You’re a coward. Out of all the text messages that Riley has sent me over the past six weeks, this one hurts the most. Couldn’t she see that I left so that she could have a better future? To give her a chance to find a nice guy, someone who could provide for her, someone who she could build a family with.

My grip tightens on the wrench in my hand at the mere idea of Riley talking, touching, loving, being with someone else. Suddenly, I want to strangle the nonexistent, faceless stranger my mind has conjured up.

“You’re over-tightening that bolt.” My dad’s tall figure looms over my shoulder. “It’s gonna crack.”

I drop the wrench, and it clatters to the floor with a loud bang. “If you’re such an expert then you fucking do it.” I wipe my hands on the dirty rag shoved in the pocket of my coveralls, but it’s no use. No matter how much I scrub my hands, I can’t erase the grease from my skin, nor can I get rid of the pungent diesel smell.

“Watch your mouth.” My dad slaps me on the back of the head. I stare at him for a beat. With his tall, athletic frame, we’re similar in many ways, same broad shoulders, same wide hands, same bright smile. But whereas he is dark—his eyes, his skin, his hair—I’m lighter, having inherited some of my mom’s softer attributes.

My dad’s a decent, if not simple guy. Things didn’t work out between him and my mom, but I’m not bitter. More than half of marriages in the United States end in divorce. Couple that with the fact that my dad dedicated more time to his motorcycles than his wife (and kid), it’s no surprise that my mom left.

But it worked out okay for us. I saw my dad during the summer and visited with him on major holidays. But still I can’t help but wonder: Do I want to turn out like him? Unattached. Married to my job. With no one to come home to each night, no one to share simple, peaceful moments with, no one to laugh or bicker with…

“Jesse.” My dad calls my name, and the volume at which he speaks makes me think he’s called me more than once. “Hand me the spark plug pliers.”

I grab the tool from the shelf and give it to him. He grunts his thanks.

“You’re happy here?” Even though I mean it as more of a statement, my voice rises at the end.

His head pops out from underneath the hood of the ’66 Plymouth he’s been working on. Bikes are his first love, but he recently ventured into repairing vintage vehicles. He’s been restoring the Plymouth for the past seven months. “Huh?”

I shrug and turn my head away, embarrassed. “You’re happy being single? Just you and the garage? Mom’s not here to bother—”

His voice cuts me off. “Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My eyes widen in surprise, because this is the first time I’ve heard him talk about my mother in a way that didn’t directly relate to me.

“Your mother,” he repeats, “is a good woman who deserves a good life. She deserves a man who can take care of her and give her the world.”

“What?” My voice shakes a bit. This is news to me. When I was a kid and would question why my parents didn’t live together like other parents, Mom would say, “Honey, sometimes mommies and daddies live apart. This just makes you more special because you get to have two homes.”

At the time I thought it was great. I mean, what kid wouldn’t want two bedrooms, two sets of toys, two candy baskets from the Easter bunny? When I was old enough to actually understand what divorce was, I didn’t care enough to ask what really happened.

“Son, look around.” He splays his arms wide. “Your mother deserved better than this. You did, too.” He looks me in the eye. “So, I let you go.”

A chill sweeps through the room, even though it’s ninety fucking degrees outside. It’s as though the Ghost of Christmas Future has visited me, and I’ve caught a glimpse of the next forty years of my life: Alone. Tired. Merely existing.

And what did my dad’s sacrifice earn him? Happiness? No. Is he still in love with my mother all these years later? Clearly. Could they have made it work? Maybe.

I make a decision right here and now that no matter what happens, I will make something of myself, to earn my way and work hard, to become a man worthy of Riley’s love. And then I’ll go back for her. I have ten and a half months to become the man she deserves, a man she can be proud of. Until then, all I can do is hope and pray she will continue to love me as much as I still love her.