As Told By Paramours

chapter thirty-four

josie

FOR SOME REASON, I'm scared to walk into Jamesons.

I'm scared to see Elijah.

I have no reason to be. Being scared makes it seem like it's his fault. But it's not. It's mine. And I want to be okay with that. I'm going to be. Just because it's my fault doesn't mean I can't learn from it. I want to.

I'm not counting, I'm not a weirdo, but it's been almost two weeks since I've seen him. I think I'm going through like, withdrawals.

He hasn't left me any notes. I know why: he wants me to be the first person to step to him, like I was before. He's telling me to take my time. And I know he's hurt. And I know he knows that I know that. But both of us would rather I speak to him once I've put the past behind me.

No baggage.

And so as soon as I get home from the worst day of work, I march into the living room and spot my father on the couch watching football.

"Dad," I start, and his head snaps up.

My hands are in tight fists.

That's okay.

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

That's okay, too.

Whatever I need to do to get through this. Because I am strong enough to.

I say as I motion to the dining table: "Can we talk?"

He knows what that means. He's off the couch in a heartbeat.

I sit at the head of the table, and as though he doesn't feel he can get closer to me, he sits at the other end. I can't believe that rift was caused in part by me. I feel my heart breaking. I stand and take the seat beside him.

As he waits, I study his greying hair, the bald spot I grew up with, the wrinkle lines I know by heart.

I see his smile lines that I've begun to forget because of how seldom they appear to greet me. His reading glasses are on the bridge of his nose, resting there because he likes them on hand despite not needing them always, and despite the fact that he had cataract removal surgery years ago.

"I don't want to be angry anymore," I say quietly, lowering my eyes to the table. "I'm sorry it took me this long to say that, but I don't want to be. I..." am a crybaby. I'm already tearing up. That's okay, though. "I am disappointed and I am hurt. And I know I didn't know you back then nor did you know I would be your daughter, but the fact that the man I looked up to, the man I look up to, would do something like that to someone he loved scares me, you know? That scared me." I take a deep breath. "I also want to say that you're still my father. You're still the man who taught me how to ride my bike in the field by our house, and showed me how to cook pasta al dente. You showed me what it meant to be loved. And even though... even though you did that, I am thankful and grateful that out of all the fathers I could've got, that you're mine. Regardless of what happened. You will always be one of the most important people to me. Always. And... yeah. That's all I wanted to say."

I've never seen him cry before. It's almost an anomaly here. He places his hand over mine. "Thank you."

I nod and start to stand up when he reaches out.

"Do you..." my Dad starts. "Want to know about he—"

"No," I say, smiling softly. "I don't."

He smiles slightly. Neither of our smiles are happy smiles. They're just there. They just exist. My Dad says: "That's okay."

And I think: it is okay. I'll be okay.

soooo confession time. i cried like a baby writing this.

are we seeing the thread & theme of this book?