[a/n: writing this chapter was honestly more difficult than i expected it to be. i made the mistake of writing about something i've yet to resolve, so bear with me if it seems in any way unnatural or unreal. it was a bit of a struggle, but i hope i did the story justice. thank you, as always. :)

sam xo]

Chapter 29



Mom must have known that something was up if the pointed glances she frequently sent me were any indication.

It had been nearly a week since the night I everything went wrong with me and Tori. Neither of us had tried to contact each other, and even that much was enough to signal anyone that something was definitely not right. Tori and I hung out nearly every day, and the fact that she hasn't once turned up at our doorstep with a bunch of rom-coms in hand was obviously getting my mom worried.

I also kept quiet about what happened with me and my dad over the phone. I'd hung up on him after our argument and ignored all his other calls afterwards. I wasn't sure if he called Mom to tell her just exactly what happened, but so far, she still hasn't asked me much about either Tori or Dad, and to be honest, I kind o preferred it that way.

I'd spent every day locked up inside the house since then, if only so I wouldn't accidentally bump with Tori or, worse, Austin. I knew I would have to go out at one point, of course, but I was still far too confused and upset about what happened that I'm not sure I could manage bumping into either of them.

This gave me a lot of time to catch up with the shows I hadn't been able to watch lately. I was, in fact, binge-watching the second season of How to Get Away with Murder when my Mom knocked on my door and popped her head in.

"Reed?"

"Yup?"

I waited for her to ask about my unusual behavior, but she merely said, "I left a shopping list on the counter. Can you run by the market later?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied, knowing it's unlikely for me to find Tori buying groceries. I didn't know about Austin, but since I didn't really have a choice, there was nothing I could do but hope fate wouldn't be so cruel.

"By the way, your Aunt Rosie phoned me earlier. Said she was wondering when you'd drop by."

I remembered the phone I'd borrowed from my great aunt, which I'd stowed in the bedside drawer.

"I'll go visit," I assured Mom, who sent me a grateful smile before slipping out my room.

* * *

"So." Aunt Rosie set a plate piled with steaming baked potatoes on the table in front of me. "What exactly is going on with you?"

I looked up at her, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, don't give me that innocent look." She fixed me with a knowing stare, taking the seat opposite mine with a slight grimace, a hand automatically landing on her bad hip.

I headed here immediately after grocery shopping since there weren't a lot of perishable goods that needed to be refrigerated right away on the list. Mom must have told Aunt Rosie I was coming because she didn't seem surprised when I showed up on their doorstep at three in the afternoon.

Of course, she was horrified to learn that I haven't had lunch yet, and quickly sent me to the patio at the back where she and Uncle Silas (who was out fishing with a couple of his friends) spent most of their afternoons, complaining that the house was too stuffy during the summer.

She knew I absolutely adored baked potatoes so I wasn't entirely surprised at the generous serving she insisted on giving me.

I was, however, taken aback by her question, and I was genuinely too stunned to reply.

"Your mother tells me you haven't left your room in days," Aunt Rosie told me. "She worries about you, you know."

"I'm fine," I dismissed. "So, what time will Uncle Silas come home?"

She kept her eyes on me, steady and unblinking, her mouth set in a thin line. Dropping my gaze, I picked up my fork to spear a potato from my plate. When it was clear I wasn't going to budge anytime soon, she let out a sigh and shook her head.

"You've always hated the idea of depending on other people," she said. "You're stubborn like that, I know, but you got to let people in sometimes, honey."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just kept my mouth shut and did my best not to meet her eyes, earning me yet another deep sigh.

"Reed, honey. What's going on?"

I set my fork down, closed my eyes for three full seconds before reopening them. "Nothing," I replied. "It's just that..." Shaking my head, I took a deep breath and continued. "A lot of stuff just happened, like, all at once."

Aunt Rosie arched an eyebrow, prompting me to elaborate, and though I planned on stopping at that, the words were suddenly spilling out my mouth. I'd kept them to myself in over six days now, and suddenly, there I was, telling her everything—the phone call with Dad, the argument I had with Tori, and, much as I want to deny it, I'd even told her about the whole Austin thing and how confusing that was.

