The following weekend, I spend the entire day in my shop. I can’t create art when my mind is like this, but I can hit things with a hammer just fine. In a strange way, it makes everything feel better.
The forge is going at full force and it’s hotter than an oven. I’m blowing through my supply of wood at an alarming pace as I keep working the bellows. I hear the doorbell when it rings, having rigged it to ring back here, too. Nevertheless, I decide to ignore it.
Minutes later, however, my dad appears in the doorway of the shop, maintaining the distance I request as he watches me work. I continue on, ignoring his presence for a quarter of an hour before dropping my work in the slag bucket. The heated metal hisses on contact.
“Hey,” he says when I finally turn to him.
I remove my goggles and my leather apron, then wipe my sweaty face with a clean towel. “Hi. Why are you here?”
His brows twitch. “Do I need an excuse to see my son? We missed you at dinner last week.”
“I didn’t feel like being social.” Not that I ever do, but even less so than usual.
He frowns. “Okay. But I can still check up on you, right?”
“I’m an adult, Dad,” I remind him as I power down the forge. I’ll have to come back out here to clean up once it’s cooled, but it’s safe to leave for a short time.
“You have anything to drink? It’s hot in here,” he asks.
“There is beer, water and juice in my fridge.”
“Well, then take a break and let’s sit down for a minute.”
I try not to sigh too loudly as we leave the workshop and head through the backyard to the kitchen. It’s obvious Dad wants to talk. We haven’t had many of these one-on-ones lately, but I recognize one when it’s coming.
And I don’t want to push him away. I know he’s worried about me—they all are. It’s better if I just do my best to sweep his worries aside and then things will get back to normal soon.
Normal is key. I need for things to go back to normal.
I reach into the fridge and pull out two bottles of beer, since I know what he likes. I cut a lime and offer him a wedge to squeeze inside. It’s the best way to drink Mexican beer.
Dad thanks me and squeezes his slice of lime into his bottle before cramming the entire wedge down the long bottleneck so that it floats inside the beer—a habit that drives me crazy. I scoff at him and he smiles. “I’m not going to change at my age, Liam. You should know better.”
I take a pull from my beer without answering. We drink in silence for a few minutes before he finally clears his throat. “Adam says you’re back at work already. I wonder if that’s a good idea. How’s the injury?”
Instinctively, I raise my hand to my hairline without actually touching the injured area. It’s still sore, but it’s survivable. “I’m fine. The injury is minor. I get the stitches out on Monday, and that’s the part that’s the most annoying. They are starting to itch.”
“So you’ll be right as rain, physically. How about emotionally?”
I don’t answer. I continue sipping my beer while thinking about how odd that expression is. Dad uses it a lot, but I have no idea how “right” rain can be.
“Liam…do you want to talk about it?”
“We are talking about it.”
“About Jenna.” He’s giving me his serious look.
I sip my beer some more. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to describe what it is I feel. I’m living the same life I’ve always led, but now it feels like there’s a giant hole. Like a huge part of me is missing. During that week before the Festival—when I chose not to see her—I’d missed her deeply. But now…
It’s a little bit like how I imagine missing a physical part of me that I can no longer see, feel or touch. Like having a limb removed. It’s like that.
“Why did you and my mother divorce?” I suddenly ask, shocking myself even more than my dad. That’s saying a lot because, with raised eyebrows and an open mouth, he appears pretty startled.
“Uh…” He leans back and sets the beer down, rubbing the dark stubble along his jaw. People say I look like my dad and I take that as a compliment, though I’d be more proud to be as good a man as my dad is. “We didn’t communicate very well…and I was spending a lot of time getting the firm up and running. She had two little ones at home. It was a lot of stress with me gone so much.”
Even now he won’t blame her—like couples who break up usually do. But not him. That’s my dad.
“And having me. I’m sure that was additional stress.”