Page 88 of Lovesick
I couldn’t endure that.
“Thank you,” I croaked to Dad. “This was helpful.”
Dad nodded, gaze focused off-screen. He drew in a deep breath. Then he let it out and leaned forward a little. “Listen, Lizbeth, this sentiment won’t make me popular, and I’m already a jerk. But the truth is this: if I could make it so I never met Kat, I’d do that. If you ask me, that’s what Kat’s quest for love did. Left regret and broken hearts in its wake. You’d do well to stay as far away from it as you can.”
He turned the videocall off without another word.
I closed my computer with a sob.
28
JJ
Dad and I sat across from each other in a crummy diner in Pineville the day after my fight with Mark. The smell of fry oil and fake evergreen permeated the air. Bells jangled on the door every time someone walked in or out. I rubbed a hand over my bleary eyes.
Dad and I hadn’t seen each other in well over a month. He sent random texts now and then, mostly pictures of fish he’d caught, questions about how we were doing, or queries about how to work his phone. I wondered if he ever felt lonely in his new little cabin by himself. The old house had sold shortly after the divorce was finalized, effectively sealing off my childhood into the realm of history.
“Your mom called me this morning,” he said.
His comment puzzled me. Why would Mom call him? The fact that we were sitting in a public place together had me almost as confused. Dad hated crowds. Anything more than three people was too many for him.
Things had a weird way of tipping upside down quickly.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“I didn’t answer.”
I bit back a laugh. Why that was funny, I had no idea. Maybe it was a sign of my mental state when there’d been no word from Lizbeth. Mark had disappeared somewhere for the night and given me a cold reception this morning when the delivery truck arrived. He’d queried the board about it through Lizbeth’s online dashboard, but I hadn’t seen any responses.
“Texted her back,” Dad continued, breaking my thoughts. “She responded.”
I sat with my elbows on the table, my hands folded together. Two mugs of coffee cooled in front of us.
Dad watched me in his usual intense way. More of a glower, really. It had always scared rebellion out of me for a few hours when I was a young kid. Mark would usually come up with another brilliant idea shortly after any given punishment ended. Like most things, we’d accomplish the mischief together, despite the infamous Sheriff Bailey stare.
I managed to meet his gaze, and it surprised me. Today the intensity was softer.
“She said that something happened and things aren’t great between you and Mark.”
“It just happened last night,” I muttered in exasperation. “Wait. Did Mark spend the night at her place?”
Dad shrugged. “You know Kelly,” he muttered. “Always poking around. So somethingdidhappen?”
“Yeah.”
In the briefest possible terms, I told him everything about the bakery, the contract, and Mark’s response. Dad listened without changing expression.
Letting it out felt good. Having Dad’s stoic mind puzzle it out was better. Like me, he tended toward facts and logic and didn’t often get emotional. His responses always felt safer to me than Mom’s, which is probably why Mark ended up gravitating toward her.
“I’d be pissed too,” he said.
I sighed.
“You know it was wrong, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“So make it right.”
