Page 102 of Filthy Rich

He shrugs. “I didn’t get them toasted or sliced, so if you don’t want them, you can pop them in the fridge and eat them later.” He walks through the door with an abashed smile. “My mom would kill me if she ever found out I showed up somewhere empty-handed.”

“She’s dead,” I say.

“That makes it scarier,” Dad says.

I can’t help my laugh.

Once we get our waffles ready, mine covered in fruit, Dad’s drowning in syrup and chocolate chips, I tell Dad about Mom crashing at my place without telling me.

“Of course she did,” he says. “I swear, most things—like wine—get better with age.” He lifts his eyebrows, leaving me to intuit his meaning. Dad’s always been a big fan of not saying the mean thing, but making it clear with subtext.

“Yeah, Mom looks pretty good, but otherwise she’s not aging well at all.”

“You said it,” he says.

I can’t help my laugh this time either. “Dad, agreeing with me is just as bad.”

“Tell that to your grandmother,” he says. “She was the master of never saying a rude thing but still making her meaning clear.”

My dad clearly adores his mother, even now. I think that’s why my mother’s shortcomings upset him so much. He knew how much better a mother could be.

“How did you ever get her out of here?” Dad glances around, and then he whispers, “Or is she still staying with you?”

“Jake tossed her out,” I say.

He straightens. “I really like this kid.”

“Dad, he’s almost twenty-seven,” I say. “He’s not a kid.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says.

I laugh.

By the time we finish our waffles, I know my dad has something to say. I thought maybe he just came to check on the Jake thing, but it’s more than that. Dad hates blueberries, but he picked one up, dropped it in the syrup puddle on his plate, and now he’s chasing it down like it owes him a car payment or two.

“Dad.”

His head snaps up. “Yeah?”

“What’s up?” I stare pointedly at the blueberry. “That poor thing didn’t do anything to you. Put it out of its misery already.”

“Oh.” He smooshes it and shoves it to the side of the plate. “So, I actually came here to say something.”

“No kidding.” I can’t help loving this poor man. In fact, with his trouble saying things that he cares a great deal about, he reminds me of someone else I like. Maybe he’s what prepared me to understand Jake so well.

“Your mother—” He sighs. “I know it’s my fault. I married her, and that’s why you got stuck with her too.”

Wow. He said something plainly. “That must have been hard for you to say.” I actually appreciate that my dad almost never said anything bad about my mother. He left all the vitriol and pettiness to her. It made my life better, because I was always smart enough to see it for myself. I didn’t need to hash and rehash it constantly.

He plows along as if he didn’t hear me. He’s focused enough he might not have. “Your mother has been jealous of you her whole life.”

I didn’t realize he’d noticed that, too.

“Today I’m here to beg your forgiveness.” He drops to his knees in front of me, tugging his ball cap off his head. Bowed like that, I’m just staring at his shiny, round head.

“Dad, get up.”

He shakes his head. “I knew she was, and I should have fought her on it. I should have protected you better, but I didn’t. I failed you, because I’m a coward.”

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