"I just can't wait for the summer to end. Then I can fly off to college and leave all this behind me."

"Oh, Reed, honey." Aunt Rosie stood up from her chair and walked over to where I was sitting. She reached for me and held my face in both hands, tilting my head up so I could look her in the eye.

I swallowed, refusing to be carried away by the gentle look she was giving me.

"Your father is a good man," she began.

I jerked away from her touch, jumping to my feet so quickly my chair fell back with a loud clatter. "How can you even say that?"

"I understand why you find it hard to trust him, Reed, but that doesn't mean you should stop trusting other people, Reed."

"You don't understand anything," I spat out, turning to leave before I could say anything else I knew I'd regret.

She called me to wait, but I didn't stop, and by the time she caught up to me, I was already peeling away from the sidewalk.

I felt awful for leaving things like that, but what she'd said about my father being a good man after everything he'd done to me and my mother made something in me snap. My father was a good man, yes, but then he'd changed.

No wise words from Aunt Rosie or anyone else would ever change the fact that he left and never came back, at least not in the ways that mattered, and to be perfectly honest, I wanted to thank him for it.

If he hadn't abandoned us like that, I never would have been able to open my eyes to the reality that believing so easily in other people would only make you vulnerable—and I wasn't going to let Aunt Rosie scold me for keeping my guard up.

After all, I had made the mistake of trusting Tori and look how that turned out. And how could I trust Austin when I knew what he had done to his best friend?

Trust only makes people weak.

I knew that better than anyone else.

So why did I still feel so weak?

* * *

When I came home, there was a car parked on the driveway. I hadn't seen it before, so I cautiously slowed down before coming to a full stop.

The first thought that came into my mind was that it was Austin and I immediately felt my stomach twist at just the memory of him. But then I saw the figure sitting on the porch steps. His broad shoulders were hunched over his knees and the light from the setting sun made his light brown hair seem even lighter.

I got out of the car faster than my brain could comprehend the impossibility of the situation.

"What are you doing here?"

My father got to his feet, but didn't say anything.

I took a deep, calming breath, trying to collect my thoughts before looking back at him. "If it's about getting the rest of your things, they're in the—"

"Reed."

The sound of my name on his lips sounded foreign to me. The lines around his eyes looked unfamiliar. The sprinkle of grey in his hair seemed unreal. He looked like a stranger, I thought, only to realize that he was one.

The thought brought a gnawing ache in my gut.

"Why are you here?"

He let out a ragged breath, running his hands through his hair. "I think I got voted Worst Father of the Year." His lips tugged into a small, sad smile. "I was wondering if we could go grab some milkshakes so I could show you the trophy."

"Don't." I averted my gaze, ignoring the painful twist in my stomach. My mom always said she loved Dad's sense of humor. So did I, back then, when he hadn't yet turned his back on us. "Don't even think that you can just waltz back here and try to joke your way back into my life. There's no place for you here."

He flinched.

"Leave," I said. "Just go."

"I can't."

"You didn't have a problem doing it the first time."

I knew I struck a chord the moment I saw the way his face crumpled.

Somehow, I'd always envisioned this moment as exhilarating, empowering. Over the years, I knew one day would come when I'd snap and tell him everything that I hated about him, but never had I imagined my words to feel like a double-edged sword.

The blade was sawing at my memories of him way back when and the only way I could save myself is by walking away now before further damage can ensue.

I started to walk past him, letting my gaze harden, but just as I was about to reach the front door, I felt him grab my elbow.

"I'm sorry."

Snatching my arm back, I whirled around to face him. "How can you expect me to believe that?" I shook my head. "All these years." I let out a sharp breath, willing my voice to stop trembling. "All these years, I've been waiting to see even just a teeny, tiny bit of remorse yet there was never any, Dad. Never."

He had the decency to drop his gaze, and once he did, I took a step back.

"Go."

"Not like this." His desperation was palpable in his voice.

"Just go."

The silence hung between us like a heavy blanket, and just when I thought he'd finally leave, he shifted and let out a deep breath.

