Page 63 of Always a Roommate
“Oh.” Relief flooded me. My dad was a worrier. He had been since Mom left and it was just the two of us. Not about the normal things. He didn’t worry I’d end up sleeping on his couch, broken and homeless one day. He never imagined I’d get caught up in drugs or crime.
It was the small things that weren’t actually very small. Peace of mind. Happiness. He’d never cared if I was successful, if I planned weddings for rock stars or people who couldn’t even afford to pay me.
He just didn’t want me to be unhappy.
And I was, I realized. For the first time in my life, there was this giant hole I couldn’t fill with work.
Callie placed our milkshakes in front of us, and I laughed at the number of cherries that covered our whipped cream. Dad was right. He knew how to order a milkshake.
I popped one in my mouth to give myself a moment longer before responding. “I think—” I sucked in a breath. “I think I screwed up, Dad.” What had I said exactly? Shane was a blip in time for me. That wasn’t true at all.
He was time. All these years pining over him, I didn’t know how hard it would be to have to stop.
“You can still make it up to him.” He sipped his shake calmly.
Words clogged in my throat. “H-how…”
“Oh.” He grinned in satisfaction. “How did I know my baby girl had fallen in love with a Kelly man? I do have eyes, darling.”
“But… I’m not… in love with a Kelly man.”
“Okay.” He snorted out a laugh.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You know, I always thought it would be Tanner.”
“Dad—”
“But I’ve always liked Shane better. There’s something trustworthy about him. I don’t think I’ll ever have to skin him with my hunting knife.”
“You don’t own a hunting knife.” My dad was the most unthreatening man on the planet. He was a retired journalist, who now spent his time reading horribly boring books, and last I’d heard, he was learning how to knit.
“So, it is Shane, right? These old eyes don’t deceive me?”
I groaned. “Does the entire family know?”
He laughed. “They wouldn’t see what’s happening between you two unless you were caught making out in the mudroom.”
“Dad!”
That made him cackle.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s over. We weren’t really anything… and now, we are truly nothing.”
He stopped laughing, his face growing serious. “From my experience, from nothing comes everything.”
And from everything comes nothing. But I didn’t say it. In love, there were only absolutes. You either had nothing or you had everything. There were no almosts, no somedays. Not between two people.
My dad once had everything. My mother was a loving wife. And then, in a single day, it turned to nothing. Just like that.
“Stop thinking about me,” he snapped.
“How could you tell?” I didn’t disrespect him by denying it.
“You get this furrow in your brow.” He frowned. “Your mother was the love of my life.”
“But she hurt you.” And me.
