Page 35 of Falling for You
We drift into silence, sipping our coffees. Well, Dad is sipping his coffee, his dark eyes gazing off into the distance. I’m picking at my nails angrily.
I take a deep breath. ‘How’s it been?’
He surfaces from his trance. ‘What’s that?’
‘How’s it all been? Here?’ I move my arm to gesture around the kitchen. ‘With Mom.’
‘Oh, you know.’ Dad gives me a lopsided smile. ‘Never a dull day.’
‘Dad …’
He sighs. ‘It’s hard, Nate. You know what it’s like. You’ve been with her for the past five years.’
‘I shouldn’t have gone,’ I say, my chest burning. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, but I’m back now.’
Dad looks at me, eyebrows raised. ‘You’re staying, are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your mom won’t have that.’
‘It’s not up to her,’ I say, gripping my coffee cup tightly so it singes the palms of my hands.
Dad goes to speak, and then looks up at the clock.
‘Come on then, son,’ he says. ‘Let’s get a sandwich and go see your mom. We might need to stop for another coffee too, you look like you need it.’
He gets to his feet and I frown. ‘Isn’t there coffee there?’
He laughs gruffly. ‘Yup. Terrible.’
We use up all our words on the way to the hospital – not that we shared many to begin with. But Dad doesn’t need to say much, and to be honest I’m not sure how easily I could hold down a conversation either. My head is spinning. I can’t believe this time yesterday I was getting ready to go to aballwithout a care in the world, miles away from my life here. I was wrapped up in Stevie’s world, the glitz and glamour ofmy new, exciting life in London. I danced with strangers and even met the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
A jolt of anger shoots through me and I curse myself, not for the first time since I left the party last night.
Why didn’t I get her phone number?
It would have taken me seconds to get it. I could have explained to her that I had to go but that I’d call her the next day. What was I thinking?
But that’s the thing. I wasn’t really thinking, was I?
I look out of the window as we skirt past a parade of shops.
She was from London, that much I know, and she said that she made costumes. I wonder what she’s doing now. Maybe she’s spending the day with a guy who didn’t ditch her halfway through a conversation with no explanation.
I frown. No, it’s not worth thinking about.
Why do I care so much? The conversation lasted less than ten minutes. She probably doesn’t even remember me.
Is there a way I could find her when I get back to London? Just so I can explain and apologise for what happened? Or would she find that incredibly creepy?
I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to remain in the moment as we arrive at the hospital. Dad doesn’t even need to think as he pulls into a parking space, knowing exactly where to leave his car and how the ticketing system works. It makes my heart hurt.
How many times has he actually been here with Mom since I’ve been gone? She’d hardly ever been to hospital when I was living here. I’ve only been gone for a couple ofweeks – how have things gotten that bad so quickly? Is it because I’ve gone? Has she finally started letting go now that her two sons are on the other side of the world?
Does she think we don’t care about her any more?
‘Right,’ Dad says, clapping his hands together, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts. ‘Ready?’
