“I am thinking of her,” I say, trying not to get righteously indignant. Cliff stepped up for Solène when nobody else would, took care of her when both Gill and I couldn't, and he loves us all with a beautiful strength and fierceness that I could never scoff at, but … “Gilleon's her father. If the two of them want to purse a relationship, that's their choice to make, not ours.”
“He's a sperm donor,” Cliff says frankly, causing Gill's fingers to curl tightly around his biceps as he leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and scowls.
“You don't know why I've done what I've done, Dad,” he snarls, and I can hear some resentment in those words, some blame focused on Cliff that I've never heard before. “So hold your judgments and don't act like you never left, never walked away from your child.”
Cliff's face tightens, and I sense a conversation a long time coming.
“You wanted to stay with your mother, Gilleon, and if I'd made you leave, you would've hated me for it. If I'd known how bad she'd gotten, I would've taken you sooner, but you lied and tricked your way into staying as long as you could. You can't blame me for that, and you can't blame either of us for your actions.”
Gill runs a hand down his face and shakes his head. I can see him quivering with barely suppressed rage, and my first instinct is to set my coffee down, move over to him, and wrap my arms around his waist. Holy shit, what is happening to me? I almost do it, too, but right now, Cliff is looking at me like he's never seen me before, and I hate that.
“We're testing the waters right now, Papa,” I tell him, wondering in the back of my mind how hard I'm willing to fight for this. The answer scares the shit out of me. Hard. I'm willing to fight hard, to alienate one of the most important people in my life, and I haven't even heard the rest of Gill's story.
With a shocking chill, I realize I don't care. I don't care why or how or what because I love Gill more than anything, more than anyone, always have. Shit.
“Regina,” Cliff begins, taking a step towards me, his salt and pepper hair an easy reminder that even if it feels like no time has passed since Gill left, plenty of it has. That's all he wants: me to remember that, to be careful. Proceed with caution. And I will. “I just don't want you to get hurt,” he says, looking at me with all the care and compassion that my father used to give. I know without a doubt that Cliff couldn't love me anymore if I were his own. I look away, at the wood floors and the long reaching length of Gill's shadow where it touches my bare feet. That, too, is a reminder, a reminder that I don't just want Gill, but that he needs me. I can't watch the light inside of him fade away to nothing.
“I was there,” Cliff continues when nobody else speaks. “I was there when you cried, when you couldn't get out of bed in the morning. He,” my stepdad says, voice rough with anger, “wasn't there. He didn't see what I saw, didn't get to watch the fall and the even greater rise. You overcame the pain of heartbreak, Regina. That's not an easy thing to do.” Cliff reaches out and touches the side of my cheek. I look up at him with a smile and then flick my eyes to Gill's.
He's staring out the window, arms still crossed over his chest. He looks like a statue right now, like he's stopped breathing altogether.
“I'm not trying to judge you, Regina,” Cliff amends with a sigh, taking a seat at the table. “You know I love you, honey.” I nod, wondering in the back of my mind if Cliff knows anything about my mother's death—and his son's supposed part in all of it. What would his reaction be then?
“I know, Papa, and I love you, too.” Gill looks back at me then, and I see something in his beautiful blue eyes that damn near seals the deal for me: fear. He wants this, wants his family back. Is his sin really so unforgivable? There are worse things, much worse things. And the world is already cruel enough, isn't it? Shouldn't family be the one place we always know we can turn to for redemption? “When Gill gets back, we can talk about this.” I take a deep breath. “About how we might want to think about making this living arrangement … a little more permanent?” My statement comes out as a question, but at least it's out there.
Hope flickers in Gill's eyes before he pushes it back, putting on that expressionless mask of his. I don't mind so much this time, seeing it for what it is: a shield. He's just trying to protect himself, and that's okay.
“Gets back?” Cliff asks, reaching out for the paper that Aveline left lying in the center of the table. “And where is it that you're going, son of mine?” Neither of us misses the bite still present in his words or the look on his face: this conversation is not yet over.