Page 47 of The House Guest
He waved that away. “I was talking out of my ass the night we met. I don’t know whether my father truly loved my mother. And I never will. I know he was pretty upsetafter she died. I just never knew whether it was guilt or whether his heart was broken. But not sure how you could do something like he did to someone you truly love.” The sadness in his eyes was palpable.
“You think having money turns some good people bad?”
“It definitely doesn’t help.” He paused. “I remember as a boy wishing so badly that I just had a normal family, you know? One where the father wasn’t a cheater. Where there wasn’t so much money that you never knew whether someone was using you.” A pained look crossed his face. “But after Mom died, I regretted ever wishing for anything other than the life I had with her. She really was a great mom. And how much more did I need, you know?” He rubbed his temples. “God, how the fuck did I get to this place of vulnerability yet again in this fucking closet?”
“I think this stuff just needs to come out sometimes.”
“It scares me how easily I open up to you, Primrose.”
“I’m glad I’m here so you don’t have to go through this experience alone. I’m always happy to listen.”
“You say that, but I just complained to you about having a privileged childhood. How fucking tone deaf is that?”
“You still have a right to your feelings. Your wealth doesn’t take away the fact that you were hurt by your father’s actions, that you expected more, and also that having money sometimes can be a curse.”
He searched my eyes. “You said your father wasn’t around when you were growing up, but did you know him at all?”
I shook my head. “When my mother told him she was pregnant with me, he left and refused to believe he was thefather. He didn’t want to deal with it. Rick continued to deny I was his, even though he was the only person she’d been with.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
A wave of overwhelming sadness came over me. My voice shook. “I met him once.”
“You don’t have to elaborate,” Dorian said.
“I never told anyone, not even my mother, that I went to see him. She died not knowing.”
“Will you tell me about it?” he asked softly.
I exhaled. “My mother had always been open with me about who my father was. I’d known his name from a very young age, but it wasn’t until I became internet savvy that I was able to look up his information—where he worked, that kind of thing.” I let out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know what I was thinking…that maybe if he saw my face, saw the resemblance, he’d finally acknowledge me.” I swallowed hard.
“What happened?”
“I found out he worked in construction for a contractor about thirty minutes away. I told my mother I was going to a lake for the day with my friend Brittany and her family. Instead, Brittany asked her older brother to drive us to the construction site.” I shut my eyes. “I thought if I wore the prettiest dress I owned and got myself all dolled up, maybe he’d be happy to see me.” I shook my head. “It was delusional.”
“You thought maybe he wasn’t the person your mother thought he was…”
Nodding, I shut my eyes as I felt tears start to form.
“You don’t have to finish the story.”
I felt his hand on my arm.
I opened my eyes. “It’s just hard for me to go back to that place. There’s no worse rejection than that which comes from the person responsible for your existence. Whenever I look at myself in the mirror, I see him—the face of the man who looked me in the eyes and called me a liar and told me to leave. How do you love yourself when all you can see in that mirror is someone who hates you? When people tell me I’m beautiful, I feel like they’re lying.”
“That’s fucked up,” he muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
“The pain that comes from rejection by your own parent is not something that can ever be healed.”
He looked at me a long moment. “You’ve said before that you try to beat men to the punch, breaking up with them before they have a chance to hurt you. Is that because you think they’re all like him?”
I nodded. “I’m sure that’s part of it.”
“Your father is a shit human. And I hate that you see him when you look in the mirror. I obviously don’t know what he looks like, but whenIlook at you, I see the kindest eyes and the most beautiful face. It’syourface, no one else’s. You can give someone your genes, but that doesn’t mean anything. Your spirit is nothing like his.”
His words felt like a warm blanket.
“Thanks,” I said. “There’s one good thing that came out of that meeting, though…”
