Chapter 14 - THE APOLOGY I DIDN'T HAVE TO ACCEPT
Dad requested a meeting eleven months after Christmas Eve.
Not Christmas Eve.
Almost.
December 18.
I nearly declined.
Then I agreed to thirty minutes in a public café.
He arrived early.
No expensive watch.
No business suit.
Just jeans and a winter coat.
He looked smaller.
Not physically.
Socially.
The performance had fallen away.
“I’m in counseling,” he said.
I nodded.
“I stopped drinking.”
I hadn’t known he drank enough to stop.
He noticed my expression.
“I hid that too.”
Of course.
He did not ask me to forgive him.
That helped.
“I told myself I was keeping the family together.”
“You were keeping the lifestyle together.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself every loan was temporary.”
“Yes.”
“I thought because you made good money, it hurt you less.”
That one made me angry.
“It hurt more because none of you cared what it cost me.”
“I know.”
I almost corrected him.
Then didn’t.
He continued:
“I was proud of you.”
I laughed softly.
“You had a strange way of showing it.”
“I was also ashamed.”
“Of me?”
“Of needing you.”
That was the first explanation that made emotional sense.
Not justification.
Explanation.
He depended on the daughter he underestimated.
So rather than admit weakness, he made my support feel mandatory.
“I can’t promise we’ll have the relationship you want,” I said.
“I know.”
“I may never trust you financially.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“And Christmas?”
He looked down.
“That’s up to you.”
It was.
For the first time, really.
A week later, Mom asked if I would come to her condo for Christmas dinner.
“No.”
She swallowed.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
I continued:
“I’m hosting dinner at my place.”
Her face changed.
“You are?”
“Yes.”
“Mason’s coming.”
She smiled.
“Can I?”
I looked at her.
“Come as my mother.”
Her eyes filled.
“Not as someone who needs something from me.”
“I understand.”
Dad was not invited.
Not that year.
A happy ending did not require pretending every relationship had healed on schedule.
Sometimes the happy ending was simply having the right to choose the guest list.
Christmas morning, Mason arrived carrying groceries.
Not a bill.
Not a request.
Groceries.
He held up a bag.
“I bought the wine.”
“Imported?”
“Twenty-two dollars.”
I smiled.
“Perfect.”
Then Mom arrived with a pie she had baked herself.
May you like
It looked terrible.
We ate it anyway.
