Page 81 of When You Left Me Speechless

I giggle. “Hey, it’s not my fault you keep giving me all your clothes.”

His phone begins to vibrate on the kitchen counter. Startled, I jump up and pick it up.

“Oh, your dad’s calling,” I say, handing him the phone. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed it.”

His face falls for a moment before he silences it and places it face down on the table.

“You could answer it, you know.” He shakes his head andadjusts in his seat like he is suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“Why do you hate him so much? I mean, I know he left when you were little, but what happened between you two?”

He lets out a sigh. “There are so many reasons.”

“We have time. Tell me,” I urge.

“When I was five, my mom found out he had been cheating on her with another woman. His mistress was younger than my mom. Young has always been his type. Anyway, he only came clean about the affair because the woman was pregnant with his child, and he had decided he needed to be there for that baby. He left us to start a new family.”

He fidgets in his chair again, and I squeeze his hand, letting him know he can keep talking.

“Well, of course, he didn’t stick around very long for them either, but he also was pretty absent from my life. My mom got full custody when they divorced, and we moved around a lot. Mostly around Georgia, but we lived in Tennessee for a bit, too. Despite us moving, I saw him twice a year, for my birthday and his. My half-brother and him are extremely close and practically the same person. He and I could not be more different. I guess I’ve always been a major disappointment. He has a new woman on his arm every few weeks and is a successful attorney. He has never agreed with my life choices.”

“What could he possibly not agree with?”

“I guess you could say we have different interests. He’s only interested in what benefits him. I have my job, my friends, the food pantry, pickleball, my mom,” he pauses, “you.”

“And he doesn’t agree with your decision to have all of those things?”

“He thinks they make me weak.”

Somewhere in the back of my head, my rule flickers like a light in the distance.Nothing serious until after graduation.But, as I look at him sitting across from me, his eyes starting to gloss over from the pain his asshole of a father caused him bubbling to the surface, I watch as that light starts to dim. I’m not sure how many people know these things about his past. At work, he comes off confident and sure of himself. The kids idolize him, and it’s no secret the teachers do too. I stand, walk around the table, and curl into his lap.

“Fuck him.”

“What?”

“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve your tears,” I repeat the words he said to me after that awful meeting. “I like that you are passionate about your job. I like that it’s so important to you that your students are cared for that you started a food pantry to keep them fed. I like that you love your mom enough to move close to her. I like that you care about your friends. I like that you play a sport that was made for old people.” He laughs. “And I like you.”

I lean forward, and his lips find mine. My arms wrap around his neck, and I pull him into me. His tongue glides over mine, he tastes like the wine we have been drinking. The kiss is tender, not urgent or chaste. It’s like smelling a bouquet of daisies after a hard day or watching the magic of the sunset turn to a starry night. It is like one of my favorite things. Hell, kissing him may be my favorite thing.

Why am I just starting to realize this now?

He slowly pulls away, and I hear myself groan in protest. “I like you, too, chatterbox.” He places a small kiss on the tip of my nose.

“I’m sorry your dad sucks.” He laughs and shrugs his shoulders. “Why is he trying to reach you?”

“Not sure. He’s been calling since I met him for dinner over spring break.”

I nod.

“He blindsided me with my half-brother, and they cut my career down. He called his new girlfriend the wrong name twice. You were right; that day in the hall, I didn’t have to tolerate it, so I got up and left.”

“I’m proud of you. I know that was probably hard to do. How often has he been calling?”

“He’s tried me every couple of days since, but I have nothing to say, and, for the life of me, I have no idea what he wants.”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

“I doubt it. He’s never apologized for anything he has ever done. I’m sure he needs something, and I’m in no hurry to figure out what that might be.”

---