Of Happiness (2 page)

Gingerly, he lifts the top part of my body, propping me up against the pillows next to him. He anchors me to his side. I’m halfway under the covers, half cocooned next to him. Like before, when he led me to the hotel, Dad’s arm curls around me protectively. This is the first moment of emotional support that I can remember him offering. If it wasn’t for the hole in my chest, I might have commented.

Added to the pile of overwhelming experiences from the last four weeks in Chicago, this unexpected sign of affection causes the tears to fall harder. Now I don’t know if I’m crying because I lost Harris, or if I’m gaining the father I always wanted.

 T
hirty seconds of peace pass and then it floods back. Harris, Claire, Amanda, every painful memory. Jerking upward, I look around the luxurious hotel room.

Groggily, I glance at the clock. Quite early, and Dad is nowhere to be seen. He’s probably out running, his steadfast hobby. My phone’s where I left it, next to the bed. When I tap it awake, my stomach clenches. Like last night, there aren’t any messages, and it causes an impressive ache.

Is it too early to call Sean?

My thumb flies across my phone and finds his number before I decide that it’s a bad idea. Shuffling upward, I prop myself up against the headboard and listen to the ring.

“No good phone call comes before eight in the morning,” he answers, sounding surprisingly alert for this time on a Sunday.

“It’s too early to call you, and it’s only for selfish reasons,” I croak.

“Never mind that. Tell me what happened.” His voice rings of sincerity, and my uneasiness of reaching out to him this way fades.

Where do I begin? The story seems fake to me like a soap opera I watched on TV.

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “My dad randomly showed up because he was concerned about my wellbeing.”

Sean gasps audibly.

A waterfall of words spills out. “Claire convinced Amanda that I’ve been having an affair with Peter.”

He gasps again. “No. She. Did. Not.”

“They both confronted me at Harris’ place and…”

“Let me guess, the brute didn’t take your side?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re on the phone with me, sounding like you just got smashed with a sledgehammer. By the way, where are you?”

“Hm.” I quickly look at the notepad on the table next to the bed. “Apparently the Four Seasons. Don’t ask me how my dad can afford a room at this place.”

“Fine, but I will ask, where is your dad?”

“Probably out running.”

“Did he say why he’s here?”

I clear my throat noisily. “On the day I saw Harris and his friend Jane together and wrongly assumed they were dating, I called my dad. He said he was worried because of the way I sounded. That was the only time we’ve talked since I’ve moved here.” I mumble the last part, embarrassed.

“This conversation should be conducted face to face,” Sean decides. “I think you and your dad should join Luke and me for breakfast.”

“Yes, that would be good.” I’m immediately relieved because now I know how to keep busy for the short term.

“Okay, we’ll pick you up at nine. Text me if your dad doesn’t get back soon enough.”

Almost soundlessly, the hotel room door opens and shuts. “He’s back. We’ll see you soon,” I tell Sean and we disconnect.

My dad enters the hotel room wearing his running shorts and Arlington County Police Department T-shirt.

“Morning,” he says tentatively.

“Hi,” I reply, equally as hesitant. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I’m worried the tenderness he showed last night will dissolve into the air conditioning.

We’re both silent, observing each other.

Finally, I break. There are too many questions that need answering. “What are you really doing in this super-expensive hotel room in Chicago?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, almost angrily. “I’m here because it was well past time that I tried to fix our relationship. When you called me for my advice, it gave me the swift kick in the ass I’ve needed for the last twenty-six years.”

What?

I can’t come up with any logical answers. “What are you talking about?”

His brows furrow with a frown as he walks toward the edge of the bed. “May I?”

“Of course.” With a weary sigh, he lowers himself.

“Ed, I don’t know where to start. There’s so much I want to tell you, and a lot of trust that needs to be built. I know I’ve made an endless amount of mistakes, but I won’t let that stop me from trying. You’re my daughter for God’s sake.” He stops talking abruptly, gazing at me imploringly.

“Is this really happening?” I murmur. Many times I dreamed that my dad would reach out to me this way. And now that he’s saying what I always wanted to hear, I can’t help my skepticism. I return my father’s eye contact. In the deep brown depths, I find fierce determination.

His eagerness makes my decision simple. I’m not going to hold anything back. If this reconciliation is real, then he’ll accept what I have to offer.

“Dad, everything’s a big mess here, and I could really use help straightening things out. But I don’t know how to suddenly change from keeping everything inside to sharing my life with you. My whole life”—my voice gets thick—“I wanted us to be close. And I’m admittedly vulnerable because of… last night. If we are going to work on our relationship, I need to know you mean for the rest of our lives, and not just today.” 

Dad studies me intently. “You know me as a man of my word?”

 “Of course.” That’s one of my father’s most admirable traits; he keeps his promises. If Dad said he’d pick me up at a certain time, he’d be not a moment late. If he said that he would be home for dinner, he’d help me set the table and do the dishes afterward.

“My world relies on black and white; you commit a crime, you pay the consequences. Fixing this”—he waves a hand between us—“means unchartered gray territories. But you are my daughter, and my only living relative. I’ll be damned if I don’t spend the rest of my days trying to fix what I broke.” In his voice, I hear an unfamiliar desperation.

