Page 77 of Love is a Game

He stops. Because something in Pen has shifted. Her stance stiffens, arms folding tight like a shield.

“Of course you do,” she says, voice taut as a tripwire. “Of course, you’dpreferto think of her as she was. It’s your typical cop-out, isn’t it, Dad? Just hold onto those old memories and never confront the fallout of your fucked-up behavior.

“And how about me?” Her voice is steel now. “Do you keep some old photo of me somewhere to reminisce? To pretend you were once an okay guy? That once upon a time, you were actually my father?”

“C’mon, Penny,” he coaxes. “You know I tried to see you over the years. Your mother put up a lot of barriers—”

Pen holds up a finger, silencing him with a tight, bitter smile.

And if I didn’t know what an asshole he was, I might almost feel sorry for him. Because all the signs are there—Pen’s squared shoulders, her darkening, narrowed eyes—shit’s about to get real, whether he sees it coming or not.

“You mean youpromisedto come see me, over and over again. Letters, random phone calls…alwaysgonna, gonna, gonna—but you never showed. So if Mom eventually put a stop to it, then I’m glad. Because it hurt more that you keptreappearingwith all those empty words. Pretending to give a shit whenever the guilt kicked in. Or was it just the booze that made you pick up the phone and lie to me?”

“I’ve been sober for twelve years!” he growls defensively. “And I’m sorry, okay? That I was such a fuck-up. But I was akid, you know? Just nineteen when we had you. Can you imagine having a baby at that age? Huh? Yeah, I went off the rails, but I’ve worked hard to be better.”

“Right,” Pen spits back. “And somehow, that self-improvement effort didn’t extend to Mom and me. Because you took the easy option—relegating us to the past.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t falter. “Iamglad you’re sober. I hope that’s worked out for the woman you married and her kids. Did you adopt those two kids, Dad?” she questions. “I assume you did since they were so clearly worth your effort to stay around. To build a cozy family just three hours away in Ellensbrook. Is that where you still live, Dad? It’s famous for Honeycrisp apples apparently, not forgetting its exceptional bike trails,” she deadpans.

“Penny—”

She scowls. “Enjoy your memorial tour of Blue Mountain Lake. The place you ruined for Mom because she was so ashamed to return here as a destitute single mother.”

“Can you juststopand listen?” he pleads.

“No.” She shakes her head, voice firm. “I don’t have time for yourpoor-mestory. Unlike you, I don’t get to just walk away and remember Mom how shewas.” Her voice sharpens. “Becausesomeonehas to bury her.”

And with that, she turns and disappears into the house.

He stares after her as if still processing what’s happened. Then, he takes a step forward as if to follow.

I quickly hold up a hand, blocking his way.

“That’s not a good idea.”

His sorrowful eyes lock onto mine. “You know she never gives me a chance to explain. I was young—” he starts again, repeating his well-worn defense. “Young and stupid. But I’m still her father. Don’t I deserve some recognition?”

I let that hang. And after a moment, he concedes defeat.

His gaze shifts, roaming aimlessly over the yard. “Penny’s always been stubborn. But I probably don’t have to tell you that, right?”

He shrugs at my lack of response as if he expected as much.

“Well. Anyway, good to meet you—”

“Tuck,” I remind him.

“Right,” he says distractedly, already half-turned toward his car.

“And it was good to meet you, too.”

He glances back at me.

“Because you clarified something for me today,” I continue. “Something important.”

His brows draw together. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Because earlier, I told you I’m her guy. But the truth is…I’m not actually sure about that.”

---