Page 32 of Heart Strings
When I notice Aidan’s name on the place card beside mine, my chest seems to constrict and expand simultaneously. Part of me wants to run from him, another part longs to sprint straight toward him. Well, I can’t very well run away from Lark’s rehearsal dinner when I have a speech to give.
Sharing a table with both Aidan and my mom is a study in tension. From the concerned glances Aidan keeps throwing me to the way my mom grills him on his career, it’s a strange energy for a celebratory dinner. But my maid of honor speech goes better than planned, earning a few laughs as I lead a toast to the couple.
Halfway through the salad course, my mom rubs her temples.
“Everything all right, Mom?”
“All that patchouli oil Aunt Sharon wears gives me a headache.”
I offer a small smile and make a mental note to ask my aunt to tone it down before the ceremony. “I have some medicine in my room. Let me grab it.”
As I ascend the stairs, the soft concern etched on Aidan’s brow flashes in my mind. I don’t love leaving him alone with her.
It doesn’t take long to retrieve the headache remedy and tuck it into my clutch. Soon I’m back in the formal garden, striding toward our table. Aidan catches my gaze and then flits his eyes to the man beside him. My ankle rolls as I come down wrong on my heel when I see who it is. My stumble catches the eye of the whole table, and now everyone is staring.
“Dad?”
My eyes snap to my mom, who is staring at her empty place setting, and my blood goes hot.
I shoot a questioning scowl at Lark. She told me he’d RSVP’dnoand hadn’t said a word about him since.
My dad rises from his chair and spreads his arms. “Surprise!”
“Yeah,” I sputter. “Very. Hi, Dad.”
People say to forgive and forget like it’s easy, but neither response feels natural to me. He provided for us, but he also left my mom and me alone when we needed him. My bitter heart clings to those transgressions.
My dad comes around the table to hug me, and we do an awkward tango before he wraps his arms around my shoulders. It feels so stilted. Growing up, I’d convinced myself that if I was the perfect, low-maintenance daughter, he’d stick around. Maturity was realizing that no matter what I did, he wouldn’t stay. I needed to succeed for myself, not for his approval. For the sake of keeping the peace at Lark’s rehearsal dinner, I try not to let my resentment show, but on the inside, I’m seething.
How dare he ambush my mom like this. What is his problem?
Over my dad’s shoulder, I lock eyes with my mom. She knocks back a champagne flute and steals another from Aunt Sharon, who obliviously chirps about how lovely it is to have a family reunion. Nothing rips the scabs off old wounds like seeing your lost love in the flesh. I should know. I can only imagine how Mom feels. Dad checked out emotionally long before he and Mom finally split up. His distance sent Mom into a spiraling depression that threatened to swallow me up, too.
“Uncle Gustavo actually RSVP’d ‘no,’ ” Lark says, her tone light. “So I did a spit take when he walked in three minutes ago. But hey! The more the merrier.”
My dad walks with me back to the only available seat, which is sandwiched between him and Aidan, right across from my mom. Aidan’s brows knit together as he tries to gauge my mental state. He’s always been much better at smoothing out social interactions than I have.
“Maybe if we saw each other more, you’d know I hate surprises,” I tell my dad pointedly. “Just like Mom.”
It’s one of the few things we have in common. We like to be in control and to manage expectations. The last thing I expected tonight was having to explain this to the man who was married to her for twenty years.
Dad rears back a little. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other—”
My chair wobbles in the grass as I scoot toward the table with a little more force than necessary.
“You’re the one who chose to study abroad, Cielito,” he gently reminds me in the lightly accented, patient tone I remember from my childhood. Hearing my childhood nickname makes my eyes sting.
“Of all people, you’re the last one who should be trying to make me feel guilty for thinking of my career first.”
Hurt crosses his face before it shutters. He quickly manufactures a generic smile. “Lark, I was so happy to hear about your engagement, and even happier to receive an invitation to the big day.”
Get it together, girl.I mess with the array of silverware in front of me, adjusting the salad fork so that it’s aligned with the bread knife just so. My dad starts making small talk with another guest.
Aidan leans close. “You good?” he whispers under his breath.
“Not really,” I admit.
His hand finds mine under the table. Countless hours picking and strumming have calloused his fingertips. I’d asked Aidan to be discreet about our history, but honestly, I need this small gesture of comfort. Their familiarity is exactly what I need.
