Page 138 of The Moon Also Rises
“Looks like it,” Dad says with an awkward shrug. The cumbersome lift in his shoulders and the slightly humourless tone of his voice threatens to make me turn on my heel and walk away from them. How could I be so stupid to think my father would actuallywantto be here? But then I recall how it's not like he’s lived his life with a strong sense of duty to his children so there must be something that brought him here and I’m curious about that. Curious in the way Anita advises me to be about my feelings.
“Come over to the bar and get a drink,” I say and I lead them there.
Once they’ve placed their orders, they both turn and take in the courtyard.
“Very impressive,” Dad says.
“It’s beautiful,” Carol says and her dangling silver earrings catch some of the glow of the fairy lights that criss-cross overhead. She looks very elegant in a long plum-coloured shift dress and I like her new cropped hairstyle. When I tell her so, she blushes and smiles. I see then how much more comfortable in this setting she is than my father, which suggests she provided no resistance to being here, something that is also a relief.
“Jenna and Marty are here,” I say. “And Marty’s sister Maeve too. I’ll introduce you later.”
“That would be nice,” Carol says.
“It’s a very… colourful party,” Dad says and I can translate perfectly. Colourful, meaning queer. For some reason I don’t want to speak his language today.
“Yes, we are a veritable kaleidoscope of the LGBTQIA+ spectrum.” I wave my hands around at the crowd and briefly see Jenna turn to cast her gaze on us. Feeling her eyes on me I look at our father to see how much I’ve shocked him, but I am the one left surprised when I see half a grin curling his lips.
“And then there’s us,” he adds, and I can’t help but laugh with him.
“And yes, there’s you,” I say nodding at my sister who is smiling back at us, no doubt encouraged by our shared laughter. “And also Jenna. She rather lets the side down too.”
“Oh, yes. I see Jenna now. I’ll go say hello,” Carol says and she picks up her drink and heads in that direction.
More surprise washes over me when my father doesn’t follow her but instead stays with me at the bar.
“You know, I was surprised you called,” he says as he plays around with the cufflinks on one sleeve of his shirt. He’s wearing a blazer over a crisp white shirt, but no tie, and I realise he is simply not used to dressing up like this, which makes me feel a strange mix of grateful and uncomfortable that he did it for me.
“You were?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat.
“Well, I am your son,” I say bitterly.
“Yes, you are.” I search his reply for a hint of hidden meaning; regret, pride, love, disappointment. But I hear nothing. I turn then to face my father.
“You know you could have called me,” I say. “You are my father.”
“Yes, I am,” he says and I hear it then. Resistance.
“Dad—” I begin and I’m astonished when he cuts me off.
“I know I should have called you. To find out how you are.”
“Yes, you should have,” I say and both of our bodies move at the boldness of these words. My father turns towards me a little more, while I stand a bit straighter, suddenly a little lighter after speaking that truth.
“Well, we agree on that at least,” he says in a way that suggests he’s slightly put-out by my honesty, but he knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on in terms of contesting it. In many ways, this spurs me on.
“Dad, I think we agree on a lot of things. Like how we’ve both been shit with contact in the past. Like how we could both make a bit more effort going forward. And maybe we could see each other more often too.”
Dad takes a sip of his drink and looks out at the crowd. “You know, it was lovely those years when you and Jenna came up for Christmas. It was a shame you didn’t come by yourself last year.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “You didn’t invite me.”
Dad thinks on this for a moment. “I suppose you’re right about that too.”
“I’ve not been perfect either,” I admit. “I’ve thought about calling you many times, but I never did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
