Page 14 of Perfect Pairing
“Well, clearly, it hasn’t been that easy for me.”
“I think you’re holding onto your anger as an excuse because you think it’s better than admitting nothing that happened with Shannon was your fault.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dad cut me off. “You’ve always been a martyr, walking around your whole childhood thinking you were the reason your mother left. In reality, the woman was as easy to nail down as the wind. She was never meant for motherhood. You’re here because Ibeggedher to keep you, to give the family thing a shot. And she tried, but in the end…well, you know the rest. The point is, Shannon was never meant for motherhood either. It’s not your fault she stepped out on you and had substance abuse problems. Those issues existed long before you came into the picture. I know you love your son, Ezra, just like I love you, but to be the best father you can be, you have to be happy. And right now, you’re so far from that, I’m not even sure you know what it looks like anymore.”
I scowled. “And how do you propose I find it?”
“Moving us to Michigan was a good start.”
“And what about you?” I asked quietly. “Are you happy?”
Suddenly, the answer meant more to me than I could express. If he wasn’t happy…it was yet another thing I’d carry on my shoulders. I’d uprooted him from the only life he’d ever known so I could run away from my problems.But maybe…maybe I hadn’t actually been running from them. Maybe I was simply running toward a solution.
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, kid. I am.”
“But haven’t you been lonely all these years?”
“I haven’t been lonely,” he protested. “I had you.”
I groaned. “You know what I mean, Dad.”
He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Some days were harder than others, but at the time, I had other priorities.”
Me, I reminded myself.
“And now?” I asked. “I’m grown, Dad. Taking care of myself.”
He squinted at me briefly, his eyes hazing over, as though a veil had dropped between now and the past. Then he said, “Come with me.”
Confused but curious, I followed down the hall toward Hansen’s room. He pushed open the door, both of us wincing as it creaked on its hinges, hoping it didn’t wake my sleeping boy. Thankfully, Hansen could sleep through a hurricane. Everything in me softened as I watched the delicate rise and fall of his chest, at his blanket twisted around his legs, arms flung wide, his face slack and peaceful. That was my whole world right there.
“He has to be the most important thing to you,” my dad whispered, glancing over at me. “But just because he and his happiness have to be themostimportant doesn’t mean they have to be theonlyimportant thing in your life.”
“You’re important to me,” I protested.
He grinned. “Obviously, but…I made a lot of mistakes, Ez. With you, with your mother, with my life. And things turned out okay. Just…don’t make the same ones.”
With a squeeze of my shoulder, he padded away, in the direction of his own room, leaving me there to watch my son sleep and mull over his words.
To question if, maybe, I was more ready than I thought to not make his mistakes.
I’d barely rounded thecorner into the kitchen at my parents’ house, shouting, “I’m home!” before I was engulfed in a tangle of limbs, the voices of my sisters floating around me.
I sank into them, a grin on my face.
God, it was good to be back.
“My baby!” my mom wailed over the heads of my sisters, who all backed away to let her through. I loved my mom more than anything, but every time one of us left, it was like the end of the world, our return practically a national holiday.
But I could admit, the enthusiastic greeting did wonders for my ego.
After wrapping me in a Burberry-scented hug, my mother held me at arm’s length.
“You’re not eating enough,” she said matter-of-factly.
I groaned. “Mom, I’m a chef. I’m eating plenty.”
I’d recently finished the first stint of my culinary internship, and I was eating more than ever. Only my good genes and morning jogs along Navy Pier and Lakeshore saved me from gaining weight.
