Natalie
Two weeks before Christmas last year, my dad dropped the bomb that he was leaving my mother. After twenty-something years of marriage, he was walking away. I still remember coming home from college and finding my mom sitting in the living room, looking shell-shocked. She’s the one who told me that my father was upstairs packing his bags.
He’d fallen in love with another woman. Life, he’d said by way of explanation, was too short not to be happy and if he didn’t seize this opportunity while he still had the chance, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
When Mom brought up the possibility of counseling, he told her his mind was already made up, and he wasn’t interested in trying to fix the problems. He just wanted to be free to live his life.
I have no idea if he realized that when he walked away from my mother, it felt like he was walking away from me as well. I may have been twenty-one years old, but their separation cut me to the bone.
For the last nine months, I’ve avoided all contact with Dad. I’ve been so angry that he blew our world apart. And it’s not that I’m any less mad, but I’ve decided that maybe it’s time for us to sit down and talk. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to resolve anything today, but I have to try.
Since I’m the first to arrive at the restaurant we chose to meet at, the hostess shows me to a table. This is the first time I’ve agreed to meet with him, so you’d think he’d be on time. He’s not. Already it feels like we’re getting off on the wrong foot.
After he walked out, Mom was a mess. She’d been a stay-at-home mom for twenty years. All of a sudden, she needed to rejoin the workforce and find a way to support herself. It took months for her to pull herself together, but she did it. I came home every weekend so that she wouldn’t be alone in the house. A friend of hers, who owns a real estate company, talked Mom into taking a real estate class so she could get her license. Once she immersed herself in the course and helped out with a few open houses, she realized just how much she enjoyed selling real estate. It’s been great for her self-esteem.
Taking a sip of water, I glance at my phone, feeling annoyed that Dad still isn’t here. Ten minutes late and counting. If he really wanted to sit down and work things out, he’d make an effort to be on time. I have too much going on to sit around waiting for him to show up.
I’m giving it five minutes.
If he’s still not here, I’m leaving.
Just as I start to gather up my purse and phone, I see Dad walk into the restaurant. He glances around the dining room, and I raise my hand in a half-hearted wave. Even though this is my father and we enjoyed a close relationship before he left, I’m still nervous. He smiles and moves in my direction.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says. “Sorry about being late, I got held up in traffic.”
I stand, and he takes me in his arms. I can’t help but notice that he’s wearing a different cologne than he used to. As we break apart, my eyes slide over him.
He’s wearing…jeans.
Not only are they fitted, but they’re distressed as well.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Dad in jeans. He’s always dressed in a suit or Dockers during the week and sweatpants and T-shirts on the weekends. As he slips out of his leather jacket—another article of clothing I don’t recognize—I notice he’s wearing a patterned button-down with the sleeves rolled up.
It’s like I’m sitting with a stranger. He doesn’t look like the man I remember.
Not knowing what to say, I blurt, “You look different.”
Instead of taking offense, he smiles. “New haircut.”
Now that he’s mentioned it…His hair is cut much shorter on the sides and is spiked with product in front.
I wave a hand toward the rest of him. “Your whole look is different.” I try to keep the accusation out of my voice, but it’s difficult. Dad spent twenty years dressing the same way and now he looks like some old guy pretending to be younger than what he is.
I can just imagine whose idea the haircut and clothes were.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Seemed like it was time to freshen up the wardrobe. Out with the old and in with the new.”
A pang shoots through me.
Am I part of the old that needed to be thrown out? Whether he realizes it or not, that’s the way it feels.
“You look nice, Dad,” I say because I don’t feel like I can share my true feelings with him. That it looks like he’s trying too hard to be something he’s not.
“Thanks.” He looks sheepish. “I haven’t worn jeans since college. It’s taken a little getting used to.”
“Then why are you wearing them?”
He shrugs and picks up the menu the hostess left on the table for us to peruse. “Just trying something new. Trying to get out of my comfort zone.”
I nod, but don’t say anything further.
He asks how school is going and what my plans are for after college. He tells me about his new apartment and that he’d like me to stop by sometime and check it out. I make the appropriate noises but remain noncommittal about it. Seeing his place would make the divorce more real, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet.
Once the waitress stops by to take our order, it seems like we’ve run the gamut of superficial pleasantries. Silence falls over us.
Dad clears his throat. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me. I’ve been wanting to sit down and talk to you for a while now.” There’s a hint of reproach in his eyes. “We shouldn’t have gone this long without communicating.” When I don’t respond, he sighs and pushes onward. “I know the divorce hasn’t been easy for you, and I’m sorry for that. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
I want to laugh. Or cry. My heart feels like it’s beating a painful tattoo on my ribcage. Is he really naïve enough to believe that his leaving wouldn’t affect me? That I was going to be ambivalent to my parents breaking up just because I’m twenty-one years old and out of the house? Honestly, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. Having your parents split up at any age sucks. It turns your whole world upside down.
