Page 73 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Maybe you should.”
I sigh. “Trent. I know you’re hurting with your dad passing, but your dad and the man who sired me?—”
“Were nothing alike,” he finishes the sentiment so I don’t have to. “I’d never suggest that they were. If you were handed a shitty deal on the father front, then I won the fucking lottery. I know that. But I have been thinking—” I can tell he’s trying to choose his words carefully, a rarity for Trent. “My sister mentioned something interesting the other day. She said that the instant she became a parent, she was flooded with all these unresolved feelings about her childhood. She said those feelings really messed with her head. And that’s coming from someone who had an inarguably happy childhood. I’m just wondering if, for you, things could be even more intense.”
“Trent,” I protest.
“I’d just hate to see you work so hard to build this beautiful life with your wife and kids and then realize you have all this unresolved junk in your brain that messes with your ability to be a good, present dad.”
“My wife, huh?” I huff sadly.
“Yeah,” he says. “You plan on marrying this girl, don’t you?”
I scrub my forehead with my hands. “Yeah. I have the ring and everything. But she’s—” How do I explain this? “I think she’s having cold feet about our relationship.”
“Huh.” Trent thinks a moment. “Well, you can’t really blame her, can you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Things have moved really fast with you two. New relationship, new home, new restaurant, new babies—plural! That would be a lot for anyone. Maybe she just needs some time for her brain to catch up with her heart.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say softly.
“But I’m not talking about Colleen right now. I’m talking about you. It might be wise to sort out some of your feelings about your dad before you become a dad yourself.” He pauses. “Think about it, okay?”
“I have to say, this whole conversation is decidedly un-Trent-like.”
Trent slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Believe me, Porky. I know. I guess losing someone puts some things into perspective.” He continues, “And look, I’m not saying you need to forgive him—or that he even deserves that—but maybe it’s worth hearing him out. To be open to the conversation. Not for him. For you.”
I stare off into the distance and nod, taking in all that he’s said.
“Alright.” He pats my shoulder twice and releases me. “That’s all the sensitivity and emotional maturity I can handle for one day. “See you at lunch, brother.”
I sit back down on the bench and sigh as I watch Trent head to his car.
Brother.
That man is my brother. In every way that matters.
He gave me a family when I needed one. And today he might just have helped me repair the one I’m trying to build.
I wave to Trent as he drives away.
Then, for the first time in over a decade, I pull out my phone and call my father.
Chapter 23
Colleen
Laughter, music, and the sound of clinking glasses wafts through the floor as I try – and fail – to write something new.
I’m thirty-five-and-a-half weeks pregnant. I’ve been living alone in a crappy furnished rental apartment above a dive bar for nearly a month in my quest to be an “independent woman.”
And you know what?
It sucks.
Bacon and I text every few days, but we mostly talk about my doctor’s appointments and how the babies are progressing. Other than that, he’s giving me the space I requested.
