Page 36 of We Can Forever

Nathan slaps his knee. “Hell yeah. Now that’s what I want to hear.”

My phone rings, and I scramble to pull it from my pocket. Hannah?

But it’s Pat, who owns Pine Island’s hardware store.

“I’ve got to take this,” I mumble, hitting the answer button. “Hey, Pat. Is there something wrong with my order?”

“Hi there, Michael. Well, not exactly…” He trails off, and I frown. “I’m not sure about some of the fittings you want for the kitchen. The faucet you picked out won’t work, son.”

Closing my eyes, I hold back a groan. Is he being serious? “I’m sure it will work just fine. A faucet is a faucet. They all carry water.”

“Why aren’t you just going with the plans your dad made?”

There it is. The ole “Why aren’t you just like your dad?” Of course, people find a multitude of ways to say it, to let me know they wish my dad were still here and I was not—poorly, in everyone’s specific opinions—stepping into his shoes.

“Because I’m the one working on the kitchen now.” I grit my teeth, doing what I can to keep my temper in check. Pat was my dad’s closest friend, but trying to micromanage this kitchen renovation is not a healthy way to deal with grief.

I decide against suggesting he give therapy a whirl and wait until I’m sure my voice is even and calm. “Thank you for the input. I’ll give it some thought. For now, though, let’s go with the faucet I picked out.”

He grumbles some under his breath but at least says goodbye. Hanging up, I turn to Nathan.

“You know what would be nice?”

“What?” He slurps his beer.

“If everyone would stop second-guessing every decision I make that even slightly deviates from what my dad might have done. The man wasn’t perfect, but now that he’s gone, people are worshiping him.”

Nathan is quiet for a long moment. “Does any of your frustration have to do with what your dad said the last time you spoke?”

I physically recoil. “What?”

Nathan shrugs. “If you didn’t have a button to push, everyone putting their noses in your business wouldn’t be so hurtful. It would be easier to shrug it all off. Do you think a part of you believes you really aren’t doing a good enough job? Just like how your dad suggested you weren’t raising Katie right?”

I cross my arms. “He didn’t suggest it. He flat-out stated it.”

Damn Nathan. He’s too smart sometimes, and as much as I don’t want to admit it at this moment, he’s right.

“I think about that fight every day.” It was the last time we ever spoke, and of course I have regrets.

For months—even following my dad’s heart attack in the middle of a fiery house—I’ve resented him for basically telling me I was failing my daughter. I mean, seriously? Me?

I was the parent who stayed when her mother peaced out. I was the person who sat up with a colicky baby, who arranged my work schedule so I could pick her up from school every day, who passed over every opportunity at finding another relationship or pursuing anything in life that would make me less than fully available to her.

I gave up who I was for Katie, and I would do it again and again in a heartbeat. I live for that kid, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So, for someone—my own father, at that—to say that I fucked up…

I shake my head. “I moved her back here.”

“Because your dad wanted you to?”

My sigh is so heavy it hurts my ribs. “Because he was right. We were too isolated in Seattle.” I can at least separate the truth from personal offenses—sometimes.

“And she’s happy here. That’s what it looks like, anyway.”

“Yeah.” I chew that over. “But I sometimes think we swung too far in the other direction. It’s hard to get a moment alone here.”

The front doorbell rings, and I smirk. There’s my confirmation from the universe.

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