Page 20 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

eleven

. . .

sutton

The Repair

“Butterscotch Bourbon,” Avery tells Amelie on the phone, which sits on her dresser, speakerphone on.

“It wasn’t just the best of what we tasted.

It was the best thing I’ve tasted ever,” she tells her best friend while I tug down the zipper on her dress.

“Thanks,” she mouths quietly to me as it pools at her feet.

A moment later, she steps out of it and picks it up, sliding a hanger through the neck before rehanging it in the closet.

“Is that so? You bring home a sample for me to try?” Amelie asks, partially teasing but also probably partially serious.

Avery laughs. “Actually, we did bring a sample home because I’m so obsessed with it, I wanted to eat it one more time before the wedding.”

Having been summoned to unzip her, I head back downstairs while she redresses into comfortable clothes, filling Amelie in on everything we tried at Patisserie Bleu.

After selecting the perfect cake, we came home and on the drive, Avery suggested that I ask my father to meet for a late lunch or early dinner.

To discuss everything, just the two of us.

I called from the car, and he agreed, and now as Avery settles in at home, I’m standing at the kitchen island, trying to wrap my head around what I’m about to do. Of my own free will. Unrelated from real estate.

Have a meal with my father. Just the two of us.

We haven’t done that since… Well, since right about the time I discovered the magic of googling things.

Avery appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in black leggings and a tiny crop top.

For a moment, I consider asking her to join us but then I remember how I woke her up this morning, the morning I’d promised she could sleep in.

She drops her phone receiver to her chin for a moment, asking, “Are you heading out?”

I nod. I didn’t even bother changing. I didn’t make reservations for somewhere fancy, private or quiet.

Instead, we’re meeting at a sushi bar not far from the office, because it’s busy and no one pays you too much attention.

The perfect place to continue a hard talk.

Or at least, not feel like we’re sitting in a pressure cooker.

My head has felt that way for the last eleven and a half hours–I don’t want more of it.

“I love you,” she says, the corners of her delicate mouth lifting, and I swear if we were outside, birds would sing and the sun would shine. That’s the way it feels, being looked at by Avery with those doe eyes.

“I love you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t rush it.” She winks, and the back of my neck flushes, and I flex my quads, diffusing the rush of blood to my groin. She blows me a kiss and I wink back to her, then she goes back down the hall, returning to her conversation with Amelie.

Then I go and have a meal with my father.

For the first time willingly in my adult life.

My spine stiffens and by default, my chest goes taut, too. “Hi,” I greet my father as he maneuvers past a couple taking up way too much space near the front doors, coming to my side in the waiting area. “I got here about five minutes ago and they said ten minutes then.”

My father nods his head. “Hi and that's good.” He looks around and I study him, really taking in every wrinkle and silver hair, seeing his gentle aging in a different light now. He was stressed and taking care of everything when I was a kid. Most of my youth and adult years, he’s preferred that I hate him instead of her, because of how special she was to me as a kid.

He signed up for my hatred to protect my love for her.

Every child loves their mother. I would have loved her no matter what. I still do.

I always loved my father.

I still can’t quite wrap my head around what he did.

His reasoning is sound and yet, I don’t know.

I won’t lie to him and tell him I trust him. I have trust issues with him specifically, and maybe that’s why I can’t wrap my head around what he did. Maybe a big part of me doesn’t believe it. Maybe I’m convinced he’s lying. I don’t know.

I do believe him, but catching up to that is hard.

I want to give it up after all these years. Hate is heavy to carry, and I’ve long been exhausted. I’m ready, as I marry and grow, to move on. I want to leave it behind–all that hate.

But I refuse to make a mistake and dishonor my mother’s memory by racing to conclusions. I have to actually believe him–though the more time I’ve thought about that, the more I’ve realized that’s not really even up for debate.

I remember some of my mother’s imperfections. That’s what she called her bad qualities or even sometimes, the terrible things that she did. If I think about things logically, without years of false hatred dislodging my sense of truth, I can understand how this narrative is the real one.

We stand in silence a moment before the waitress surprises us both by seating us next, walking us to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, still bustling nonetheless.

