Page 112 of A Fool's Game

I’m not sure if I actually expect him to answer me, but I’m not surprised when he doesn’t.

“We discussed it, we talked to the doctors, and we decided?—”

I push up from my chair in a rush of blinding anger. “You…you decided you wanted a son so badly that you sacrificed your own wife?” I turn away from him and drag my hand down my face. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears as I struggle to comprehend what I’m hearing. “No wonder you’re so disappointed in how I turned out. You wanted a protege so badly that?—”

“No.” His single word stops my tirade in its tracks. “No, Ainsley. That’s not what I wanted. That’s not…the decision I would have made. If the decision was mine to make. I would have done anything?—”

“Oh my god.” I’m a child again, unable to make sense of or regulate my emotions. “All these years you were forced to raise the child that you would have aborted to save the person you actually wanted. Your wife.”

“No.”

“No? You don’t get to say no. You already admitted that you would’ve chosen her.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Son. She was the person I knew. The person my entire life was anchored to, orbited around. She was my world. The baby was a complete unknown. An abstract concept. All I knew was that she wouldforgo lifesaving treatment in order to have a healthy pregnancy. Her doctors were very clear about what that could mean for the progression of her disease and their ability to prolong her life. I argued to save the only thing I knew.”

“But you lost.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll never call it that. But yes, in the end, your mother was very clear about her decision to carry the baby, you, to term before starting treatment.”

“And I cost her her life.”

“There’s no way to know if it would’ve gone differently had she started chemo earlier. Cancer is not a straight line with hard yeses and nos. It’s its own entity.”

“I was three when she died,” I say, just to have something to say. Just to break up the swirling emotions threatening to suffocate me.

He nods. “And I was more grateful than anything to have her with us those first three years. You have so much of her in you, Ains. And I know it’s because you had that time with her. She taught you kindness and to see the best in everything.”

“Even as she was dying.”

“That was her way.”

“Was it enough?”

“What do you mean?”

I can’t look at him when I ask the real question. “Was I enough all on my own? Was I enough like her to make me worth the trade?”

My dad is on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between us. His arms reach out, threatening a hug, but I stand up and back away. “Don’t. It’s too late for that. I already know I’m not.”

His mask is gone. His face a battlefield of sadness and worry. “What do you mean? Notenough for what?”

“For you!” I shout, losing my cool completely. “For anything. You wanted me to be better. And I’m not. And I’m graduating now from the program that I demanded you let me go into, even though I hate it, and I’m only going through with it so I don’t have to tell you you were right. And when it’s done, I’ll have nowhere to hide from the fact that I made a bad decision out of a childish desire to grow up to be anything but you.”

He takes a step back, arms dropping to his side. In his defense, he never looks away from me, not even as I try my best to hit him where I know it will hurt the most. “Is that what this is about? All this anger?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know anymore.”

“You couldn’t be like me if you tried, Ains.”

I hear it as the start of a criticism and roll my eyes. He stops me with an upheld hand.

“Not like that. You are so much like her, the opposite of me. I want clean, straight lines and predictability and routine. Because those things make me feel safe. After your mother died, I never felt safe. Not in my own life, not with you. But you didn’t let losing her do that to you. You were too young at the time to really know what was going on, but you’re not that young now. You understand what it is to lose someone important. And yet look at you. You live and love fearlessly. You give your heart to people and causes and animals as if it could never be broken. You will do great things with your life. I have no illusions that one of those things will be courtroom law. But?—”

I huff out a laugh. “There’s always a but.”

“But a law education could be a great platform for the work I know you’re meant to do. It could focus you and teach you how to be an even better communicator. You will be an unstoppable force for good in this world, and all I see are opportunities for you to learn from people who are worthy of your time. Doyou know how many presidents we’ve had who don’t have law degrees?”

I laugh again, this time softer, kinder. “Yeah, Dad, I do. You tell me all the time.”

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