Page 133 of Like You Want It
Lifting a hand and resting it on the doorknob, I glance at my dad and freeze.
He’s staring blankly out at the back yard, tears on his face. And in his hand is a photo of our family. The same photo I put on Caleb’s desk years ago. All four of us, smiling and happy.
I look back at my dad, shaking my head slightly. I can’t remember the last time I saw him cry. Saw him upset or emotional about anything that had to do with mom.
It’s so shocking to me, I let go of the doorknob and take a step back, not wanting to intrude on whatever moment he’s having as he most likely reflects on the twenty years he was married. The family unit that has fallen apart in so many ways.
But in stepping back, I step on a creaky board. Damn these old houses. And my dad’s face turns to mine.
And then he does something I’m not expecting.
He smiles. Waves me outside.
And when I open the door, he pats the place next to him on the porch swing.
I move quickly to sit down, facing the backyard alongside my dad.
“I was just thinking about that time that your mother took us all to the drive-in movie at Vineland,” he says.
I smile, having not thought about this particular memory in years.
“It was near Christmas, and they were playing Home Alone. Your brother, of course, saw it the year it actually came out, but for some reason, you’d never seen it. And we watched it together. You were probably about five and your brother was about to turn thirteen, I think.” He turns to look at me. “You screamed so loudly when Kevin puts the spider on the bad guy’s face. Threw your popcorn around the car.”
I laugh, remembering bits and pieces, but none of it forming into true memories other than stories I’ve been told before.
“That was a good Christmas,” I say.
My dad nods. “It was a great Christmas.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, and all of my desire to confront my dad starts to melt away.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He looks at me with eyes that are wet with unshed tears. Shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”
I lean over and wrap my arm around his shoulder, lightly rub his back.
“I’m so sorry, Carly.”
My head shoots to the side, my hand freezing, certain I heard him wrong.
“I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten over your mom. And I see her so much when I look at you.” He dabs his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “And I think I’ve let you and Caleb down in so many ways.”
I shake my head, knowing that it’s true but not wanting him to be hurting. “What brought this on?” I ask.
He leans back in the chair, uses his feet to push us lightly so the chair swings us back and forth.
“It was something you said that night Caleb almost moved out of his house.”
I furrow my brow, trying to remember but coming up short.
“You said that I’ve always believed you were a mistake.”
“Oh, dad, I was just…”
“Let me finish.”
I let out a sigh, but go silent.