"I never wanted to leave you."

"But you did," I said, the sharpness in my voice disintegrating. "You left."

"Yeah," he conceded. "And some days, I still regret it."

I looked at him then, watched the way he wrung his shaking hands together.

"I love Sally, yes, and I'm happy," he said, "but even so, there are days when I can't stop thinking about how my life could have been if I hadn't left. If I had just stayed here, with you and your mom and—and the sibling you could have had." He choked on the last words, but he balled his hands into fists and forced himself to continue. "And seven years ago, I almost came back."

My eyes snapped to meet his. "What?"

"I got sick with the flu," he began. "Sally wasn't used to nursing sick people. She tried, yes, but all of a sudden, I missed your mom's porridge. It was like I couldn't help but realize how different Sally and your mom are. I kept noticing the little things. Like how Sally loves sushi, and how your mom absolutely detests it. How Sally can't sleep without a night light on, or how she scolds me when I cuss.

"I missed your mom's little quirks, and before I knew it, I was already booking a flight so I could see her." A bitter smile appeared on his face. "She came out to meet me, but she made it clear things could never go back to the way they used to be. Said I didn't really love her anymore, and that I was probably only missing how familiar we were to each other. Talked some sense into me."

"Mom never said anything about that."

"Wouldn't you have hated her?" he asked me. "If she told you she turned down the chance to give you a normal family, wouldn't you have hated her?"

I fell silent.

"But your mom was right. She always is. And even though I came back to Sally, I'd always been sorry about leaving your mom and you," he finally said. "I'd always been sorry that I hurt you."

"Then how come you never apologized?"

My voice was quiet. Soft. There was no bite to it; just a small nudge, almost gentle, because in the end, this was really all that ever mattered.

Dad must have felt the gravity of this question because for a long time, he simply looked at me, his eyes sunken and almost defeated.

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and dropped his gaze. "I thought the best way to fix things was to throw the past behind and focus on the present. I thought apologizing would only reopen old wounds, so I just did my best to act like nothing happened. I thought that was how you wanted it too."

"You were wrong."

"And that's why I'm here." He sounded both determined and desperate; somewhat uncertain and terrified and hopeful all at the same time. "I'd done a lot of mistakes in the past, and I know there's no way I can fix those, but I don't want to make any more mistakes than I already have, so hear me out."

I swallowed, hating the moisture collecting in the corner of my eyes.

He took my silence as a cue. "First off, I'm sorry for leaving without—"

"Stop."

His face fell. "Oh."

I walked over to the door, unlocking it before turning back to look at the disheartened expression on his face. And I knew I could turn my back on him now, just like he had done to us all these years. I knew it would be this easy to crush him, to make the score even, and I would have done so if it hadn't been for that small, pathetic, almost non-existent voice in my head begging me to do otherwise.

"Let's talk inside," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You can come in."

* * *

I never thought a day would come when I'd end up having dinner with both my mother and father together ever again. But then again, I hadn't really expected my father to apologize to me either, but it happened anyway.

It turns out my mother was aware that my dad was coming. She came home shortly after I'd asked Dad to come in, and when she saw the two of us, she merely gave me a small, reassuring smile, before heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

It wasn't, of course, anything like how it was before. Things between me and my dad still seemed a little strained, like we were both at a loss as to how we were supposed to treat each other, but I was surprised to find that he and mom still got along quite well. I'd hardly joined in the conversation, save for a few times when I was prompted to speak, but that was fine with me. As it is, I wasn't even sure I could come up with anything to say.

Everything was bordering on overwhelming. The turn of events had been unexpected enough, but the easy air between Mom and Dad was a whole new level of surprising.

"I'll go clean up," Mom said when we finished eating. "Why don't you give your father some company?"

I didn't want to relent at first, but the soft, nudging look on Mom's face made me reconsider.

I climbed up the attic to find Dad, who a few minutes ago had excused himself to fetch some of the things he'd left behind. When I got there, he was sitting by the small window with a photo album on his lap, squinting in the dim light of the yellow bulb hanging off the ceiling.

The floorboards let out a creak when I hauled myself up to go inside. He looked up.

