Out for the Holidays and Out for Gold (Out in College 8.5)

“I remember. How is she?”

“She’s doing well.”

“Glad to hear that.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. He set his fork on the plate and reached for his latte. “It’s wise to bring on family and friends to help out. This is a nice café, but I bet it’s set you and your friend back a bit. The restaurant business is a tricky one. If you’d asked me, I probably would have advised against opening one in this market. There’s a lot of competition on this street alone.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “The café is doing very well, thank you. Derek did extensive research before he even thought about looking for a suitable property. He doesn’t go into any situation without weighing the competition and planning in advance for any eventuality.”

“That’s good.”

“And Dad…Derek is my boyfriend.” I set my glass on the table and fixed him with a pointed look. “We share a business, a house, a bed, a life. He’s my partner. I’m going to marry that man one day, so you’d better get used to the idea pretty damn quick.”

Dad didn’t flinch. He chewed thoughtfully, setting the fork on the plate, then dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “As I told you, I respect that. However, I really don’t think you should refer to him as ‘babe’ in public.”

“Thanks for your opinion, but I’m going to do what I want.”

He frowned. “Gabe.”

“Drop it, Dad.”

“Are you upset about something? You seem angry.”

“I’m…frustrated. Very frustrated with you,” I admitted. “And believe it or not, it has nothing to do with your ‘babe’ comment.”

“Ahh. Because I didn’t call first. I apologize. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I wanted your brother to know that hard work pays off. If he applies himself, he can be like you someday.”

I squinted. “I think that’s supposed to be a compliment, but you pretty much told me what I suspected anyway. You didn’t come to see me. You came to live vicariously through me.”

He set the napkin on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what I said at all.”

“It’s a rough translation, but it applies. And as for comparing your kids…I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Cam’s twelve years younger than me and doesn’t know me…at all. It makes no sense that you’d drag him out here.”

“Wait a second…are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” I inhaled deeply and released a humorless huff. “No, Dad. I’m not jealous.”

“Then what exactly are you upset about?”

“I’m upset that you insert yourself into my life whenever it’s convenient for you. Don’t bother denying it. Showing up unannounced to watch a closed practice you think you can get into with connections like you’re a rock star is a perfect example.”

“I traveled to see you.”

“No.” I leaned forward with my elbows on the table and spoke in a low, clipped tone. “You’re here for you. You have no idea what’s going on in my life. You don’t know or care about the pressure, the competition, or the stress I’m under. Jesus, you can’t even remember that I have a boyfriend. Or you willfully ignore that very important aspect of my life. But you expect me to put everything on hold, so you can soak up this experience…like going to the Olympics is something I owe you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I never suggested you owe me that,” he insisted in a hushed tone.

“Maybe not in words, but it’s always been there.” I gritted my teeth. I already regretted opening my mouth, but I couldn’t back down without making at least one point. “Look, I’m usually pretty good at brushing this stuff off, but I made that team by the skin of my teeth. I can’t mess this up. My head has to be in the game. One hundred percent.”

“Understood. Of course, you need to focus. I’m not sure what that has to do with me, though. And are you implying you almost didn’t make the team?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” I hissed before giving him a quick rundown of my injury and recovery.

Dad asked a million questions about therapy and if I thought the coach would start me. When I admitted that I didn’t know, he seemed genuinely bummed on my behalf.

“Well, you’re going. That’s the important thing.” He cradled his mug and went quiet for a moment. “I wish you’d have told me sooner.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you at all, Dad.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Really? News flash. You don’t tolerate weakness or mediocrity well,” I huffed, losing the last of my inhibitions.

“Jesus, Gabe. That’s not true! You’re my son. I may have high expectations, but—”

“You have impossible expectations. I can’t please you. I can’t win. It doesn’t matter if I make the team, score all the goals, and come home with gold. Something won’t go as planned, and you’ll be the first to let me know,” I snarled in a low tone. “Don’t tell me I’m unfair. Don’t tell me I’m wrong. History says otherwise.”