Page 41 of Dallas

“I know. Like I said, I’ve been thinking a lot about that stuff lately. And especially with Sarah here, I’ve been thinking about a lot of the conversations that we’ve never had. I don’t know if you can ever really know how much I regret not being in your life for those first fifteen years. Having the girls has only made it worse.”

I’m shocked by that. I was sure that having the girls just fulfilled his desire for a family. Gave him all the things that he wanted. I was sure that his having the girls would erase the pain that he felt about me, if he felt lingering pain at all.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I’m so aware of what I missed with you.When Cara was born, I… it was a really happy time. But all I could think about was when you were born. How I wasn’t there. How I didn’t get to hold you. When she took her first steps, I just thought about how I missed yours. All the things I wasn’t there for. Your first words, and kindergarten, and… you throwing soggy Cheerios on the floor.”

My chest feels tight, and I feel uncomfortable with the shared emotion. “Come on, Dad. You don’t really miss soggy Cheerios.”

“I fucking do, actually. I’m really sorry that I never cleaned up yours. And I realized I needed to tell you that. Because as parents… we want to protect our kids. We want to make things seem effortless and easy for you, but that’s foolish. Because your life was not effortless or easy before you came to be with me. And I think that you should know how much I regret certain things. How much I care, still, about everything I missed.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. Because I’ve been thinking about all these things too. “I just figured… I figured Lucy and Cara felt a lot more like your real kids to you. Because it’s the family that you chose. I…”

He looks like I just stabbed him in the chest, and I regret saying it. I really do.

“Forget it,” I say.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to forget it. That’s how you feel. But it’s not true. You’re my real family, Dallas. You’re my son. I’ll have an ache inside of me for the rest of my life because of the years that we missed, because you are so important to me. Missing a single moment would’ve been hard enough, but I missed fifteen years. I wasn’t able to protect you all the time I wanted to. And really, I owe Sarah my thanks. Because she kept you safe, I know she did. All those years that you were away.”

“She didn’t keep me safe,” I say. “She was little.”

“Emotionally,” he says. “She was your family.”

Well. I can’t deny that.

“I’m not mad at you,” I say. “You know that, right?”

He looks at me, and I can feel the regret. Like everything he’s just explained is somehow radiating out of him, transferring itself directly into my chest. I feel the complication of it. I feel the love, too.

“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t stop me from being mad at myself, and I don’t need you to try and make me feel better.”

I shift on the back of the horse. “Shouldn’t we try to make each other feel better?”

“I’m your dad, Dallas. So, whatever it is you need, I’m here for you. It’s not equal. It doesn’t need to be. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I nod. “Yeah. You do.”

More than that, he’s given me so much of who I am now. I feel guilty, about all the things I haven’t been able to heal. I think about what Sarah was saying, about carrying it around like an enchanted ring. It would be easier to just get rid of it, it would be easier if good things wiped it all away, and it would certainly be a better tribute to the man who has given me so much.

But that’s not how all this works.

“I didn’t know how to ride horses before you,” I say. “I didn’t even know that I loved them. I never had a dog, I didn’t see the point. I would never be where I am now if it weren’t for you. I feel like… I know me not finishing college wasn’t the best.”

“I never cared personally whether you did college or not, I just wanted you to have the option. I didn’t want you to take anything from yourself before you were old enoughto realize what you were doing. I might not have reacted the best to that.”

“You were fine,” I say.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t happy with you, and I take it you figured that out.”

“Sure. But whose dad isn’t a little disappointed in them?”

“I’mnotdisappointed in you,” he says. “I’m not. But sometimes maybe I overcompensate by being a little intense because I want you to have everything. Hell, look at you. You’re a bull riding champion.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“I mean, that’s not all I want for you. Being an absurdly young father means that I could be a young grandfather.”

I grimace. “Please. I’m not even remotely to that point.”

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