serious.
When I walk into Edible Desire on Tuesday morning, it’s with a heavy heart, but it takes me less than two hours to complete Desmond’s list. I’m sitting at the reception desk with my cell phone in hand, hoping to hear back from him. While I’m trying to give him his space, it’s killing me to not know what’s going on or how he’s doing. I broke down this morning and texted him to see how he was doing, but I still haven’t received a response.
The doorbell of Edible Desire chimes, letting me know that someone is walking in. I left it unlocked in case someone wanted to take a tour of the kitchen or book a class. My intentions were good, but the person who walks in makes me wish I had decided to keep the doors locked.
“Hey, Mags,” my dad says, letting the door shut behind him.
This is the second time I’ve seen him since moving to Washington, and just like the first time, it feels surreal. I spent so many years knowing I would never see him again, adamant I would never forgive him. So standing in the same room with him is enough to send a jolt straight to my heart. Emotion clogs my throat, and there’s even a tiny spot in my chest swelling at his nearness, happy that my daddy’s here. Despite that small breakthrough, my guard still stands tall and strong.
“Hey, Dad.” I stand and step to the outside of the desk, tilting my head in question. “Desmond isn’t here. He had to fly to Dallas.” I swallow, the words sticking in my throat.
“I know. Um, actually…” My dad runs his fingers through his hair, the same way he used to when he was uncertain. His nervous habit. “I’m here to see you.”
His eyes dart to my hands, and that’s when I realize I’m wringing them together. My nervous habit. I guess some things never change.
“Why?” I don’t know what to say, do, or think. So I just stand here and wait. For what, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m waiting for his excuse for tearing our family apart, or for a meaningless apology after years of nothing. I’m waiting for the words I know I’ll reject. But what he finally says surprises me.
“I miss you.” His response is simple, honest, and sweet.
The small piece of my heart that swelled for him earlier just grew in size. I try to take a normal breath, but it’s impossible. My inhale is uneven, catching on air. The corners of my eyes burn with the threat of my tears, and I shake my head, like I have a chance of stopping them.
“I miss you,” he repeats. “And I wanted to check on you to see if you’re okay.” He glances around the kitchen. “Desmond said you’ve been a big help to him around here and that he left you in charge.”
I follow his gaze before looking back at him and pulling my brows together. “Yeah, but I don’t see how any of that concerns you.”
“I’ve got a couple hours free if you need some help.”
It takes everything in me to refrain from giving him another snotty retort. I don’t need to be angry with the man for the rest of my life. If anything, I want to feel free from the haunting memories that arise every time I think of him. Forgiveness worked for Monica. Maybe it could work for me too.
I let out a sigh. “That’s really nice of you, but without Desmond, I don’t have much to do.”
He checks his watch. “Well, how about lunch, then? My treat.”
As hard as I want to try, my entire body seizes up at his efforts. “That’s really not necessary.”
He levels me with his gaze. “It’s been a long time. I just want to get to know you. What have you been up to since you’ve been here? Do you like Seattle? Do you miss LA? I know we can’t get those years back, but I don’t want to lose any more than we already have.”
I swallow past the thickness still building in my throat. “I hear you say you’re sorry. I hear you tell me you miss me. But what makes you think I trust any of it?”
He nods and drops his head before picking it back up and looking at me again. “If you need more time, then I’ll give it to you. The last thing I want to do is push this, but I’m not going