Why would he seek me out if he didn’t mean these words wholeheartedly?

 “Okay, Dad. Let’s give it a shot.”

His eyes soften, nodding in agreement. Then he does something he’s never done before. Tenderly, he kisses the top of my head like I’ve seen other fathers do regularly. It’s never a gesture I’ve received. My breath hitches with that kiss, lessening the wall of mistrust.

It would be easy to scream at him, tell him to screw off after all those years apart. Forgive me, but I’m too weak to turn him away. A lifetime of longing isn’t fixed with just a few words, but he took the first step to fixing things. There’s credit for that, right?

The moment ends and he gently releases me.

“I called my friend, Sean, earlier and he suggested we get breakfast. He and his boyfriend, Luke, are coming here at nine. Would you want to come with us?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Did you not hear a word I just said? Yes. Let’s go to breakfast. Will you”—he clears his throat—“be discussing that man from yesterday?” I notice that he doesn’t mention how I cried myself to sleep. Neither do I.

“That was Harris.” I practically stutter out his name as my chest squeezes. “He’s my former roommate’s brother.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t press further, just nods. Then it’s quiet again.

“We were dating,” I admit.

Yikes.
It hurts to use past tense.

“Hm,” is all he says.

“Is this the way you interrogate bad guys?” I wonder drily.

He chuckles briefly. “No, this is the way I try to listen to my daughter.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to let out some of the building pressure surrounding my bruised heart. “All right.” I climb out of the bed. “I’m going to shower.”

“Let me get this straight.
Claire
accused you of messing around with Amanda’s husband?” Sean squawks a few hours later as we wait for our omelets (me, Sean, and Dad) and pancakes (Luke). I’ve just told them the whole sad story, including the part when Harris chased after me.

A cup of tea warms my hands which are still jittery from retelling last night’s dramatics. “That wasn’t the worst part. Something’s not right with Claire, but Harris—his mouth was glued shut. He stood there and watched passively. The same guy who represents Fortune 500 companies didn’t have one word available? It’s not like him.”

“Don’t get mad at me for saying this,” Luke interjects, “but you said he followed after you frantically? Blocked traffic and ran across the street to try and talk to you?”

Sean scowls. “If Mr. Grant wants you back, he’s going to have to do more than that.”

The waitress returns with a large smile, settling plates in front of us. The wafting scent of the eggs makes my stomach turn. Suddenly I’m not hungry, but I pick up my fork and begin idly playing with my food, cutting off pieces I don’t intend to eat.

“How many chances does he get?” I wonder aloud.

You gave your father another one,
a voice deep inside whispers.

Luke shakes his head, capturing my attention. “You’re right. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I ran into Jared the other day,” Dad mentions mildly.

I busy myself with nibbling a piece of toast at the thought of my ex-boyfriend. Sean and Luke exchange a worried glance.  

“He was pretty angry. Said your new boyfriend called him and told him never to contact you again.”

I nearly choke on the bread at the surprising revelation. The toast falls onto the plate with a shower of crumbs. Dad knows this?

“At first I was surprised to hear you had a new boyfriend, but then I was glad that you were dating someone who would speak up on your behalf, especially to that little punk who was never good enough for you in the first place.”

My body rears back slightly. I’m flabbergasted. Jared was my boyfriend for nearly two years. Dad’s never spoken negatively about him until now.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I demand, clenching my hands under the table.

Dad grimaces, not a proud expression. “I thought it was your decision to make.”

On one hand, I’m angry that he didn’t voice his opinions. But there were many obstacles in the way of honesty between us then. Now, though, there’s the opportunity for his advice. “Moving forward, it would be cool to know what you think about the choices I’m making,” I tell him softly.

Dad’s eyes widen in surprise. Then he tells me gruffly, “You made the right decision, getting rid of that shithead.”

Sean responds for me. “Amen to that, Donnie boy!”

“Donnie? Seriously, do you have any boundaries?” Luke asks, horrified. My dad seems okay with the nickname, a slight smile replacing his frown.  

 “Does anyone have a suggestion for what I do next?” I ask glumly while the waitress busses our plates.

“First thing”—Sean eyes Luke, who smiles encouragingly—“we’ve talked it over and we’d really like for you to stay with us. As long as you want, of course.”

“I could never ask that of you,” I automatically respond. Deep down I’m thrilled they care enough to make the offer.

“Why not? We love you, we have the space, and we know it won’t be permanent. Just until you find your own perfect place.” Luke wiggles his eyebrows as he drops the name of my interior design blog into the conversation. “If it takes six months, we’ll be happy to have you.”

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. “And the rent?” A flush heats my cheeks.

“There will be no rent. Duh.” Sean laughs. “Like we would charge you in your time of crisis. I don’t think so.”

The words come out after a heavy sigh of relief. “That would be fantastic, and I truly want to get my own place, so I won’t stick around forever. But there’s no way I could live in your home without contributing.”

Meanwhile, my dad watches the exchange with a bemused expression.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Sean says, then turns to Dad. “Do I have something on my face? You’re looking at me funny.”

Dad laughs again, a deep reassuring rumble. “Another thing I’m glad about, my daughter having friends like you two.”