“Would you like a drink?” he asks, looking at me hopefully.
“Coffee?” I reply knowing full well he’ll have a pot on.
“Just made a pot,” Dad says cheerfully. “Sophia?”
Sophia goes to speak, and I talk over her, giving her a stony glare, so she knows not to argue with me.
“She’ll have coffee too, black no sugar.”
“Shall we go into the dining room?” asks Dad as he opens the door.
This was my mother’s favorite room. Apart from cleaning it, we never used it.
“Sounds delightful,” says Sophia.
I grab her by the elbow, stopping her.
“We don’t have to,” I say to my father, knowing that it brings up sad memories for him.
“It’s okay, son, your mother would have approved of us using it.”
I nod and follow Sophia into the room. The carpet in here looks brand new. Everything in here looks that way. Sophia sits at the dining table, the dark wood gleaming. It’s a traditional rectangle table with ornate legs and ten chairs with white padded seats around it. It was my mother’s pride and joy, she loved to entertain. It all stopped the day she died. Sophia takes everything in, and I say nothing as I wait for my father to come back with coffee.
“This room is exquisite.”
I look down at Sophia. I wonder if my mother would have approved of her? Probably not, all flash and no substance.
“My mom had good taste.”
“Is that you?” Sophia asks, pointing at a picture on the wall.
I nod. It’s a family portrait. I’m sitting in a chair with Mom and Dad standing either side of it, all of us smiling. It was a different time. Less than twelve months after it was taken, our worlds were torn apart.
Dad walks into the room holding two coffee cups. “Kris, could you get the coasters?”
I walk to the matching sideboard, it too gleams in the light. Opening the drawer, I pull out three coasters. I bet without looking, I could tell you what is in every drawer in this room. It’s like a shrine to her. I would sometimes come in here when Dad was at work, just to feel close to her again. It was the only room that seemed to have her in it. Placing the coasters on the table, I look at my father, and he smiles.
“I’ll be right back.” He puts our coffees down and hurries back out of the room.
I sit opposite Sophia, leaving the head of the table for Dad.
“Make sure you use the coaster. Dad probably hasn’t used this room since I left.”
“Why?”
I shake my head, partly not wanting her to know and not wanting to talk about it. Dad rushes back in with his coffee and a plate of cookies. I immediately stand, open a drawer on the sideboard, and place a lace doily down so the plate doesn’t mark the table.
“Thank you, son.”
“This is a lovely room, Mr. Livingston.”
Dad’s smile falters, he nods once and sits.
“Kris’ mother,” he says by way of an explanation without looking at either of us. “How long are you in town for?”
“We leave Monday after the wedding.” I take a sip of the coffee that he’s put sugar in. I haven’t had sugar in my coffee for years. I grimace at the taste but say nothing.
“Maybe we could spend some time together?”
Staring into his eyes, I don’t see the man who would tan my hide for a sideways glance but a lonely old man. He was forty-five when he married my mom. I came along three years later, which makes Dad seventy-five. I don’t think he ever wanted children, but he couldn’t say no to Mom. Growing up, he often made me feel like an intruder as he wanted her all to himself. Mom was fifteen years younger than him. He adored her, and I know she loved him. She loved us both.
“I’ll try, but TB has got lots planned with the wedding.”
Sophia scoffs. “Really? It’s the first I’ve heard about it. From what you’ve told me, it’s not much of a wedding. Not by our standards, anyway.”
I can feel the blood in my veins begin to boil. Sophia is a selfish brat and has no concept of how I’m feeling.
“I’m sure we can make time for you, Mr. Livingston.”
Sophia looks at me and blanches. Whatever I’m feeling is clearly projected on my face.
Dad looks at me then back at Sophia.
“I understand if you’re busy, son, I don’t want to impose.”
Turning my head toward him, I put on my best actor’s face and smile. “I’m sure we can make time, Dad. TB will understand.”
“Ares Boswell will probably have you pretty busy.”
“Ares?” asks Sophia.
“TB,” I reply. “I’ll make time, Dad. You’re not working today?”
Dad chuckles. “No, son. Petey lets me out on the boat once a week if the weather is good. I’m retired. I still help out around the docks most days.”
“Petey Route?”
“Yeah, I sold him the boat three years ago. I got old.”
The boat.
The boat I was supposed to take on after he retired.
The boat I fucking hated.
I loathed being on it and detested the work even more.
He never understood.
Dad was always at me to follow in his footsteps like he did and his father before him. The sea was not the life I wanted. Dad would make me go out with him every chance he got, and it only made me hate him and the boat more.
“Well, they say you’re only as old as you feel,” interjects Sophia.
“I feel about a hundred.”
Laughing, I nod. “Yep, there are days I feel the same, Dad.”
He clears his throat. “I’ve seen all of your movies. Athena takes me. She’s also bought all of them for me as gifts. She’s a good girl.”
“You’ve seen all of them?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course, you’re my son, and I’m proud of you.” Dad shifts uncomfortably in his seat as though this admission is a sign of guilt. “Have you seen Athena?”
“Yeah, we got in late yesterday. Mrs. Boswell invited us to dinner.”
“Pfft! Is that what it was?”
“Sophia, I’ve apologized for that.” I look back at Dad. “She was there with a Deputy Todd something?”
Dad laughs. “Ahh, yes, Deputy Roth. He’s nice enough, I guess if you like that kind of man.”
Before I can ask him what he means, Sophia cuts me off.
“Are you invited to the wedding, Mr. Livingston?”
“Yeah, I am. I wasn’t going to go, but with you two here, I think I will. Ares invited most of the town. Biggest event we’ve had all year.”
“Why do you call him Ares?” asks Sophia.
“It’s his God-given name, not the one this guy here christened him with,” says Dad with a grin.
“Dad’s a purist.”
“Not really, I just always liked his name. It’s a strong name, and it suits him. And Athena, with everything she’s gone through, well, Dean Boswell chose well for her, too.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, thinking he’s referring to me leaving.
“What do you mean by that?” asks Sophia.
I frown at her and shake my head slightly. Dad is oblivious to my discomfort. He puffs out his cheeks, takes a sip of coffee, and looks at Sophia.