Page 51 of Second Swing
“Whatever it is, let’s talk about it, Paloma. No matter what it may be, if it’s good foryouthen let’s talk and figure it out together,” he says as if he knows anything abouttogetherness. I want to have a civil conversation, but I can also feel myself losing the battle against myself. The past of our broken family flits into my mind, playing like a movie. The yelling and screaming, the door slamming, and then watching him pack up and leave. I only remember a handful of times we were together before distance grew between us.
My anger surges remembering my whole world having crumbled from one argument. I’d never seen my parents argue before then, and though I hadn’t seen them argue again, I felt what it was like to be around them both during the early years of their divorce.
Dad would pick me up for his weekend, but I was miserable, having been so angry with him. Though I wanted to see him because he’s my dad and I loved him, I was so resentful. Pickups were always a reminder he didn’t live with us and drop-offs felt like a constant looming cloud knowing he would always have to leave. I spent most of my time with him being upset, knowing it was a weekend and not every day like it used to be. I stopped wanting to go over, and eventually he stopped asking me to, which may have been what the enraged little girl was yelling right now, but it isn’t what she truly wants or needs. My face and chest grow hot from attempts to stuff down my frustration with someone I love too much to hate.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the night you and Mom fought. I heard you come in and was excited to see you, so I snuck down the hallway but stopped when I heard the shouting. I’ve tried to forget, but the argument and the yelling burrowed way down deep into the pained fragments of my soul. The abandonment and heartbreak feel like a part of who I am, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake any of it. Do you know what it did to me to hear you yell those words at her...at me?I need to know what happened, Dad. Why did you leave?”
“Oh, Paloma. Honey, I am so sorry.” Reaching his hand across the table, he holds mine, giving it a gentle, yet firm, squeeze. “Before I say anything else, I didn't know you were there, my love. And that doesn't excuse the—”
“Hey, honey buns, your order is ready for ya.” April sets several plates down and tops off our coffee. “Let me know if you need anything and enjoy.”
My dad’s focus is on her for only a minute. I can see he is trying his best not to be annoyed for being interrupted because how is she supposed to know?
“That doesn't excuse the way I spoke to your mother either. I apologized the next morning even if she didn’t want to hear from me. We had been growing apart over the years, she and I. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with two people who were no longer in love and were forcing it. We tried to hide our growing distance from you, truly. This was years of pain, poured into a single explosive moment. A few months prior, we—” His voice breaks, just like it did all those nights ago during the fight he had with Mami.
“We got pregnant again. It was a miracle. Your mother and I barely had you, so for her to be carrying another blessing…well, it lit our worlds onfire in the best way. Even though we had been having problems as any marriage does, we wanted to give being a family our all because we did love one another. Some things are just—too much.”
“Dad, I…well, I didn’t realize. I didn’t know.” This is what ended my parents' relationship: grief and loss. Being so young I didn’t know Mamí was even pregnant, but now that I do, all the hurt and pain feels so different.
“When we lost your brother, it was a blow to the both of us. I’ll admit my fault completely. I couldn’t see it then, how I emotionally checked out. My grief was too much for your mother and me to bear together. She threw herself into building Sweet Bean. We grew even further apart and began resenting one another. Every day I regret how I allowed my anger and pain to overshadow the need to keep my family together. But it wasneveryou. Your mom and I loved each other very much until we simply couldn’t anymore.”
The thought of what it would have been like having a little brother flutters through my mind like a movie reel. Made up memories playing like a sitcom that was canceled before it ever had the chance to be seen. I grip his hand, letting him continue to explain. My dad has never been this open with me, and I don’t want it to stop. Love doesn’t just fail all by itself—people have to nurture it every single day. It’s a choiceandan action.
“I’m sorry I haven't been there, mija. I should have tried harder. I should have kept picking you up. I should have done a lot of things differently. When I left, well I—I was scared that if I stayed any longer, I would ruin the little bit of good we still had.” He takes a drink of his coffee before cutting into his waffles, and I do the same.
Both of us seem to need a moment of quiet as we mull over ourconversation. And who could possibly ignore a warm stack of waffles sitting in front of them? No one. At least not a Reyes. Allowing the rich strawberry butter and maple syrup to meld together, there is nothing better than this. Nothing is better than these waffles in this moment. We eat in silence, smiling up at one another as we take bites of bacon and waffles. Papi dips his toast into the cheesy grits off to the side of his plate, and I mimic his movements because it's one of my favorites as well.
“Tell me, mija, what's troubling you? How can I help?” he asks, stuffing another too-big bite of oversaturated waffle in his mouth.
“I think I’ve been sabotaging myself,” I confess, sipping my water to allow me a moment to gain the confidence I need to say all this out loud. “When I watched you and Mom fall apart, it broke something in me. I’ve been running from anyone who gets too close. I’d rather end it early than get too attached or waste their time.”
“And how is that working out for you?” he mumbles, sipping his hot coffee.
I release a dry and humorless laugh. “It’s not. Though, there issomeone.”
My dad’s bushy, full brows rise toward his hairline, and he nods his head urging me to continue. “His name is Clinton, and he makes me feel things I never have before. Things I have never allowed anyone close enough to make me feel. But every single time I think about getting close, I pull back. I convince myself it won't last. I’ve literally run away from the most incredible man.”
“Paloma, love is messy and terrifying, but it's also one of the best things in life you can ever experience. My biggest mistake wasn’t loving your mother—it was allowing fear to dictate how I would show up for those I loved. Don’t give fear the power to make the choice for you.”
“What if I can’t give him the type of love he deserves?” My voice breaks on a sob wanting to be released.
“But you are, honey. You are fighting through it by trying and not running. Love isn’t about being fearless. It's about being brave enough to plant your feet and stand in the space of risking your heart. Even when you're scared.”
The weight of my dad’s words sink in, providing a sense of relief I didn’t realize I needed. Wiping away the tears on my cheeks, I decide fear isn’t going to hold me back from fully loving Clint anymore. No matter what happens, I’m going to give him all of me and leave risk to the wind.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime, mija.”
27
Lou:Now the heat’s really on! Things are getting spicy.
Chuck:I can feel it too. You know, that tension could light up the night.
Lou:This slice of passion might just set off a chain reaction.
Chuck:Here’s hoping it’s more firework than fizzle.
