Page 65 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

If that were true, my situation was even more tragic. It meant that if I had behaved better in all areas, not just in how I treated Miranda but also by being open with my feelings and not trying to hide our situation from others, perhaps there could've been something between us.

"Well, unfortunately for me, I am full of surly." And cruelty too.

"So go to counseling." Lindsay said matter-of-factly. As if the solution was right there for the taking.

"I am what I am, Linds. I don't need counseling."

She gave a pointed stare, pursing her lips. "No, you don't need counseling. All you did was sleep with your daughter’s friend and knock her up. And then because you still yearned for her, you told her to stay away. And then when you learned she was pregnant, you were so jealous that she was with another man that you got drunk and showed up at her house and called her a gold digger and a liar. No, you don't need counseling."

Every single word out of her mouth punched me in the chest. "How do you know about my being drunk at her house?" While I had shared a great deal with Lindsay, I hadn’t gone into detail, particularly the part about being drunk and calling Miranda a gold-digging liar.

"It's all the talk of the neighborhood, Dad. People heard you. They were getting ready to call the cops."

Dunk tried to stifle a laugh by covering his mouth with a napkin. "I should've called that PR fixer after all."

I glared at him.

He shrugged. "She's not wrong. I mean, can you say for sure that you won't ever say anything you regret to her again because you have feelings that you don't like or don't understand?"

Considering I'd been trying so hard to not do that and yet still, just minutes after hearing our child's heartbeat, I had done just that, clearly, I couldn't say that for sure.

"I'm sure that's what she's thinking. She doesn't trust that you won't do it again." Lindsay dunked her pizza crust in ranch dressing.

I looked over at Lindsay. "How did you get so smart?"

"I took a psych class, but mostly, it's common sense. I mean, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that your revolving door of hookups is because you're afraid you'll meet someone like Mom again who will trample on your heart and try to take your money." Lindsay took a bite of her ranch covered pizza crust.

"She didn't trample my heart,” I grumbled.

"She kicked at it a time or two, though," Dunk said.

"My temper is a part of me. My personality. My temperament."

Lindsay shrugged. "Well, if you're going to think like that, like it's not something you can change, then you should probably stop bothering trying to win her trust." Her gaze held mine. “Or maybe you could go to counseling and figure out how you can knock it off. It's just a matter of what you want and what you're willing to do."

Dunk looked over at her. "You are wise beyond your years, young grasshopper. But don’t you find it weird about your dad and your friend?"

"It's hella weird. But this isn't about me. I can see that Miranda means something to Dad and Dad had meant something to Mira. Plus, they’re having a baby. We’re a family now, no matter what. Personally, I'd prefer to be a happy family, but whatever."

Dunk looked at me. "I have to say it again, Brett. I think Lindsay was switched at birth. There's no way you and Janine made a child as smart and insightful and forgiving and loving as Lindsay."

I might've agreed with him if I didn't know for sure she was my daughter because of the paternity test I took during her custody battle. That was another doozy Janine tried to lay on me. She tried to tell me she’d fucked someone else. She probably did, but Lindsay was my child.

That night after they left, I lay in bed wondering if Lindsay was right. Maybe what was wrong with me could be fixed. Then again, what if it couldn't? I was a forty-two-year-old man set in my ways.

It's just a matter of what you want and what you're willing to do.Lindsay’s words came back to me.

The truth was, I was willing to do anything for Miranda and the baby. And because of that, tomorrow, I would be calling a therapist.

24

Miranda

Iwas supposed to be doing homework, but I found myself continually looking up at the wall with the art piece Brett had given me. I’d hung over my desk, and a part of me wondered why I still had it, much less hung in a place where I could easily see it. I told myself it was because the artwork was lovely and compelling, too much so to get rid of it simply because I didn't like the man who gave it to me.

But I couldn't look at it and not think about Brett. He'd said he'd known exactly how I would've responded to it and that was part of the reason he bought it for me. What did that mean?

I shook my head and returned my gaze to my computer sitting in my lap as I studied on my bed. It didn't matter what the gift meant. It didn't change anything. The way Brett snapped at me in the car ride back from the doctor's office was a reminder that he was too easily triggered into lashing out. Did he really think buying me art and holding my hand at the doctor's office yesterday would make up for the terrible things he'd said?

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