Page 63 of By the Book

“No, that’s not…No.Iwant to apologize. I’m so sorry, kid—Dash.”

I waited.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “We didn’t think about how that might make you feel. We didn’t think about what you wanted. It was invalidating, like you said. God, I feel like such an idiot.” He fell silent, maybe waiting for me to correct him, but when I still didn’t say anything, he said, “We were trying to help. I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I want you to know we never meant to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell Phil what you decided.”

I nodded.

“And we’ll get out of your hair,” my dad said. “I really am sorry, Dash. Bobby seems like a good man. I’m happy for you.”

But he didn’t walk away. And I felt like my joints had been welded shut, like I couldn’t move without breaking myself into pieces.

When my dad spoke again, his words barely carried over the crash of the surf, but I could hear his voice breaking. “You’re my son, Dash. I love you more than anything in the entire world. And if you don’t know that, don’t know that you’re the most important thing in my life, that I’m proud of you every day—” His speech attenuated until it was a thread about to snap. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “If you don’t know that, then that’s my failure as your father.”

“You were always gone,” I said. “Everything else was more important than me.”

He nodded. “That was a mistake. We were young, and we were excited about our success. But that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The wind off the water ruffled my hair. I straightened my jacket. My anger, which had been bright and self-righteous, was now smoldering and sullen and unsatisfying when faced with thegrief etched on my dad’s face. Being an adult, I decided, was the worst.

“Do you really think we wish you were someone else?” my dad asked.

“Obviously. I’m a huge disappointment.”

“Dash, you’re not—you couldneverbe a disappointment.”

“Really? Because I don’t have a novel published. I haven’t traveled the world like Dottie. I’ve never won any awards like you and Mom.” The words that had been pent-up inside me tore their way free. “Do you know what it’s like, being your kid? It’s like everyone expects something. For me to be brilliant. For me to be a great writer. For me to be different and exceptional and successful. Why do you think I can’t ever finish anything? Heck, I can’t evenstartanything.”

My dad opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. He stood there for several long seconds. And then he hugged me.

I wasn’t sure the last time my dad had hugged me. Or touched me, for that matter, besides those manly handshakes. It was disorienting to realize I was taller. My dad had always taken up so much space in my imagination, but now, his body pressed against mine, I realized he was thinner than I remembered. The feel of his bones made me think he was old. I didn’t hug him back. But I didn’t pull away either.

“Your mother and I loveyou, Dash.” His voice was thick as he pulled me against him. “You. The person you are. This wonderful, amazing person right here, the one who is brave and kind and generous, who took a tremendous risk because he refused to settle for day-to-day unhappiness, and who never, ever, ever gives up, because every time life has knocked you down, you’ve picked yourself up and tried again. You’re smart, you’re resourceful, you’re so—so competent.”

A laugh wrenched its way out of me.

“You are,” my dad said. “My God, when we were trapped in that room in the library, your mother and I were worse than useless. Not only did you keep your head, and not only did you come up with the only practical solutions for getting us out of there, but you did it while you were having an epic fight with your idiotic, self-centered parents. You’re so strong, Dash. And you’re such a good person. How could I not be proud of you?”

The sun slipped below the water. And just like that, all the fire went out of the world, and the night was cool and silver.

With a gruff and manly cough, my dad squeezed me one last time and let me go. I ran my sleeve across my eyes. He pretended to clean his glasses.

Part of me wanted to let the rest of it go, to embrace the gentleness of this moment. But I still had a child’s hurt inside me, and my next, knee-jerk comment was “I notice Mom couldn’t be bothered to apologize.”

“We agreed it would be best if I talked to you—”

“Hogwash,” I said.

(I didn’t actually say hogwash. I used some of Talon Maverick’s choicest vocabulary.)

“When she calms down—” my dad began.

“She’s not going to calm down because she meant it. She meant everything she said. And everything she did. Dad, I—I’m really grateful for this. For the chance to talk to you. To tell you how I feel. And for you listening to me, and for you telling me—”That you love mesounded like bad copy for a Father’s Day card. “—um, what you did.” I tried to break off there, but more kept coming. “God, why does she have to be like this? Why does she have to be so…her?”

“Your mother is a complicated person,” my dad said. “She’s a wonderful woman. She’s an incredible writer. She’s so dedicated to her craft. She’s quite possibly the smartest person I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean she’s always an easy person.”

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