Page 109 of Fragile

“I love you,” she says, and I’ll never get tired of her telling me.

“I love you too, Queenie.”

With one more kiss and the deepest breath I can muster, I’m out the door and on my way to the coffee shop in town. As soon as I’ve parked, I stroll across the street and breathe in the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the building. Pushing the door open, I head straight to the counter and order a black coffee.

A few minutes pass as I watch the steam rise from my coffee cup in front of me, unable to take a sip yet. Every time the door swings open, I glance up, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’s him.

The door opens again, and this time, it’s him. Dad stands there for a moment, scanning the room until his eyes lock onto mine. There’s a pause, like we’re both trying to figure out how to do this—how to meet after everything that’s happened. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the lines on his face that weren’t there before. He’s also not in his usual Mark Cooper suit. Instead, he’s in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I don’t know the last time I saw him out of his formal wear.

When he sits down across from me, the silence between us feels thick, almost visible.

“You look good, Miles,” he says finally, his voice low, cautious.

“Thanks,” I reply, trying to sound casual, but my throat feels tight. “You too.”

I pick up my cup, swirling the cold coffee around unsure of who should talk first.

He looks down at his hands, his expression hard to read. He seems nervous, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. When he looks up, there’s something I definitely haven’t seen before in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.

“I’m sorry, Miles,” he says, and there’s a raw honesty in his voice that catches me off guard. “I need to say this and be honest. I didn’t realize what I was putting you through. I didn’t see how much it was hurting you.”

His words hang in the air between us, and I feel a knot in my chest start to unravel. I’ve waited years to hear him say something like this, to acknowledge that the pressure wasn’t just in my head. It wasn’t me being weak—it was him being too blind to see what he was doing to me.

“I pushed too hard,” he admits abruptly. “I thought I was helping, but I see now that I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t paying attention to what you really needed.”

Not trusting myself to speak just yet, I simply nod.

“I know I have a long way to go and things between us aren’t going to be perfect, but I’m trying to improve. I’ve taken sabbatical at work, and I’m seeing a therapist. I’m trying.”

He’s trying, I remind myself. And I can see that. He set this up; he wants to make amends, so the least I’ll do is hear him out today.

I finally swallow as I hold his gaze. “Growth is uncomfortable, Dad. I know. I’ve spent the last year facing situations that are hard, growing and becoming a man who mom would be proudof. I’ve made a life that I’m proud of with someone who loves me exactly as I am.”

“Your mother would be proud of you, without a doubt.” He pauses to look at me, but his eyes are filled with emotion. “You’re just like her, you know, resilient and caring…” he trails off, and I know he’s thinking that he misses her because I do too. “I’m not looking for forgiveness yet. I know that’s earned, but my behavior has been unacceptable, and I see that now. I just want you to know that I wish I’d handled everything differently.”

I think about what my therapist said to me in my last session with her, and I take a deep breath. “I do forgive you, because I need to, because I held on to so much anger and fear for too long, and I need to forgive you so I can move on.” His eyes drop down to the floor in disappointment before I add, “Beforewemove on.”

The look he meets my eyes with is full of hope and something I haven’t seen in him for a really long time—acceptance. “I never thought I’d hear those words,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know if I deserved to. But...thank you, Miles. It means more than you know.”

I nod, feeling the weight of what’s happening between us. It’s not just about forgiveness—it’s about rebuilding, about finding a way to coexist without all the old wounds tearing us apart again. My therapist told me that forgiveness isn’t about erasing the past; it’s about freeing myself from the grip it has on me. And I’m finally beginning to understand that.

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy.” I continue steadily, even as my heart races. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to work through. But I’m willing to try too.”

He nods, swallowing hard, as if he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I want that too, Miles. More than anything. I want to be there for you, the way I should have been all along.I know I can’t change what happened, but I want to make things right. I want to be better.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes me believe him. It’s not just empty words or another attempt to control the situation. It feels real, like he’s finally seeing me—not just as his son, but as a person who has struggled, who has fought to find his own way.

“I think we both have to be better,” I say, offering a small, tentative smile. “I wasn’t perfect. I should’ve asked for help instead of finding other ways to cope. I have a lot of regrets over that. But I don’t regret my life now. I’m happy and I’m loved.”

He listens, absorbing my words. “I’m glad to hear that.”

I take a breath, feeling the weight of what I’m about to share. “I’ve got a job, too,” I say, and I can’t stop the excitement from creeping into my voice. “I’m training to be an assistant physiotherapist with the Beavers.”

Something flickers in his eyes—pride, I realize. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it makes my heart swell a little. “Here in Oregon?” he asks, looking down at my hoodie.

“Yeah.” I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Quinn’s doing her master’s at CLU, so I wanted to stick close by. We’ve been through a lot together, and being near her just feels right.”

“Quinn Dawson?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you two—?”

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