The Good Father

He wanted a beer.

But had sworn off beer after that night on the boat. Though he’d only had three drinks that night, he’d made a mistake in sleeping with Ella.

He’d known that she couldn’t make love with him without investing part of her heart.

He’d known and done it anyway. Because he’d wanted to touch the heart of her one more time.

It hadn’t been fair to her.

And if she’d give him a chance, he’d apologize...

The doorbell rang.

Brett was ready.

* * *

HE WASN’T READY. Studying the staunch expression on Ella’s face, unable to glean even a hint of what was going on with her, he started to panic.

Like he hadn’t panicked since high school.

She sat across from him at the table by his pool, sipping tea. In black pants and matching black-and-white tweed jacket with silk trim. Looking professional and gorgeous and untouchable all rolled into one. Had she carried the clothes to work or gone home to change before meeting him?

“I need to talk to you,” she said, obviously uncomfortable.

“That’s what you said.”

He’d like to believe her odd tension was just nerves, but didn’t think so.

“I... Something has been on my mind, Brett, and I need it cleared up.”

Why did he have the feeling that hadn’t been what she’d planned to say? Breathing more normally now, Brett said, “I’ll do what I can.”

“That weekend...when we were on the boat...”

So this was about sex! If she was ready all she had to do was say so. Should he make it easy for her?

“You drew a correlation between your dad and you. Talked about how your parents vowed to keep violence out of their home—trusting each other to do so because they both came from violence and knew how damaging it was.”

He remembered Ella reacting strangely when he’d said that. As if she’d finally understood something.

Remembered, too, specifically not asking her about it.

He hadn’t wanted to know, then. And didn’t want to know now, either.

She didn’t seem all that surprised by his lack of response. Or deterred by it, either.

She also wasn’t drinking much of her tea.

“You said that I’d quit really listening to you. That I patted you on the head when you tried to talk to me about your fears. And so you quit talking.”

He nodded, feeling far too much at the moment. He wasn’t good at being vulnerable.

“Tell me how you felt, Brett. Really felt. When you came home that day and found out you were going to be a father.”

“Why?” He’d spewed his frustration at her. His tension. He’d told her he wasn’t like her. Wasn’t ecstatic. Wasn’t even happy about it. He’d accused her of never stopping to find out what he wanted. Somehow blaming her for his inability to celebrate with her.

The past was past. He wanted to leave it there.