Page 39 of Everything We Thought Was True
“We visited together last week so he could see it again. He remembered it from when we came here a few years ago with you and Kevin. He loved every part of it.” My dad swept his hand over the expansive view of the ocean.
I followed his gesture, taking in the beautiful scene. The reception would be outdoors on the patio, complete with a pergola covered in grapevines, a bubbling fountain, twinkling lights after dark, and tons of gorgeous potted plants brimming over with color. It reminded me of a winery in Tuscany, one of my favorite places in the world. Heck, it made me want to marry Kevin all over again.
I mentally checked my wedding-planning to-do list. Only a few more things left. The officiant had emailed to ask for insight into my dad and Oliver so she could personalize the service. How could I explain to her how different this man was from the dad I grew up with—how calm, happy, and settled he was with Oliver?
Living with my father when I was growing up had been like riding a roller coaster. Exciting, turbulent, and a little scary. He could be attentive and affectionate, calling me by my pet name, Cricket, giving me his big smile, and making me feel so special. But he could also be dark and withdrawn, with long, uncomfortable silences punctuated with little tsks to show he was both bored and disapproving. At those times, we walked on eggshells, unsure of how to act and afraid we would set off his temper. I would enter a room he was in and pause just inside the doorway, trying to gauge the temperature of the room. We all did this a lot. We paused for a beat to sniff out Dad’s mood and figure out who we needed to be so as not toset him off. Sometimes we could sense his state of mind as soon as we got near him. Other times, we had to tiptoe around, waiting to see if he would reveal himself.
I could never fully understand what would make him unhappy. In the evenings, when he came home for dinner—if he came home for dinner at all—we waited to see what kind of mood he was in when he walked through the door. Would he flash that big smile, singing, “I'm home!” and give us a squeeze? Or would he sullenly walk in the door and look at us with a defeated look, remembering he was still playing the role of a typical suburban husband married to a woman with kids?
On weekends, if we went out for a family drive, we would sit in silence, not saying a word for fear he would fly off the handle. He would impatiently fiddle with the radio dial, trying to find a good song, hitting upon static in between stations, getting frustrated and visibly mad at the radio and often cursing at it as if the radio had an agenda. Then an opera song would come on or a tune he loved, and he would start humming along, a smile spreading across his face. There was no predictability, no way of knowing which version of Dad we were going to get. He was a paradox that swung from brusque aloofness to soulful warmth and affection.
With the benefit of hindsight, it was easy to psychoanalyze him. He was constantly fighting with himself, worrying others would discover his secret and his world would come crashing down around him, while also yearning to be free. His inner struggle often manifested in tantrums. And we were paying for his silence daily.
My dad’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Oh, that’s Henry calling. I’m going to pick it up and say hi. I texted him about the wedding, but we haven’t had a chance to chat with him about it yet.”
Just great. I loved that my dad and Henry had stayed friends for a lifetime—that they had such a special bond. But sometimes it was still hard for me not to focus on how they’d begun.
“I’ll switch to FaceTime and show him this place and the view. He’ll love it. You know our favorite place in the world is on the water.”
That I did. All too well. They’d practically lived on that boat when I was a kid. And their time on it hadn’t always been innocent. Far from it. I shuddered as I remembered one time in particular.Don’t think of that now.
I heard Henry’s voice over my dad’s phone, reminding me to focus on the present. “Frank, you old fart, you’re finally doing it. I’m proud of you. Took you long enough.”
“Hey, I just never found the right guy. Now I have,” my dad said, beaming.
“Ouch. I could be offended by that, you know,” Henry said.
I swallowed a lump in my throat.Water under the bridge, as they say. But it still hurt sometimes. This was the man my father cheated on my mother with.
“I couldn’t catch up to you, Henry. You moved too fast for me,” my dad said, matching Henry’s banter. It amazed me how easily they could tease about it all, not only because they must have hurt each other but because they also hurt everyone around them. It didn’t seem like a laughing matter. But maybe humor was their way of dealing with what they’d done.
“Yeah, yeah,” Henry said. “I know. I’m just teasing you, old friend. Lena, I see he’s got you planning this event. He’s a lucky guy. Wish my kids were that involved in my life. But hey, you can’t always get what you want.”
I pressed my lips together and looked away at the ocean. I remembered Henry’s two kids—a boy and girl, just like Anthony and me but older. Spoiled brats. And his ex-wife, Joanie. So beautiful but always distant. I wondered if that had been her way of dealing with the situation. Once Henry and Joanie split up, the kids had turned their backs on him, refusing to see him. He’d toldmy dad how he threw money at them to buy their affection. They would take the money and still snub him. Back then, I envied them. Mom insisted Anthony and I continue a relationship with Dad, so we did. But God, balancing that ten-ton weight on our shoulders, accepting him while keeping up the pretense in front of everyone else, had been a heavy load to bear.
I took my eyes off the ocean and looked back at my dad, who was eager, waiting for my reply. “Yeah, well, someone’s got to make sure this thing is a classy event,” I teased back, deciding I might as well play along.
“Good for you,” Henry said.
My dad squeezed my hand. “I’m a lucky man. Both my kids will be by my side, and my grandkids. Anthony and Donna are coming out with Christopher and Ella,” my dad said to Henry on FaceTime, but he was looking directly at me, gratitude on his face.
“That you are, old man. And I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Henry said.
“Thanks, Henry. Means a lot to me you’ll be there.”
“All right, now, don’t go getting all mushy on me.”
My dad laughed. “Shut up. Just get your ass out here, okay? I’ll email you the invitation once we finalize it. Oliver’s designing it, so it’s going to be gorgeous.”
“Can’t wait to see it,” Henry said. “Say hi to Oliver for me. Bye, Lena.”
“Bye, Henry,” I said.
“Talk to you soon,” my dad said and hung up.
As we sat staring at the gorgeous views of the ocean, my dad sighed. “Sure beats an attic apartment on the third floor with a view obscured by a fire escape.”
“Sure does. But we moved up from there,” I said, referring to the duplex home we rented in Johnston.
