Page 71 of The Bartender's Baby

I searched out Tabby, and when I spotted her at the table, her eyes were already on me. She slanted her head in silent question, a knowing arch of her brow. She had her hand on the back of her chair, as if she might get up and come to my rescue at my signal.

I did kind of want to signal her.

And yet, I didn’t.

I also kind of wanted to hear what my father had to say. If anything at all.

Call it masochism. Constantly seeking out my father’s attention, only to be disappointed. Why not do it again?

Dad took a deep breath. “It was hard being the son of an immigrant. We felt a lot of pressure to excel. My father’s trauma…” Dad dragged the tip of his index finger across his upper lip, something he did a lot when in thought. “He had high expectations of us, and I had even higher ones of myself. Theman survived Nazi Poland—it’s not like I could ever bring home a bad grade.Sorry for all your troubles, Dad, but I got a C in chemistry.I couldn’t do it.”

I set the drink glasses down, needing to have my hands free to… I didn’t know. Cross them over my chest.

I felt like I needed to do jumping jacks or something. Release this growing strain in my chest. I’d taken off my suit jacket during dinner and loosened my tie, but I was sweating now.

I knew close to nothing about my father’s past. He so rarely spoke. About anything. But especially his childhood.

Dad went on. “My father worked very hard for the life he provided for my brother and me, and I had no other… I didn’t know what else to do besides work hard and provide for you and your sister. That’s…” He rubbed his finger over his lip again, his eyes resting on some place over my shoulder, a place in his mind. “I know it wasn’t enough for you, but it was all I knew how to do, and I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.”

His words felt like a punch in the throat, and I had trouble swallowing past the rock there. I pulled at my collar, the puzzle pieces coming together in my mind, and I didn’t like what I saw.

“You thought you weren’t good enough?” I asked, my voice too high-pitched. “I thoughtIwasn’t good enough. Not what you wanted or expected.”

My father’s eyes shot toward mine, his brows deeply furrowed, the wrinkles there overpronounced. He looked angry, and my instinctual reaction was fear. Not that he would hit me, but that I would be ignored or pushed aside once again.

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. That was never true.” He took a step toward me. “Nathan, I never, not once, believed that.”

He set his hand on my shoulder, and I horrified myself when my eyes welled up with tears so badly I couldn’t see clearly. I’d stopped crying over my father long ago.

Or so I’d thought.

I couldn’t get any words out, but I didn’t need to, because he kept right on going.

The dam had broken.

“I knew what you wanted and needed. I heard you, but I…I didn’t know how to give that to you, and I was afraid to try and fail, so I didn’t. I know now that was wrong, and you deserved better from me. You and your sister both deserved better from me, and I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.”

His fingers squeezed the muscle of my shoulder, though he didn’t move to hug me. I couldn’t remember the last time he had, but I didn’t want him to either.

I wouldn’t know how to react, and I didn’t know if I would want to accept it or not. Especially with my mind reeling from his confession.

“I see the man you’ve become,” he said after removing his hand, settling it back in his pocket. “I see how you run your business and how you take care of those around you, and that is all I could have asked of you. To be happy and be a good person.”

I nodded, rubbing my thumb and index fingers along my eyes, grating out a ragged, “Thank you.”

“And I think you’ll be a great dad. A hell of a lot better than I was to you and Evie.”

When I finally lifted my head, meeting his gaze, he offered me an uptick of his lips. His version of a smile. “I’m proud of you, Nathan.”

I cleared my throat, but my voice still sounded like it had been through the garbage disposal as I answered, “Thanks, Dad.”

He leaned away, glancing over his shoulder, clearly wanting an out, so I gave him one. Picking up the drinks I’d ordered, I pointed to Tabby. “I’ve got to get back.”

He nodded, I nodded, and then we parted ways.

From the strangest and most enlightening conversation I’d ever had with my father. One that broke open old scabs and offered some resolution.

“Everything okay?” Tabby asked as soon as I reached her.

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