Not Pretending Anymore(42)
Declan shook his head. “Okay, but like you said, you were young, you were hurt—we can’t help how we feel.” He placed his arm along the top of the couch and scooted a few inches toward me. “And you know what? You’re still young. You’re figuring these things out while your dad is still here. It’s never too late to make amends, as long as the person is still with us.”
Nodding, I wiped my eyes. “I feel like I’ve really tried over the past few weeks.”
“You have. And your dad loves you no matter what. He’s proven that—from the room he kept for you, to the way he looks at you. You can always tell someone’s true feelings by the way they look at someone. He’s not holding anything against you.”
It was ironic that Declan had said that. Because one of the only things that made me wonder about his feelings for me was the way he occasionally looked at me. I loved the way he didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room but me. He was always fully engaged with our conversation—like whatever we were talking about was super important, even if we were just discussing the weather. But that look was nowhere to be found right now. Instead, his eyes were vacant and distant.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I prodded.
“I am,” he said and again pushed the subject back to me. “Tell me what else has been on your mind.”
I was tempted to continue prying about why he seemed melancholy. But I knew he’d just brush me off again. So I exhaled and answered his question. “This whole thing with my father has caused me to reflect on myself. My dad is too young to be facing death. He hasn’t had time to accomplish everything he would want to. And it makes me feel like I’m not doing enough with my own life.”
He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes it takes something like this to get us thinking about stuff like that.” He stared down a moment before looking back at me. “I can tell you right now, if I died tomorrow, I wouldn’t feel like my life had been enough. I mean, I work in advertising, shoving products down people’s throats with exaggerated claims. How is that helping the world, you know? It’s not. It’s helping put money in the pockets of already-overpaid executives. My sister Catherine is on the other end of the spectrum, living her entire life doing good deeds. But I try to make small differences where I can. The hope is that they add up in the overall scheme of things.”
I smiled. “They always say what people remember most about someone is how that person made them feel. You definitely make those around you feel like you’re truly invested in them. That’s how you make me feel. You’re a good friend.”
“And to think, you almost let me walk away because I have a penis.” He winked.
I laughed, relieved to see his first genuine smile of the night. “That would’ve sucked.”
“In all seriousness, being a good friend is one way people can make an impact. It’s never too late to call that friend you’ve been meaning to call, or to do small things that add up. Stop the homeless person on the sidewalk and offer him lunch. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders to contribute to change. You can do it little by little.”
“How did you get so insightful?” I smiled, clutching one of the throw pillows to my chest. “Hey, I never got to properly thank you for being there for me the night my dad was rushed to the hospital.”
“Anytime.”
I hesitated a moment. “Will seemed freaked out to see you with me, but I guess I can’t blame him considering what he thinks of my relationship with you.”
“Did he tell you we got into a pissing match outside the waiting room before you woke up?”
“No, but I sensed something when I saw you two talking.” I paused. “I know why he must hate you. He thinks you’re his competition. But…why do you hate him ?”
Declan’s jaw tightened. “I’ve already told you. The verdict is still out on Dr. Dickalicious. I don’t like how fast he changed his tune on things.” He shrugged. “But look, I just want you to be happy. If he ends up making you happy, that’s what matters.”
You make me happy. Those words were at the tip of my tongue as the tension in the air grew thick.
Declan jumped up off the couch and clapped his hands, seeming to forcibly shake himself out of his funk. “You know what this night is missing?”
“What?”
“Breakfast for dinner. You hungry?”
Rubbing my stomach, I grinned. “I’m starving, actually.”
“Go relax. I’m gonna head to the store because we’re out of eggs. I’ll be back in twenty.”
“Sounds good.”
After spending so much time at my dad’s house, I was glad to be back in my happy place. A casual night in with Declan was exactly what I needed right now. The only thing dampening the evening was Declan’s strange mood. Maybe I was overreacting. Everyone has the right to feel crappy and not have to explain themselves. Maybe I’d just been spoiled by his happy-go-lucky demeanor up until this point.
While waiting for him to come back, I took a nice, hot shower. Closing my eyes as the water rained down on me, I reflected on our conversation, pondering some of the small things I could do moving forward: be a better daughter to my parents, a better big sister to Siobhan, volunteer my nursing services somewhere once a week on one of my days off. Declan was totally right. There were lots of small ways I could make my life more meaningful—in honor of my dad.