"Hey," he said, a look of pleasant surprise crossing his face. "Look at this."

Reluctantly, I walked over to where he was sitting.

I hadn't completely accepted him back into my life yet, to be honest, but after our talk earlier, I was finding it easier to ease up on the idea of letting him in again.

"I forget you're all grown up now," he said as I slid into a seat next to him. "Remember this?"

He pointed at a photo of me and him on a boat, the two of us holding fishing rods of our own. Mine was only a toy he'd bought for me, so it was pink and bright and really just for show. I was wearing his fishing hat, so he had to squint from the sunlight overhead.

My mother hates riding boats, so she was the one who'd taken the picture from the pier.

"We spent the whole afternoon fishing, but you only got, like, two fish," I told him.

"Hey, no, there were four of them," he defended.

"But we spent the whole afternoon," I argued back. "The back of your neck got sunburnt real bad."

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he flipped the page over.

"Oh, look, hey I remember this kid." He brought the album closer.

There was a photo of me in a light green dress when I was around seven years old. I had chocolate icing all over my face and hands, which I was attempting to wipe on a gap-toothed boy smiling into the camera.

My eyebrows furrowed. "I don't."

"This was at your Uncle Phil's wedding, remember? There was this kid who kept clinging onto you," he told me. "Said he wanted to marry you too."

I flushed. "What?"

"You really don't remember?"

I shook my head, snatching the album from him so I could get a better look of the picture. "Who was he?"

"I don't know," he said. "Some kid from one of your uncle's co-workers, I think. It was really adorable, though I did feel threatened about you being stolen away from me at such a young age."

The whole thing reminded me of Austin. Did all boys around that age went off proposing to random little girls?

Almost as if on cue, my father said, "Would it be too soon for me to ask if you have a, um..." He cleared his throat. "A boyfriend? Now, I mean."

"No," I quickly replied, making the whole matter seem even more awkward than it already was. "I mean, no, I don't have one."

"Oh."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I'm just... a little relieved."

Not knowing what to say to this, I just kept quiet.

"In my mind," he began, "it's like I can't help but still see you as a little girl. I guess it's because I wasn't around to watch you grow up."

"You could have been," I couldn't help but say.

"Yeah." He let out a small, bitter laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "I could have, huh?"

"Sorry," I muttered. "I didn't mean to just... say that."

"It's fine. I deserve it, if anything."

"It's going to take a while." The words just slipped past my mouth, and before I could think twice about being honest, I let the momentum carry me forward. "I won't just be able to forgive you overnight, and I'm not like Mom, who's too soft-hearted for her own good. I've been mad at you all these years, and—"

"It's all right," he cut me off, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I get it. I messed up real bad, after all."

Before I could stop myself, I asked him the question that's been plaguing my mind ever since I realized he was never coming back.

"How could you just leave like that?"

He looked at me. "I fell in love."

"Didn't you love Mom?"

"I did," he hastily replied. "I still do. But not in the same way. You know that kind of love you see in movies and stories? That's a load of crap. Love isn't perfect. It's not as simple as A loves B and B loves A and they live happily ever after, because you never know what to expect when it comes to love."

"Then what's the point of falling in love?" I asked him. "What's the point of—of—of feeling like you're ready to give up the whole world to one person if one day you'll wake up ready to give it up all over again to someone else entirely? What's the point if it's as fickle as that?"

"There's no point to it," he said. "It just happens, and when it does it's arbitrary and unexpected and messy. It's not some kind of secret formula that magically brings two people together. There are some who are meant to fall in love with just one person in a lifetime, but there are also some of us who are meant to fall in love more than once, twice, thrice—and that doesn't make love any less true. It only makes it a little more real.

"I loved your mother," he continued. "Very much. It just so happened that I fell in love with someone else. And don't think I didn't try to stop it, because I did. I did, but it happened anyway, and maybe, to some people, or even to you, that's a mistake. I understand that. But maybe it's just that we all have our own ways of loving people because we all have different meanings for it.

"Maybe," he said, "it's up to you to decide what it's supposed to mean for you."