Page 84 of Summertime Friends

I try George. Haven’t spoken to him much since he dropped news that Beatrix is pregnant on Callum and me when I was in London last. He was going back home to see his parents last he told me. Doesn’t answer.

Something in me urges me to call the only person. . . whose ears must be burning because his name flashes on my screen.

My dad, Haymitch Hayes.

We don’t talk often. An occasional text message here and there. Ever since my mom passed away while I was at school, he’s been different. I guess that’s what happens when you truly lose the love of your life.

Even though they were divorced, they were best friends and madly loved each other—which didn’t make much sense to others, either.

I think it is possible to love someone but not be with them. Maybe that’ll be me and Emerson forever. Caught in the dimension of the universe where that’s plausible.

Grief overcame him. For the first few years after Mom passed, he turned to alcohol to numb the pain, the first time seeing my dad drink more than a pint or two. Knew her passing was inevitable—diagnosed with breast cancer when I was twelve, had two durations of remission, but battled like hell. The cancer came back a third time, spreading into her lungs and liver. She died within the year.

My father’s grief, mainly the alcohol consumption, made him more distant than he already was. Not returning to football didn’t aid the situation either. His distance fueled his disappointment and distaste for me.

I told myself he saw me thriving at school and in the initial phases of developing my company as me not caring about my mother. . . or that she was gone. Or the neglect of everything he gave me as a child to get me to where I was athletically. Reality? Throwing myself into that is how I helped myself heal; if I didn’t. . . I’m not optimistic I’d be here. I didn’t know how to handle all the grief I felt at first.

Grief. A foreign monster that wreaked havoc on my mind. As soon as I learned to handle (defeat) it, it reappeared in a new version. That’s what they forget to tell you about grief. It has many faces, and there’s no way to prepare for it.

I wanted to go to therapy, told my dad, and his reply was to man up. Our relationship became even more estranged, and then I lost both of my parents.

Cal and George knew about what I was going through and sat there with me in the hospital the day she died. As relieved as I was that my mom was no longer struggling, I still wanted her on Earth with me. They watched grief shift something inside me. Manned up, as my father said, didn’t talk about what I was going through until Emerson. She listened, asked questions, and helped heal those final parts of me that success couldn’t. Emerson also helped me, more forced, rekindle my relationship with my father. Something I’ll forever be grateful for.

I pick up on the third ring. “Son. It’s good to hear from you.”

“I’ve been busy,” I ask him. “How are you?”

“Good, we are good.” He’s referring to his girlfriend, Michelle. They’ve been together for the past four years. She’s incredible, and I’m happy he has her. Michelle reminds me a lot of my mom. When I met her, it made sense why my father gravitated toward her. “How are you? Are you back in London?”

“No. I’m in Chicago.”

“Going for the expansion?”

“That happened last year, Dad,” I remind him. Rekindled, not fully restored relationship—let me clarify that here. “I invited you to the opening. You haven’t RSVP’d.”

I don’t expect him to come. He hasn’t been to any of the others. He’ll talk to me about everything I’ve accomplished but hasn’t come to a single one, even in his own backyard. Michelle attended the last one in London. She told me he was busy and wished he could have been there. Her soft smile told me she tried. I don’t push the issue. It may sting still, but this is far better than anything I could have hoped for.

“I’m s—” he starts to say.

“Don’t sweat it. I didn’t expect you to come, anyway,” I cut him off, not wanting to hear that.

There’s a long pause between us.

“I’m proud of you, Liam,” my dad says.

My heart is like a geyser about to blow. It doesn’t matter our age; we always want our parents to be proud of us. . . and hear it.

Since forming Hayes Hotels, he’s never once told me that. Honestly, I don’t know if he’s ever said those five words to me.

“Thank you, Dad. I appreciate hearing that.”

“I know I don’t tell you enough.”Or ever.“But I am. You’ve worked extremely hard to get to where you are. Your mom would be proud, too.”

“She would.” I smile, thinking about her.

“How long do you plan to be there?” he asks.

“Undecided. At a minimum, through the opening and the month following. Cal and I’ll decide the rotation of presence needed here,” I respond, updating him on the other two locations we are eyeing in the area to try to make a name.

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