Page 79 of Rebound

“Whatever. I’m not the crazy one. He is.” I point at the house. “I don’t need a shrink telling me some bullshit about how none of this is his fault.”

“It’s not,” he insists. “It’s not your fault either, and let’s not use the word crazy.”

“You think I don’t know it’s not my fault?” I look away after asking that. For a time when I was a kid, I believed I was responsible. I thought I had chased my supposed mother away, and that broke my father.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats.

“And what? I’m supposed to throw him a parade for coming out of the house for two seconds?” I ask the doctor. “What happens now? He’ll go back inside for another decade, leaving me to do everything as always?” The bitterness that I try to keep at bay comes back up. Each time I think I have it figured out, it comes back at the most inopportune time.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think this is the start of a new chapter in his life,” Dr. Reynolds says. “He wants to be there for you.”

“I needed him to be there for me when I was a kid!” I hiss. “I don’t need him to be there for me now. What the fuck is he going to do for me at this point? I needed a parent who got his ass off the couch to attend my games. Maybe buy me some new shoes so I could play the game that now pays for his lifestyle. How about take me back to school shopping? Maybe schedule me a physical. But yeah, it’s not his fault. Let’s all praise him.” I hold up my hands and clap before I turn my back on the doctor.

“If that’s how you feel,” he says, “why do you do all of this?” He gestures at the house and then himself. “Why? You could have walked away, but you didn’t. Not only did you not walk away, but you built him a house. You found me and asked me to treat him, and you’re paying a premium to have me come to him. Why?”

I don’t bother to turn around to face him. I don’t bother to answer. After pausing my steps, I continue and walk through the front door and slam it behind me.

Chapter 49

Layla

While Pete feeds Jasmine a vanilla ice cream cup, I take the meat off the rotisserie chicken to make the same chicken salad sandwiches I made last time.

“I’ve been thinking about those since you left,” Pete says sheepishly.

“Well then, Pete, chicken salad sandwiches you shall have. Do you want me to show you how to make them now since I didn’t get a chance last time? They’re super easy.”

“I’m not much of a cook, but sure. I don’t think I can mess those up too bad.” He doesn’t bother to look at me. He slides the spoon into Jasmine’s mouth with more ice cream.

I crane my neck to the front door and wonder if I need to go find Seth. He wasn’t nearly as happy as I thought he would be about his father stepping outside. I let out a breath of relief when I hear the front door open, but when he slams it, I start to worry.

Pete noticeably jumps at the sound, but Jasmine is not phased. She just points at the ice cream cup and opens her mouth wide for more. Seth stands at the kitchen entrance and looks around.

“Dada,” Jasmine says with her mouth full.

“Hey, Jazzy Girl,” he says back. “I see you’re back to manipulating your grandpa.”

I let out a breath of relief at his playfulness, but one thing Seth never does is get angry around his daughter.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Pete says. “She has me wrapped around her finger.”

Seth rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. I point to the chair at the island across from me. When he sits, I get him bottled water and some of the cut fruit I found in the fridge.

He thanks me but doesn’t say anything else. I make the chicken salad and cut the baguettes. We eat lunch together and talk. The atmosphere at the table is light, but Seth doesn’t say much.

“I was thinking,” Pete begins. He gives Seth a quick glance, and Seth goes stiff as he waits to hear more. “You know how you make the hibachi whenever you visit?”

“Yeah,” Seth says before he takes a big bite of his sandwich. I have the feeling he did that to stop himself from saying something smart.

“Instead of cooking it yourself this time, maybe we can all go to a restaurant.” A big glob of chicken salad falls out of my bread, and I start to cough at his announcement. Seth reaches over and whacks me on the back. “I mentioned it to Dr. Reynolds, and he thinks it’s a good idea. He says he’ll come so he can help me with my breathing. I already made a reservation. I dropped your name, so we have a private room.”

He seems so proud of himself, and I know how big of a moment this is.

“I think it’s great,” I whisper, and he smiles with pride.

“Are you sure?” Seth asks.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore, and I know I fought you about therapy, but it’s been the best thing for me. Thankyou, Son.” He reaches across the table and puts a hand on Seth’s. I turn my head to wipe the tears from my eyes.

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