Page 9 of With You

“Are you hiding?”

Turning his head in my direction, my father removes the cigarette from his mouth. “Figured you’d call me when you needed me.”

Crossing the threshold, I step out onto the small alfresco area attached to the side of our reception venue and lower myself to the wooden bench beside him.

Sidling up to him, I nudge his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

His brows knit together. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug, not really having an answer but wanting to check in on him nonetheless.

“That was a lot of crying you did back there at the ceremony,” I tease.

A husky chuckle leaves his mouth. “I don’t recall you holding yourself together any better than I did.”

We’re so alike, Dad and me, that it feels like more than a coincidence that we’ve both been on our own road trip of self-discovery at the same time.

“Thank you for coming today, Dad,” I say. “I know how ha?—”

His hand squeezing my knee silences me. “Today is your day, Deac. You don’t need to mollycoddle or worry about me.”

He says it as if it were easy, as if these last five years seeing him without my mother didn’t make me feel like a selfish prick, every. Single. Time.

After choosing to go no contact with her, I learned that she and my father had separated. With every intention to repair their marriage and deal with their grief, I know his side of the journey. But the unspoken rule about my mother, as a person, as the person who has hurt me the most, I don’t ask and they don’t tell.

“According to Julian, I do that,” I say. “Worry about the people I love.”

“I love you too, son,” he says, patting my knee. “I’m so honored to be here, seeing you and Julian as grown men.” The last word gets lost in a shuddery breath, and I don’t need to guess why. “I’m just basking in it all,” he admits. “There’s a lot of peace that comes with knowing your kids are happy and loved.”

“Are you happy and loved, Dad?” I find myself asking him before I even have a chance to process just how hard this question might be for him to answer.

“I am,” he says quicker than expected. Surprising me, he stands up, and I follow suit until we’re facing each other.

Large, firm hands settle on my shoulders. “Life didn’t go at all how I expected it to, and I know I’m not an anomaly or unique, and there are many people in this world who have endured the same or worse than me, but today, sitting here with you, I don’t hate where it’s led me.

“I think happy and loved look different for me at this stage of my life, but I’m good here.”

Eyes like mine, just older and wiser, hold my stare as my chest tightens at his honesty. Empathy and understanding settle between us.

“Thank you, Dad.”

Wordlessly, he pulls me to him, hugging me close. There’s no rush in our embrace, all the things we’ve shared, out loud and in silence, alone and together.

“I love you, Deacon.”

“Love you too.”

“What’s this?” Victoria’s question interrupts the moment, but my face splits into a smile at the sound of her voice. “Did I miss the family meeting?”

Turning, I extend an arm out to her. “You’re just in time.”

She huddles between Dad and me as we both wrap our arms around her. “Seriously though, what did I miss?”

“Your brother thinks now that he’s married and a huge sap, that we all have to be.”

“Hey,” I say in mock defense.

“Says the man who was crying while walking Deacon down the aisle,” Vic teases, and the three of us laugh.

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