughed. “How bad could a guy who makes cupcakes be?”

“That was exactly my thinking, Robert.”

“How is my daughter to live with?”

Declan glanced over at me and smiled. “She’s fun, which you wouldn’t immediately know from her rigid organization and rules.”

My father turned to me. “Rigid, huh?”

“She likes everything very neat and organized,” Declan clarified. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s who she is.”

My father’s gaze permeated mine. “That’s not who she always was. When I lived with Molly, I remember her being quite messy and carefree.” He paused. “After I left home, my ex-wife would tell me Molly had become a bit obsessed with neatness and having everything in order.” He looked down at his plate and sighed. “And all I could think was...that’s not Molly at all.” Dad shook his head. “I wondered if her becoming that way had something to do with my leaving.”

I didn’t know what to say. That hadn’t occurred to me, but then I’d never analyzed my behavior.

My father continued, looking straight at me. “My therapist thinks we do certain things to create a sense of order or stability in our life, because those are things we can control. When I left, I turned your entire life upside down.”

I was surprised to learn my father knew about my quirks, but apparently my mother had let him in on more than I realized. I was also surprised to hear he saw a therapist.

“You see a shrink?”

“Yes. I have for some time now. I have a lot of regrets, Molly—about how I handled things with your mother and you girls. And I’m sorry.”

My chest tightened. He should not be beating himself up right now. I tried to reassure him. “We all make mistakes.”

“Mine was quite a mistake.”

It broke my heart that my father was focused on his regrets while battling this illness. He could very well have limited time; he needed to focus on the positive.

“Dad, please don’t worry about the past right now.”

The tension in the air was thick, and I felt Declan’s hand cover mine—not sure how he knew I really needed it.

He squeezed my hand. “If I may say something, Dr. Corrigan…”

My father took a sip of his drink. “Of course.”

“I know you left home when Molly was sixteen, and most of us are who we are as people by that age. You were there for her formative years. That fact shouldn’t be discounted. Sure, you made some mistakes, but your daughter is an amazing, well-adjusted person with a good head on her shoulders and a great career. She’s happy, loves the simple pleasures in life—loves food especially.” He looked at me, and I rolled my eyes. “She’s going to be just fine. And I, for one, am happy to call her my friend.”

Whether Declan’s words were the truth didn’t matter. He knew exactly what my father needed to hear. And I wanted to kiss him right now. Jesus, where did that come from?

“You should go into advertising,” my father joked, knowing full well from our dinner conversation that Declan’s career was in advertising. “But thank you. I’m happy my daughter has someone like you looking after her.”

After a minute, Declan went to use the bathroom.

My father took me into the living room and said, “He’s gay, right?”

I nearly spit out my wine. “What? No! What makes you say that?”

“You’re kidding. He’s not?”

“No. He’s totally hetero.”