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Even after a Connecticut winter and with Irish ancestry, my dad manages to grow paler. “Collins?—”
“Whywould you do that, Dad?Howcould you do that?”
He exhales. “It was a mistake.”
I snort. “No shit.”
“It was a weak moment, Collins. I have failings and regrets, and I’ve made mistakes. I wish I didn’t. I wish Ihadn’t.”
“Does Mom know?”
He exhales. “Yes. I told her … a few months after it … ended.”
I swallow hard, deliberating how many details I want to know. “Who was she?”
“A visiting professor. She was only here for a semester. We had a connection, and there were a few times it crossed a line. I told your mother, and we moved past it.”
“You sleep in separate bedrooms.”
“Collins, I love your mother very much. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t rough patches. Times when I’ve hurt her. Times when she’s hurt me. Marriage isn’t—relationshipsaren’t only about who you want to spend the happy moments with. Birthdays and holidays and vacations are usually easy. You can get through those with just about anyone. It’s about who you want next to you in the hard times. At funerals and in hospitals. Who you’re willing to stick it out with when things get messy and painful and confusing.”
I chew on my lower lip. “I didn’t think Mom knew. I’ve been carrying this around, scared if I said anything, it would ruin everything.”
“Honey.” He rubs at his eyes. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my father is crying. “I’msosorry, Collins. I had no idea that you knew. If there’s anyone you hope will think you’re infallible, that you don’t make mistakes, it’s your children. I never wanted you or Jane to know anything about this.”
I release a shaky breath. “Did you think Isaac would cheat? Is that why you didn’t like him?”
“No. If I’d thought that, I would have been more vocal in my objections. I found Isaac … condescending, among other things.”
“But you like Kit.”
“Yes.” Dad smiles. “I like Kit a lot.”
“Because …”
“Because I have a feeling he’s the reason you’re here.”
“He encouraged me to talk to you,” I admit. “But I’m really here because I … because I miss you. You didn’t just hurt Mom. You hurt me. You’d hurt Jane if she knew about it. And I never understood how you could do that. Especiallynow.” I rest a hand on my bump.
“It was a mistake,” he tells me again. “I know that’s an awful explanation, and I’m not trying to make excuses. I’ve tried my best to make amends, and if I’d known you—I wish you’d told me sooner. But I’m glad you did now. And I hope—” His voice catches. “I hope, one day, you’ll find a way to forgive me.”
I stare down at my lap. Or what used to be my lap. All I can really see these days is my stomach. “Are you … busy right now?”
“No,” he answers quickly.
“I need to use the restroom. But after, maybe we could go get lunch?”
He nods. “I’d love that, Collins.”
“Okay.” I hoist myself up, wincing when my abdomen cramps. Still protesting the drive here, I guess. Standing helps some. “I’ll be right back.”
I leave my bag in my dad’s office, heading down the hall to where I remember the restroom being. All three stalls are empty. I pee quickly. When I walk back toward the sink, another cramp hits.
I cross the last couple of feet, gripping the sink counter and forcing myself to take deep breaths as I stare down at linoleum. The tighteningends, and I relax. I wash my hands, reaching for a paper towel at the same moment my abdomen contracts again.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth.
Fuck, thishurts. Panic claws at the inside of my chest when I have to grip the counter again. These must be Braxton-Hicks, right? May 18 isn’t for three more weeks. The pain increases instead of decreasing. There’s no clock in here, and I’m too stressed to remember what the different intervals mean.