My father nodded at my statement as he surveyed all the work we'd done, too. It'd been my intention to have it done before the shower, but I was so busy I hadn't gotten the chance. Now, here we were three weeks after the celebration, putting it all together.
Three weeks. That's how long it'd been since things felt normal. That conversation with Brynn downstairs in my kitchen was the first piece to fall, triggering a domino effect. I took her home that night, immediately after our talk because she insisted. While she packed, there were a lot of tears on her part; a lot of me trying to convince her I'm nothing more than an entertainer and that that side of my life rarely creeps into the other. If ever. I did a lot of explaining how I'd changed over the last several months, but all my effort was in vain. Everything I said fell on deaf ears. The subtle hints I picked up on since telling her what I do were all leading up to that moment.
The moment I lost her.
I must've zoned out because my father said my name loudly, as if he'd said it a few times before without getting my attention.
"Marco."
I turned toward him and blinked away the memory of that night that'd just stolen my focus for a moment.
"Is everything okay, son?" he asked. "You've been kind of drifting in and out all day."
Hearing him say that, I suppose I had, but I honestly didn't think he noticed. Before now, I assumed that keeping myself busy with all the work we'd just put in would mask how distracted I was, but he was too perceptive for that.
"Everything's good," I lied, nodding to hopefully make my response more believable. Again, his intuition was too keen for me to pull the wool over his eyes.
A heavy breath beside me brought my eyes to my father's. His expression was stern, which was a rarity for him, but as a general rule, that look seemed to precede a lecture.
He gestured toward the brand new glider/recliner we positioned in the corner of the room. "Have a seat," he instructed.
Another general rule when he had this expression: do as you're told.
My back sank into the cushion and I waited for him to begin. There was a half-empty paint can sitting on top of the drop cloth and he rested there. I stared at the old jeans he wore. There were plenty of oil stains and a collage of paint colors splattered all over the material. The sight of them brought back memories of the many jobs he'd done wearing them-working on my sisters' cars, painting the shutters on he and my mother's home, and now today, helping me set up for the newest addition.
A warm look passed my way, softening the hard look he had a moment ago.
"I've noticed Brynn's stopped coming to Sunday dinner," he started, stating a fact I knew he and the rest of my family had already picked up on. For that reason, it didn't surprise me to hear him bring it up now. "And I'm assuming it's not because her schedule has suddenly filled up."
I didn't say anything. Just listened.
"She'll be going in to deliver any day now," he added, stating this as if I wasn't already aware.
I nodded, agreeing with him. She was thirty-seven weeks now and at her last appointment a week ago, Dr. Rubino let us know that Brynn's body was already preparing itself for labor, so we were both well aware of our timeline.
"So," my father went on, "keep in mind that doesn't leave you two a whole lot of time to make things right."
He made that sound so easy; made me being stuck on the outside seem like a choice. If it'd been that simple to fix this, I would've already done that. It killed me having so much distance between us. Of course, we saw one another often and spoke every day, but it was always just about the baby. Our time together had been limited to doctor visits; our conversations returning to the shallow ‘How are you feeling' phase we'd come out of a long time ago. It was like we reverted back to just being two people only bound together by circumstance.
Not by the love, real love, I knew had grown between us.
"She doesn't want to be with me," I admitted, getting straight to the point. "She made sure I understood that."
My father studied me for a moment, not saying anything, just thinking at first, but then he asked a question: "Do you really believe that? You really believe you're not what she wants?"
That night we talked, Brynn gave me the impression she wanted to forget what we'd grown to be. I was pretty sure she was more comfortable with us pretending to just be friends, so that's the thought I held on to when I answered. "She couldn't have been clearer."
Again, my father observed me before going on, but this time he didn't ask a question. He decided to be bolder in his approach. "You're giving up much easier than I imagined you would if it came to this."
What was that supposed to mean? "If it came to this?" I asked, seeking clarity.
My father let out a long breath first, which meant he was about to tell me exactly what was on his mind. Straight up. No chaser.
"I had a feeling the two of you would eventually end up here. Your job? The dancing? There aren't a lot of women out there who could handle being in Brynn's position. So, I knew it'd just be a matter of time before this all came to a head," he explained. "But I didn't think you'd let her go so easily."
If he didn't already have my attention, he definitely had it now. Was he kidding? Did he have any idea how hard this had been for me?
"You make it sound like it's just so simple to get her back," I said, hearing the anger in my tone, but I couldn't help it.
"Isn't it, though?" he shot back, calm as ever. "Isn't getting her back just as easy as going down to that club and telling those people you quit?"
Thoughts I hated myself for having came rushing to my mind and I beat them back. This, my predicament wasn't his fault, but it had been a direct result of me having to stand in as the father-figure to my family. Now, to me, he was making light of the role I'd been forced into, making it sound as if I didn't have this huge burden on my shoulders. Keeping my family afloat had always been my cross to bear and I'd done that without complaining. However, suggesting that I just quit like no one would suffer felt like he was testing me.
"Quit," I breathed. "Just like that, huh?"
To make matters worse, he didn't even speak, just nodded to further imply the simplicity of my circumstances.
"That's an interesting thought," I added, not caring if he picked up on the sarcasm. "So, you'd be okay with Rosalina not being able to afford school? Or Marcela having to take out a loan to finish her degree? Or Bel having to change schools because tuition is too high?"
"Listen to what you're saying," he cut in. "You're not even considering the fact that ninety-nine percent of the problems you just mentioned have already been resolved. Rosie's got a scholarship for her first year and-"
"And what about the year after that?" I cut in. "Hmm? What's she gonna do after that money runs out and she's gotta find some way to pay for the rest?
My father shook his head. "I'm bringing in money now. Lorna got her promotion. You don't have to be the only one to help, Marco."
I was shaking my head before he even finished. I knew my father meant well, but this wasn't all so cut and dry. Yes, he brought in money, too, but it was only enough to cover his and my mother's expenses. And Lorna? She was just starting to get ahead. "I won't put that on Lorna," I added.
"Marco, but we're family. Family is all about making sacrifices for the ones you love and you've been doing that alone for so long you don't even know how to let the rest of us pitch in."
I could feel my blood boiling and I fought it. I fought it because I honestly had no clue where it was coming from. All my father was doing was trying to shed some light on things so I could see them from a different angle, but … all I felt was anger.
"Why do you feel like you have to do this alone?" he asked and … what I'd been holding in came tumbling out.
The words, "Because that's the way it's always been," came more harshly than I meant for them to, but the truth is: I was full. No, I didn't blame my father for the way things were, but I couldn't understand why no one but me seemed to understand how much pressure I was under. No one seemed to understand what it felt like to be all four legs of a table that held all your family's hopes and dreams. It felt like, if I moved too far to the left or right, everything would come crashing down around me.
There was a period of silence that passed between me and my father. And while I half-expected him to be angry for the outburst, his expression was nothing but calm. I knew I'd feel terrible about that eventually, but right now I was just mad. Mad that I stood to lose the one woman I can say I ever really loved all because I tried to do right by my family. There had to be a way for me to find happiness without it being at the expense of everyone else.