Page 62 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

At the time, I’d felt justified in my anger. Now I knew it hadn’t been anger at him or my mom, not really. Deep inside, I’d been angry with myself.

I’d been so absorbed in my own life, I hadn’t seen my own father fighting for his.

“Grilled chicken and mashed potatoes,” Mom called, setting a pan onto one of her crocheted oven mitts in the center of the table. “Lots of butter, Daphne. Just how you like it.”

“On the potatoes or the chicken?” Dad asked, taking his seat. He flashed me a tight smile.

Mom leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Both.”

“Atta girl.”

Soon we were all seated and looking around awkwardly. Mom finally cleared her throat and Dad got the hint, calling for a blessing on the food while we held hands. It seemed as familiar as birdsong, sitting here like this. So much better than scraping together random ingredients from the cupboard in my tiny apartment and calling it dinner.

“Oh, wow,” I groaned after putting the first bite of potatoes into my mouth. “Was it always this good?”

“Not possible. Everything’s better now that you’re home.” Mom winked and began to cut her meat.

Dad stared at his plate. “So are we going to talk about this or just keep pretending nothing’s changed?”

“Dad,” I moaned.

“Henry,” Mom said, a warning tone in her voice.

Dad finally met my gaze. “It’s just that you stormed out of this house almost seven years ago and haven’t come back for anything. Not for Christmas, no birthdays, nothing. Wouldn’t let us come visit you, either.”

Mom gripped the table. “We spoke on the phone hundreds of times, and you wouldn’t say a word.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dad said.

For the second time that week, I gathered my courage and stared him down. “You’re right. I haven’t been the daughter you both deserve.”

He tipped his hand toward me as if to say,There you go.

I wasn’t done. “But I also feel as if I haven’t had a father for the past seven years, and that hurt. It hurt that you would keep your condition a secret and ask Mom to do the same. Secrets kill relationships, even when you’re trying to protect someone. I’ve learned that the hard way.” And they especially hurt when they only benefitted one person. I recalled the betrayal I’d felt the night I left home and remembered Chase’s expression when he faced me on the beach a few days before. It wasn’t all that different.

Dad’s eyes lowered. “I never meant to hurt you, baby girl, but I see your point. Don’t be angry with your mom. This one’s on me.”

“I’m not angry with either of you. I’ve come a long way since I left. I didn’t know a whole lot about myself or what I wanted back then. The only dream I had was New York, and leaving finally gave me the courage to pursue it. I’m not sure I would have gone if we hadn’t argued.”

Dad nodded. “And now? Is New York still your dream?”

“No,” I said honestly. “It has its own beauty, but I’d love to be a wedding planner again. Somewhere tropical, ideally, but if I can’t swing that, I’ll help other couples experience that from afar. Islands truly are magical. Almost as magical as being home.” I smiled at Mom, who gave my hand a squeeze. With everything out in the open now, some of the joy Mom had referenced in her phone call swelled in my chest. No secrets, no bad feelings, no underhanded plans. Only love and respect for one another.

“Finish your chicken and then come on a walk with me,” Dad said. “There’s something I want to tell you.” He turned to Mom. “I’ll do the dishes when we get back, so hands off.”

Mom lifted her palms in surrender, grinning. “Yes, sir.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

After dinner,we headed outside to brave the heat, falling into our usual routine—right turns, all the way around the farm’s outer fences. Dirt roads, the occasional whiff of manure, and freshly mowed lawn. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this.

“I had to bring you out here so your mom wouldn’t throttle me later for being right,” Dad admitted. “Don’t tell her I said this, but I’ve been a stubborn fool.”

“You?” I said with a chuckle. “Never.”

“Where do you think your stubborn streak came from?” he asked with a half grin. “Anyway, because of that stubbornness, I missed out on seven years of your life. Not just the day you left, but every day afterward. The cancer may not have taken me from my family, but it broke us all the same. I regret that, Daphne.” He held out an elbow.

I blinked rapidly, my eyes suddenly warm, and took his arm as we walked. “Thank you, Dad. You weren’t the only one being stubborn. It hurt, being left out, but only because I loved you so much. If the surgery hadn’t worked and I was the last to know—I guess it only meant that much less time for me to be prepared. Less time for me to spend with you. But my solution gave me less time with you anyway. I hope you can forgive me.”

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