“I didn’t know we had to be seated here. I thought it was a self-seating type of place,” I say to my father as we sit down across from one another. He shrugs out of his coat, revealing a softly worn henley, unbuttoned some. He scratches his beard, a bit longer than usual. “Ah, well, I don’t mind.”

“What were you going to do tonight, had I not texted?” I ask him, curious as to what he had going on. I’ve never been curious before. I used to shut interest off in my brain where it concerned George Mercer.

But knowing my father would be nice.

He pinches the fabric of his shirt, probably because he saw me eyeing it. “Going to bed in about three hours. And until then, laying in bed watching HBO.”

If Avery were here, she’d wrinkle her nose and suggest that my father pick up a book, a novel of some sort, to give him something new to talk about. My lips almost twitch at the thought of her, but I stay focused on George.

“That doesn’t sound bad.” I mean that. Kind of. Maybe only a tiny bit.

He studies me a moment and a smirk dusts his lips for a mere second before he murmurs, “But I’d much rather spent my night doing whatever it is you would be doing.”

For a second, I see his hands on Avery, and my body flashes with heat, jealousy and rage so hot that a sheen of sweat breaks out everywhere. And I think my pulse is racing a little.

“I just mean, if you guys have Saturday night movie night or something, even if it’s a movie I’d hate, I’d still rather be doing that than be alone.

” He shrugs, but wears a smile that would indicate to the unfamiliar eye that he’s happy.

I can see now, as clear as day, he is far from.

“Loneliness is not for the weak, I’ll tell you that. ”

George Mercer is lonely?

“You don’t date?” I ask, the words sticky and awkward on my tongue, tumbling out like a jack. We don’t do this. We haven’t done this. Small talk.

But we are now. I think this is what they call mending fences. And I think I’m into that.

He shakes his head. The waitress stops by and we order, and after she leaves, return to conversation. “I don’t even bother dating anymore. The young women want me for my money, and I don’t blame them. It’s hard out there right now.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re filthy rich.”

His shrug is casual. “Even so, I realize it’s complicated and frustrating out there. That’s all.”

I don’t know why I can’t let this go. Maybe this is because my conditioned response is to snap at him at all costs, to protect the memory of my mother.

Though none of that stands now, does it?

“Out where? None of your clients are affected, either. You’re selling million dollar homes. And your brother is as rich as you. Your social circle–”

He places his palms flat on the surface of the table. “Jesus, Sutton. I’m entitled to empathize without the inquisition.”

Laughter bubbles up inside me and I don’t stop it. “You’re right,” I laugh, happy to see he won’t be bullied or pushed around to earn me back. I respect that.

He grins but a moment passes, and it’s like a curtain is drawn and we’re both suddenly pushed onto a stage and reality is the audience. My throat is dry and completely unlike myself, I become nervous. “Why now?”

He is calm and quiet. “Why now, what?”

“Why come clean about all of this now.” I shrug. “I was an asshole to you for basically my entire life.”

He doesn’t even shift his shoulders or bat an eye. “I told you why. I didn’t want you thinking your mother was out partying and sleeping around, and I knew the media would make much more of a deal of that story than it being the other way around.”

I shake my head. “I just struggle with that. That’s such a big sacrifice. I have to be honest, I can’t wrap my head around it.”

My father smiles. “You don’t have children.

You don’t know yet how willing you are to do anything that makes their life better.

Even if it means painful sacrifice.” He looks at his hand, outstretching his thick fingers, glancing at where there would be a ring.

“I think I did it as much for her, too, though. I couldn’t bear the idea of her soul or spirit or something—of it knowing that her child hated her and carried additional pain, with added resentment.

And the way your eyes lit up when you looked at your mother—I just couldn’t do it. ”

His honesty is rare and pure, and what I wanted but also very unexpected, as are the array of emotions I feel. Namely, respect.

“I’m angry with you,” I admit, because it feels like the moment to relieve the most overwhelming of my thoughts. “For allowing me to treat you that way.”

“Ironically for your own good,” he says, chuckling a little, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “Or so I thought.”