“We’ve drifted apart over the last nine months, and I want to fix that. What happened between your mother and me had nothing to do with you.” His eyes search mine. “We both love you more than anything.”
“I know, Dad.”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my fingers.
“I don’t want to lose you, Nat. No matter how old you get, you’ll always be my little girl.”
Those words are like a much-needed balm for my soul.
I lick my lips, unsure if I should ask the one question that has been pounding through my head. “Now that you’ve had some time apart, do you think there’s any chance you and Mom can work things out?”
Sadness washes over his expression. “I don’t think so.” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m sorry. I know that’s not the answer you wanted to hear.”
Tears fill my eyes. I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding out hope that they’d find a way back to each other. You hear stories like that all the time. Sometimes people just need some space to work things out in their heads, and then they come back and are better partners because of it.
“I know it feels like the divorce came out of nowhere, but it didn’t. Not really. Your mother and I hadn’t been happy for years. And it took me a long time to figure out that I didn’t want to continue living like that. We were just getting on, day in and day out.” He shrugs. “With you away at college, it seemed like my decision to leave would be less impactful. There wouldn’t be any custody arrangements to deal with.”
“It doesn’t matter how old I was,” I say quietly. “You walking away hurt.”
Pain flashes across his face. His voice turns deep and husky. “I never left you, Nat. Not ever.”
“That’s what it felt like.”
He glances away. “I’m sorry. I knew my decision would affect you, but I’d hoped you would be old enough to understand where I was coming from.”
Air leaks from my lungs. “I think it’s just going to take time for me to get used to all the changes. It’s a lot to deal with.”
“I can understand that. I don’t want to push you, but I don’t want to be iced out of your life either. Can we make a promise from here on out that we’ll at least talk on a regular basis? If you’re angry about something, tell me.”
My lips curl, and I nod. “I can do that.”
“Good.”
Our dinner arrives, and the conversation once again turns light, which is a relief. There’s been enough heaviness for one evening. I need time to digest everything we’ve discussed.
Every once in a while, his phone dings with a text. He glances at it and types out a quick reply.
“Sorry,” he says after the third one.
“It’s fine.” I assume it’s work and don’t think much of it.
Once our plates get cleared away, he asks if I want dessert.
Duh. Of course, I do. I haven’t changed that much in nine months. “Have you ever known me to turn down dessert?”
“Nope. Never.” He chuckles. “Stupid question, right? Dessert has always been your favorite course.”
It’s totally true.
Once dessert arrives—chocolate lava cake for me and apple pie à la mode for him—it feels like old times. I can almost pretend nothing has changed. That our family is still intact.
I might have walked in here dreading this meeting, but I’m happy we did this. I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn and agreed to sit down with him months ago to hash out our feelings. Not only have I been mourning the fact that my family is no longer together, but I’ve been grieving the loss of my dad. After he walked out the door, everything shifted between us.
But maybe now, moving forward, it can be different. Better. We can spend more time together. Next year, who knows where I’ll live and how often we’ll be able to see one another. It’s important that I get our relationship back on track now, while I can still repair it.
I’m still mad and hurt. I haven’t completely let go of my anger. But there’s nothing I can do about my parents’ marriage ending. I love them both. And that will never change no matter what.
Maybe that’s what I have to hang on to right now.
Dad forks off a hearty chunk of apple pie and takes a bite. Once he’s done, he says, “It means a lot to me that we’re moving forward, Nat.”
“I’m glad we are, too.” I’ve managed to plow my way through half the lava cake, which is rich, gooey, and utterly delicious.
Taking a breath, he fiddles around with his pie instead of digging in. Right away my antenna goes up. I can tell there’s more he wants to say.
Before he has a chance to speak, I cut in. “I’m sorry about freezing you out. I shouldn’t have done that.” I shrug helplessly. “I just felt so angry with you for leaving the way you did. For not trying to work it out.”
“I know,” he acknowledges gently. “And I understand. The separation has been hard on all of us, but especially you.”
I nod and take a deep breath. We’ve talked through a lot over dinner. But we haven’t discussed everything. We haven’t discussed her. As difficult as it is to think about, it’s a topic that needs to be forced into the light if we’re truly going to move forward with our relationship.
“Dad, I—”
At the same time, he says, “Nat, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”
My brows draw together as a woman materializes beside our table. “Huh?”
“This is Bridgette.” Dad shoots out of his chair and wraps an arm around her waist. She leans her body into his.
Thrown off by the interruption, my eyes bounce between Dad, who looks like he’s sweating bullets, and the curvy woman at his side.
“Hi, Natalie. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.” Her voice is deep and rich. Sultry.
