Page 95 of Coffee Shop Girl
The words came out of me so fast they startled us both.
She let out a long breath. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I did everything he didn’t want me to do.” I pushed my palm into the steering wheel, grateful for some kind of hard feedback. “I focused on my grades instead of playing football. I didn’t take Kelly Jones to the high school prom, even though Dad thought she was perfect. I joined the ROTC and became an officer instead of going to medical school. Then I blew up my leg in an IED and effectively crippled myself. Just like him. I was everything he never wanted me to be. The biggest disappointment.”
My hands shook. I’d never said these things out loud. Bethany had pushed them to the forefront of my mind too much for me to hold them back now. Even though it sounded insane, I couldn’t help the child-like fear that churned deep in my gut.
Dad’s suicide was on my conscience.
“Dammit, Maverick. Is that what you’ve always thought? Is that why you’re always running away when things get good or big? It’s like you’re afraid to be happy.”
“No. It’s what I’ve alwaysknown. Dad had expectations of me. I disappointed them at every turn.”
Mallory hesitated, and in that long pause, I gripped the phone so hard my fingers ached. But I couldn’t let it go, because it felt likeallI had left.
“There was a letter,” she finally said.
My brow furrowed. “What?”
“Your dad left a letter.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did.”
Stunned, I sat there for a full fifteen seconds. “Mom ... Mom never told me that. She said . . . ”
Well, she’d never really said anything about it.
“She never told any of you boys. I only found out by accident. She was signing something for me, and I saw it and—that doesn’t matter. You know how she is. Regardless, she didn’t want you to know because of what it said. So, I’m going to risk my own life and potentially make her angry with me and tell you that the note said he thought he had failedyou. He felt like a failure as a parent, unable to run with you. To tackle you while you practiced football in the backyard. To ... help you learn to walk again when you lost your leg. The very same thing you’re feeling now is what your dad felt when he took his own life.”
A long silence passed. It felt as if all the blood had drained from my head. I couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say.
“Mav, is it true? Did he fail you just because he didn’t have use of his legs?”
Dizzy, I closed my eyes. “No,” I whispered. “Not at all.”
“The note said that he was so proud of you, his five sons. That you’d kept him going. He lived as long as he did because of how much he loved you. But he was in physical and emotional pain, and he said he couldn’t fight it anymore. To him, it was the most compassionate route for everyone. Even though it wasn’t. Mourning him opened up new wounds. Not sure if you’ve noticed this, but your family isn’t great about talking over the hard things.”
Snatches of my childhood came back to me. The night I told him I didn’t sign up for football my senior year, I found him in the garage, sitting in his wheelchair, nailing a punching bag over and over, grunting with everythwackuntil he tired himself out. He’d stared at it, panting, his face etched with pain. I’d thought it was because of what I’d told him. Thought I had failed him again. That I wasn’t who he wanted me to be.
But now I saw it differently. Maybe his rage hadn’t been about me.
Maybe he thought I’d said no to football because ofhim.
“I’d like to point out,” she said, breaking into my thoughts, “that I’ve met Kelly Jones. She brought cookies over after your dad’s funeral. She’s the spitting image of your mother at a younger age. Ever thought of that?”
A cold feeling trickled through my blood. He’d wanted me to take Kelly to prom because he couldn’t dance with Mom anymore. Some subconscious dream of his own had pushed him to it. He hadn’t seen it. None of us had seen it.
His frustration had nothing to do with me.
“You are no failure, Maverick. You are the greatest success of his life.”
I clenched my teeth, feeling a wave of emotion I’d never given into before. Not since his funeral. It crashed through me. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Like a rip current, it threatened to whisk me away. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to fall in Dad’s arms and let it all out. Tell him that I’m pissed, I’m sad, and I miss him like the hounds of hell.
I wanted to hold Bethany.
Finally, I managed to swallow and say, “I see.”