I finger the edge of the napkin ring for a moment, then look back up at him. “Do you regret it? You said before that you’d do it the same way again but knowing that I forgive you–”

“Do you?” he stops me, “forgive me? Don’t feel pressured into saying yes. I want you to work through it.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think you can fully work through your mother being murdered but you know,” I shrug, “I’ve made peace with her not being here today.

Making peace with what actually happened may take a while, but in the meantime, it feels foolish to spend any more days without my father in my life. ”

Two wide eyes stare back at me, unflinching as my heart races. I clear my throat and add, “It would be childish for me to hang on to my grudge with what I know now, and while trust isn’t going to come overnight, we have to start somewhere.”

“Did she make you like this?” he asks, his voice bloated with organic surprise.

“Like what?”

“Reasonable.”

Wrapping my hand around my water glass, I let out a breath. “I’m choosing not to be offended by that.”

He laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle in return. “You have to admit, son. You’re pretty stiff and easily agitated. That’s why I believe it’s your better half.” He smiles, and I remember seeing that smile across the dinner table when I was young. “You are the company you keep, after all.”

My mother’s face comes to mind. I shake my head. “I was only agitated by you, and cold to you.”

My father’s face twists as he shakes his head in choppy, short shakes.

“No. I mean, you’ve been a rightful asshole to me for years, yes, but you’ve only become moderately less unfriendly since meeting Avery.

” The wait staff interrupts, but a moment later, my father’s face looks completely different and I don’t think ordering sushi has anything to do with that.

“It’s my fault. All of this. I should’ve just told you back then.

Instead you were raised in a home with a person who you hated.

Of course you turned out cold and stiff. ”

“Can we stop calling me cold and stiff? Christ, I sound like I belong on a slab.” We take a few drinks and I wipe my mouth with my napkin.

“I saw a therapist, I see a therapist still from time to time. If you want to feel guilty,” I tell him, holding eye contact as the waiter delivers plates of food.

“Do that on your time. But we’re here.” I think of Avery’s last few words.

Mend fences, and sow fields. She didn’t want me to simply accept an apology.

She wants us to have a relationship with my father, a healthy, normal one.

And I will give Avery anything and everything she pleases. I take pride in doing so.

“Let’s focus on what’s ahead,” I tell him, deciding those are the best words and the only way left to put it.

He nods slowly, and drags his hand over his mouth before saying, “Okay, great.”

I take a bite of my food. “So, about me calling Uncle Ford about my vows.”

He takes a bite of his food, too, eyeing me, laughter in his eyes. My pulse kicks up, and I realize that we aren’t going to just get along, it’s going to be fucking great.

After he takes a sip of his drink, he flares his eyebrows to his hairline and blinks at me. “I understand what you thought about me but Uncle Ford is basically celibate, you realize that, right?”

I laugh. “I assumed that’s where Cade got it from.”

My father snorts. “Learned celibacy? Is that what my brother passed to his son?”

I shake my head, letting one of my shoulders casually rise and fall. “What do you think you passed to me?”

His head tips to the side as he considers me, maybe differently now that we’re no longer functioning as enemies. Guilt is going to hit me hard, I know it’s coming. I’m still high right now–riding the adrenaline of having something so heavy miraculously lifted from my shoulders.

And I’m getting married to my dream woman.

Who works by my side.

“I can tell you, if you don’t know.” It’s simple to me, but he’s been the bad guy for so many years, and I’m sure I haven’t been his only critic–maybe he’s come to believe these things about himself.

“I gave you the work ethic. Your mother worked hard, but not continuously, and I think we both know working hard means nothing if you’re inconsistent.”

I nod. “I would agree. Though I am driven.”

“I agree.”

We eat for a few minutes, commenting on the food and how fresh everything is.

He tells me about a sushi place he went to while vacationing in Oahu, and how delicious it was getting to eat fresh fish with his toes in the sand.

I tell him about the time I took Avery to the beach in Malibu where the water was more brown than blue, ice cold, and lapped at a shore covered in rocks and garbage.

It reminded me of San Francisco, so it wasn't much of a vacation. He laughs at that, and I laugh too.

And before we know it, it’s time to go. We don’t hug, but we shake hands, and that feels like the perfect start.

Tonight feels like the perfect start to something good.