Page 133 of The Thought of You

My sharp inhale fills the silence of my house, and time seems to stop. This feels like one of those moments I’ll look back on years from now—a turning point.

I just hope it’s a good turning point.

“I’m a coward, sea turtle,” he says, and his raw voice is loaded with vulnerability. From the other line, a sniff comes through, and my gut clenches.

He’s upset.

“I should’ve made more of an effort to be part of your life, Addie, and not just the vacation dad. I’m so sorry.”

His words wash over me, but the tension in my body doesn’t subside.

My heart doesn’t soften.

My eyes aren’t freed of tears threatening to spill.

I don’t feel better, but what did I expect? Did I really think a single apology would repair years’ worth of damage?

As if he reads my mind, Dad adds, “I know that doesn’t change anything right now, and I can’t take back the way I hurt you. But I want to do better. I hate that you’ve been mad at me for so long.”

“Why, Dad?”

“Why, what?”

“You said you’re a coward. Is that all you’ve got?” I press. “It’s not an explanation, and it most certainly is not grounds for a new future.”

“I know. You’re right.” His sigh is heavy and strong through the speaker, and I almost feel it weighing on me. “It’s just that your mother… well, she… Can we please have dinner this weekend? I could take a few vacation days from work and come to Sapphire Creek. I can be spontaneous like that for my daughter.”

I sink onto my couch, my wary knees tuckered out for the afternoon.

“I’d really like to talk in person,” he says, but it’s more of a plea. “I’d like to see you. It has been too long, and I shouldn’t have let this much time pass without making more of an effort.” His tone is sincere, and I melt into the couch, my limbs mere noodles.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll see you next weekend.”

His sigh of relief brings a smile to my face, and after he promises to text me with an update on his itinerary for the weekend, we end the call.

But I don’t move. Nothing but a warm pair of pajama pants and a sweater sound good—maybe even a glass of wine too—but I remain seated, my mind a muddled field of debris.

I faced my father. We’re not finished, but I took the first step. It was scary and ballsy and overwhelming, but it’s the move I needed to make. No matter what comes of it, I took a leap, and that’s a big freaking deal.

I don’t know how long I remain frozen like this when the lock on the front door turns, and my mother springs into the house with a cheery, “Honey, I’m home—again!”

Oh, good grief.

Do I really have to confront yet another parent tonight?

“Rain.” I throw my hands up and stand, mustering the energy for this reunion. “Two visits in less than two weeks. To what do I owe this surprise? Is Mercury in retrograde?”

She tilts her head in a way that lets me know she’s not amused.

That makes two of us.

I peek over her shoulder through the open door to see if her friends are parking and caravanning up the porch, but nothing happens. No one enters, other than a couple of flying critters.

“I see you’ve had time to clean up the mess we left.” She shuts the door, further confirming no one else will be joining us, much to my relief, given the aforementioned mess.

But I don’t miss the disappointment in her words.

“Why do you say it like that?” I ask.

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