Page 73 of Second Swing
“I was going to, honey, but then it didn't feel right.”
“When was it going to feelright,Dad? After you got married?”
“When you reached out, I wanted to tell you right then, but you were coming to me because you needed me. It had been so long since you needed me, mija. I wanted to be there for you without making our meetup about me.”
“You could have said something, Dad, anything at all.”
“I was scared. I didn't want to lose you again, and I didn't know if this would push you away.” His words stop me.He was scared?Before I can say anything, he continues, “I was selfish in my fear, and it's a lesson you think I would have learned by now. I’m sorry, Paloma, truly mija. No matter my intent to protect our new relationship, I still ended up hurting you, and for that, I am so sorry.”
“I don't know what to say, Dad. I–I just want to know you want me in your life and not as another postage stamp.” Clint gives my thigh another reassuring squeeze, and I settle into my body a bit more.
“You are never an afterthought, honey. I’m sorry I’ve ever made you feel that way.”
“That’s the thing, Papí. Iwantyou to consider me. I want to be someone you want to share your news with. I want to feel like I’m a part of your life and not watching from the outside.”
“I want that too, mija. I held back for all these years, and my reasoning was wrong. What can I do to make this better? Tell me.” My dad’s question leaves me speechless for a moment. I don’t know what the solution is, and I don’t want to be the one to figure it out.
I’m quiet for so long until my dad’s voice comes through the line again. “Paloma? Are you still there? Maybe we got disconnected.” Clinton rubs his thumb against my leg.
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”
“Can we try again? Can we…Do you still run?” he asks, and it throws me, fully pulling me out of my frustrations of the moment.
“Yeah, I try to go for a run every morning. Well, when I’m not opening the bar.”
“I’m going into work late next week. Can I join you? Maybe we can grab coffee, and you can tell me more about your life.” My lips quirk up at the corners. The suggestion is a welcome reprieve from needing to be the one to decide the next steps.
“I’d like that a lot, Papí.” And when I say it, I find I truly mean it.
“Will you come to my engagement party? It’s something I should have asked you about shortly after our breakfast.”
“Of course I’ll come.” My eyes flick to Clinton. “Can I bring a plus one, my boyfriend?”
“Of course, honey. During coffee, I’d love to hear more about this boyfriend.” I giggle at his voice so full of warmth.
Dad and I talk for a bit longer. I tell him about Waffles and give him a few details about Clinton, the man who has been grounding me during this entire conversation. My hands are still shaking from the exhaustion, anxiety, and stress this would put anyone through. Clinton is still next to me as a warm, solid presence, and I have never been more thankful for this man than I am right now.
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Lou:Paloma leaning on Clint? It’s awkwardly sweet, like a bad habit that just won’t quit.
Chuck:There’s something endearing in that vulnerability, even if it’s clumsy.
Lou:Sometimes you need a little leaning in to steady the shot.
Chuck:Or to remind you that you’re not in this alone.
She called him right there next to me, without a second thought. Throughout the entire call, I sat with my hand on her leg, giving it a squeeze here and there to let her know I was proud of her and very much present. When I said no running, I meant it. We will work through all the hard shit together.
When Paloma ends the call, she holds the phone in her lap for a long while. Eventually she turns to me, hands shaking although her countenance is sure, and I know at this very moment, I never have to worry about her running ever again.
I don't move until I see a tear fall from her eye, and then I'm gathering her up in my arms. I can tell the anger is still there, but it's softer and calmer.
She wipes her nose and mumbles, “It still hurts, but at least I knownow.” Paloma rubs the center of her chest with her fingers and then looks up at me. “Thank you.”
Pulling her deeper into me, I whisper into her hair, “I’m so proud of you.” She nuzzles into my chest. “You are allowed to love him and be angry with him. You don't have to pick one.”
“It just sucks. I don't know how to shake the feeling of being left behind, of being forgotten about.” That makes sense to me. I understand the pain she’s healing from in some capacity. I brush her curls out of her face.
