Page 82 of You Started It

Delete.

I really like you, too.

Maybe even more than like?

Delete. Delete.

Ugh. I don’t know what to say. How do you open the lines of communication with someone when you’re still hurting?

Ben and I rarely argued. If one of us was upset, the other would speak calmly and explain their position. And that was that. Even if I didn’t “get” Ben’s position, even when I thought his reasoning was full of it, I accepted his explanation and moved on because that’s what we did. Conflict made Ben uncomfortable and, to be honest, it made me uncomfortable too. I didn’t want to end uplike my mom and dad. I wanted to be in a healthy relationship. But I’m not sure what Ben and I had was healthy either.

Instead of coming to me earlier with his feelings about wanting to spread his wings and fly with Olivia, he dragged it out over the summer and then blindsided me. Even if he’s telling me the truth about what happened, that nothing did go down between him and Olivia until he broke up with me, because of the way he went about it, my trust in him is forever broken.

Maybe my trust in all humans.

All this drama is making me hungry. I need food and maybe a good cry session. Then I can work on drafting the perfect response to Axel.

I grab my things and make my way inside the house. When I open the door, there’s a pair of runners on the rug, not neatly tucked away like Eli demands. It can’t be one of Mom’s customers, since they come in through the basement entryway, and they’re definitely not Eric’s shoes. For one, they’re huge, and second, he’d never wear shoes with as much of a scuff on them. These look like they’ve been dragged through the mud and back again.

“Jamie, is that you?” Mom calls from the kitchen. Her tone is even-keeled. Not icy like it’s been the last couple of days when we’ve been forced to address one another. “Come into the kitchen. There’s someone here to see you.”

I take in a breath and exhale as I remove my coat and boots. My steps are laced with apprehension as I walk to the kitchen. Mom is seated at the table with a man. Dad. He turns as I come in and smiles. Dad rises from the table, shifting his stance like he’s deciding what to do. Run away, maybe? He’s good at that. Instead, he extends his arms. My gaze moves away from his and onto Mom, who’s still seated. A tight smile paints her face. It’s like she’s giving me permission to hug my father. He seems to read my hesitation though and pulls out a chair for me instead.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

I nod and sit. It’s quiet as the three of us seemingly acclimate to being seated at a table together for the first time in over three years.

“No Halloween costume?” Dad asks.

“Nope. This moment is scary enough,” I say, and they both let out a quiet chuckle.

“Your dad called me this morning and asked if he could come over and speak to us. I was a bit hesitant at first, but after we chatted awhile, it felt like the right thing to do,” Mom says, looking at me.

“Why do you always get to be the one who makes decisions for all of us?” I ask, digging my fingernails into my knees under the table.

“Don’t be upset at your mother, James. It’s me who you should be mad at.”

“But she kept you away from me for years.”

“She did. But she did it for good reason,” Dad says, unable to meet my eyes.

“Maybe this conversation should be between the two of you.” Mom stands. “I’ll be in my salon if anyone needs me.” As she passes us, she places a hand on my shoulder and grips it slightly before leaving.

My stomach growls, breaking the awkward silence. “Skipped lunch,” I say. “Want a snack?”

“Sure,” Dad says, his large hands wrapped around Eli’s rainbow-colored mug with the wordsI WAS PETTY TODAYwritten in all caps.

I riffle through the cupboards and fridge, making a plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes. I bring it to the table and sit next to my father, picking at the vine, plucking the grapes but not eating any.

“So, you were going to tell me the million reasons why you walked away,” I say with a bit more edge to my voice than I’d intended.

“Not a million reasons, James. Just one real reason. Something your mother and I have kept from you.” He slides the mug away and takes in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “When I left, I told you it was because it felt like my life was slipping away. While there was truth behind that sentiment, it was really just an excuse.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, rolling a grape around my fingers.

“This isn’t easy for me to admit, even after all this time. Especially to you, my baby girl.” His eyes turn red and glossy. He keeps swallowing, seemingly moments away from breaking down. “I’m an alcoholic, Jamie.”

A chill passes through me as the grape slips out of my fingers and rolls across the table. Alcoholic? My father? I had no idea. “I had no idea,” I say.

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