Page 83 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
Shaking my head, I tell him the truth. “I did go. I took the bus. And I saw you and that woman.”
He winces. His face becomes a map of expressions. Confusion. Shock. And most of all, shame.
“You did?” His question is full of potholes.
The affable Teflon father from my high school graduation has left the building.
He sounds contrite. Most of all, he sounds human.
Real.
I soldier on.
“I was there. I did show up. And when I saw you in her arms, kissing her, holding her, touching her, I was devastated. It hurt so much. I cried the whole way home,” I say, recalling that day vividly.
I expect to cry again, to relive that horrid rush of uncontrollable sadness, of painful, aching tears that ravaged my entire body. I expect to feel the same way I did on that lonely bus, my forehead pressed against the glass, heading down the California highway, my family breaking apart as the road whipped by.
But I don’t.
Mostly, I feel in control. Everything I didn’t feel then.
He takes a breath and says, “I’m so sorry.”
I turn those three words over in my head.
Was that what I thought I’d hear?
Was that what I wanted? An actual apology?
I catalog my emotions. They’re steady, certain, calm.
Perhaps it’s what I needed but didn’t dare let myself hope for.
My father continues, his voice stripped bare, “I know it doesn’t begin to cover it. I know it doesn’t change the mistakes of the past. But that’s all I know to say. I’m so very sorry, Reese.”
The honesty in his voice works its way inside me, gives me strength to keep going, set my hurt free.
“When I started to tell Mom a few weeks later, she already knew. We cried together on the couch, and she told me she’d asked you for a divorce. But even so, I hated discovering you with another woman. Hated it.” The words rip at my throat, and I need to get them out, to purge myself of them.
He rubs the back of his neck, his breath stuttering as if he’s taking this all on the chin. “Reese, I was not a good husband.”
I stiffen, muttering, “I’d say.”
But wait—
Did he just admit it? The thing I’ve known my whole life? The thing he seemed oblivious to? His utter cluelessness?
I stare at him like he’s a picture turned inside out, a carbon copy of himself.
“I was a terrible husband,” he goes on. “I was unfaithful. As you know.”
I’m floored.
He’s not making excuses—not saying he couldn’t help it, protesting that he was in love—like he did when I was in high school.
He’s speaking the unvarnished truth.
Somehow that frees me even more. “I saw you. I saw you kissing that woman. It was terrible, Dad.”
He winces. “I can only imagine. I can’t make it right, can’t undo it. All I can say is I messed up. And I don’t ever want to do that again.”
I breathe hard, so hard it hurts, but then the pain starts to ebb, begins to ease.
The pain came from carrying those secrets for so long. Secrets that weren’t mine. The secret that ruined my relationship with him, when I saw with my own eyes who he is.
But maybe . . . who he was?
Perhaps it is the past.
“I’m sorry you saw that,” he says. “I’m sorry I put myself first. I’m trying to do things differently.”
“You are?” I ask softly.
He nods, a determined look in his eyes. “Look,” he says dragging a hand through his hair. “I know we grew apart. I wasn’t there for you and your sister. But here we are now. And I meant it when I reached out to you and said I hoped we could reconnect. I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t expect you to show up every Friday for supper or anything like that. I was a pretty shitty dad, and I was a terrible husband. But I’ve been seeing a shrink, and I’m going to meetings. And I hope things can start to change. I’d like them to.”
I snap my head up. “Meetings?”
Does he mean, like, addiction recovery?
He answers for me though. “Love addiction.”
My head spins. Is that a thing? I’ve heard of being in love with love, and if he is working on his issues, that’s good.
“So, what does Becky think about that?”
He shakes his head. “She’s giving me a chance, and I want it. I want to do right by her and the baby.”
My chest stings, a quick pinprick of envy that he’s directing all his emotions, all his change of heart at the baby in Becky’s belly.
That he’s only just now getting it.
That he’s actually trying to change but for a new family.
I turn and stare at the water, the expanse of dark blue, the chop of the light waves, the burnished bridge that spans the bay.