I blink in confusion. “Hello.” Who is this woman? Why is she here at our table?
She beams a smile at Dad, who leans over and kisses her on the lips.
What the hell?
After they break apart, she lowers herself to the chair situated between us.
“Sweetheart,” Dad says nervously. “I hope you don’t mind that Bridgette stopped by to meet you.”
I don’t…
Oh.
Ohhhhh.
The chocolate cake I’ve just eaten feels like it’s going to revolt and make an encore appearance. I do my best to tamp down the rising nausea.
So, this is the homewrecking whore. I should have known. She’s got a sex kitten vibe to her. I narrow my eyes. There’s no way she’s more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, and Dad is…
In his late forties.
She’s closer to my age than she is to his. She could be his daughter.
Ewww.
I’m totally grossed out.
Unaware of the thoughts rampaging through my brain, Bridgette flashes a big, toothy smile at me. I hate her instantly. All the anger I’ve felt over the last nine months roars to life again. The sight of her is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“I’m so glad you and your dad were able to get together and work this out.” She leans toward me, and I’m half afraid she’s going to grab hold of my hand. “He’s missed you so much. He talks nonstop about you.”
Realizing that I’m clutching my fork in a death grip, I carefully set it on my plate and inhale a deep breath, hoping it will calm me. It doesn’t.
“Bridgette, is it?” And yes, I damn well know that’s her name. It is, unfortunately, singed into my brain for all eternity.
The happiness on her face falters. She nods, and the smile dims in wattage.
I angle my body toward her and say, “I agreed to meet with my dad and talk to him. I have zero interest in talking with the woman who destroyed my parents’ marriage.”
Her eyes widen before darting to my father as if she’s unsure what to do or say. Which is hilarious. Come on, girlfriend…What’d you expect was going to happen? That you’d waltz in here and the three of us would join hands and sing “Kumbaya”?
Over my dead and decomposed body.
“Natalie!” Dad says sharply.
Glaring at him, I jerk my thumb toward Bridgette, who is squirming silently on her chair. “Why is she here?”
My father looks thrown by the question. He falters before finding his footing. “I thought it was important for you to meet Bridgette.” There’s a pause as I wait for the other shoe to drop. “We’re getting married.”
And there it is.
My mouth falls open. “Are you kidding? Please tell me you’re kidding. You can’t marry her!” I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around his words and what they mean. “Oh my God, how old is she?”
Bridgette’s face turns a dull red. She looks like she wants to sink right into her chair.
Good. I hope she’s humiliated. She deserves it, the homewrecking little slut.
My father pokers up in his chair, his face turning stern. He used to trot out that expression when I was a kid and had done something wrong. Ironic that he’s now the one doing something wrong and trying to give it to me.
I don’t think so, buddy.
“It doesn’t matter what her age is,” he says calmly. “What matters is how we feel for one another.”
“You can’t be serious.” Turning toward the interloper, I narrow my eyes. “Are you even thirty?”
Her cheeks pinken even more until she looks as though she’s moments away from bursting into flames. I’d rejoice if that were to happen.
“Natalie, I’m appalled by your behavior. I think you owe Bridgette an apology. Maybe we shouldn’t have sprung this on you, but I wanted everything out in the open so we could move forward.”
For the first time since my dad’s fiancée sat down at the table with us, hurt rushes through me like a river. Wetness stings the backs of my eyes, and I blink furiously, not wanting the tears to fall. I’ll be damned if I allow either of them to see how upset I am.
Bridgette clears her throat. “I’ll be twenty-eight next month. I know the age difference is a bit of a shock, but I want you to know that I love your father.” She glances down at her hands, which are twisting in her lap. “We make each other happy, and we want to be together.” Her eyes lift to mine again. “I’m sorry that it hurts you.”
Precariously close to losing it, I bolt from my chair. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now,” I say hastily.
Both Dad and his fiancée rise from their seats.
“Natalie, please…Let’s sit back down and discuss this like rational adults,” my father implores.
My hands tremble as I swipe my phone from the table and my purse from the back of the chair. I shake my head. “No, I can’t. I have to go.”
Not bothering to say goodbye, I rush toward the exit. My dad doesn’t try and stop me, which is a relief. I need to get out of here. Away from both of them.
I can’t breathe.
After I push out through the doors into the warm evening air, my feet grind to a halt, and I suck in a deep breath. Then close my eyes and try to steady myself.
My apartment building is about a mile from the restaurant. Zara dropped me off earlier this evening. If I called her, she’d be here in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Next to Mom, Zara is the only other person in the world I can count on. But I don’t want to do that. I think the walk will do me good. It’ll give me some time to clear my head and process what just happened.
“Davies?”
I blink and focus on the guy who has appeared out of nowhere.
Feeling confused, I ask, “What are you doing here?”