Page 40 of Hate to Love You

Two weeks before Christmas last year, my dad dropped the bomb that he was leaving my mother. After twenty-something years of marriage, he was walking away. I still remember coming home from college and finding my mom sitting in the living room, looking shell-shocked. She’s the one who told me that my father was upstairs packing his bags.

He’d fallen in love with another woman. Life, he’d said by way of explanation, was too short not to be happy and if he didn’t seize this opportunity while he still had the chance, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

When Mom brought up the possibility of counseling, he told her his mind was already made up, and he wasn’t interested in trying to fix the problems. He just wanted to be free to live his life.

I have no idea if he realized that when he walked away from my mother, it felt like he was walking away from me as well. I may have been twenty-one years old, but their separation cut me to the bone.

For the last nine months, I’ve avoided all contact with Dad. I’ve been so angry that he blew our world apart. And it’s not that I’m any less mad, but I’ve decided that maybe it’s time for us to sit down and talk. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to resolve anything today, but I have to try.

Since I’m the first to arrive at the restaurant we chose to meet at, the hostess shows me to a table. This is the first time I’ve agreed to meet with him, so you’d think he’d be on time. He’s not. Already it feels like we’re getting off on the wrong foot.

After he walked out, Mom was a mess. She’d been a stay-at-home mom for twenty years. All of a sudden, she needed to rejoin the workforce and find a way to support herself. It took months for her to pull herself together, but she did it. I came home every weekend so that she wouldn’t be alone in the house. A friend of hers, who owns a real estate company, talked Mom into taking a real estate class so she could get her license. Once she immersed herself in the course and helped out with a few open houses, she realized just how much she enjoyed selling real estate. It’s been great for her self-esteem.

Taking a sip of water, I glance at my phone, feeling annoyed that Dad still isn’t here. Ten minutes late and counting. If he really wanted to sit down and work things out, he’d make an effort to be on time. I have too much going on to sit around waiting for him to show up.

I’m giving it five minutes.

If he’s still not here, I’m leaving.

Just as I start to gather up my purse and phone, I see Dad walk into the restaurant. He glances around the dining room, and I raise my hand in a half-hearted wave. Even though this is my father and we enjoyed a close relationship before he left, I’m still nervous. He smiles and moves in my direction.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says. “Sorry about being late, I got held up in traffic.”

I stand, and he takes me in his arms. I can’t help but notice that he’s wearing a different cologne than he used to. As we break apart, my eyes slide over him.

He’s wearing…jeans.

Not only are they fitted, but they’re distressed as well.

I can’t remember the last time I saw Dad in jeans. He’s always dressed in a suit or Dockers during the week and sweatpants and T-shirts on the weekends. As he slips out of his leather jacket—another article of clothing I don’t recognize—I notice he’s wearing a patterned button-down with the sleeves rolled up.

It’s like I’m sitting with a stranger. He doesn’t look like the man I remember.

Not knowing what to say, I blurt, “You look different.”

Instead of taking offense, he smiles. “New haircut.”

Now that he’s mentioned it…His hair is cut much shorter on the sides and is spiked with product in front.

I wave a hand toward the rest of him. “Your whole look is different.” I try to keep the accusation out of my voice, but it’s difficult. Dad spent twenty years dressing the same way and now he looks like some old guy pretending to be younger than what he is.

I can just imagine whose idea the haircut and clothes were.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Seemed like it was time to freshen up the wardrobe. Out with the old and in with the new.”

A pang shoots through me.

Am I part of the old that needed to be thrown out? Whether he realizes it or not, that’s the way it feels.

“You look nice, Dad,” I say because I don’t feel like I can share my true feelings with him. That it looks like he’s trying too hard to be something he’s not.

“Thanks.” He looks sheepish. “I haven’t worn jeans since college. It’s taken a little getting used to.”

“Then why are you wearing them?”

He shrugs and picks up the menu the hostess left on the table for us to peruse. “Just trying something new. Trying to get out of my comfort zone.”

I nod, but don’t say anything further.

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