Rider’s Block

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter twenty-eight

"Wish You Would," Tyler Hubbard

“ I don’t think I’m tipsy enough for this experiment to work.”

Eric and I are sitting thigh to thigh at the computer, and I sobered up real quick on the ride home. I can’t pinpoint it, but tonight feels a little different than the other nights we’ve worked together.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last hour with his arms around me, or maybe it’s coming off a night that’s been more fun than I’ve had in a long, long time. Whatever it is, I can feel my guard going up.

“Alright, want to work on somethin’ else? We can go over chapter four again. Or we can watch a movie? Maybe that’ll help you cross-check some stuff?”

“Want to maybe just have some tea?” I can’t imagine anything good will come out of snuggling on the couch with Eric after he’s been so touchy-feely lately. I would have never expected him to be a physical touch guy, but he’s barely been five minutes without contact tonight and deep down I am living for it.

Eric nods and I make my way over to the tiny kitchenette, conscious of his eyes tracking my every move. I did not, in any way, expect what he said next.

“You sober enough for me to finally ask about your dad?” The kettle clanks in the sink as I momentarily lose my grip. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I need to know what I’m fighting against, and I have a feeling he has something to do with it.”

A little too perceptive for past midnight, but I’ll roll with it. “He left the family a few years ago.” I see a muscle in Eric’s jaw twitch.

“Left? As in electively walked out of the door on his own two feet?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you talked to him since?”

“He calls sometimes on my birthdays, but I don’t answer. We have talked only a few times since it happened.”

“Do you…do you know why he left?” His tight tone makes my heart grow a few sizes. Not even my boyfriend at the time showed this much care when it all happened. Actually, the poor guy didn’t know how to react. That was part of the issue.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Alright, well, they had my brother really young. Freshman year of college my mom accidentally got pregnant. They kept him, and my grandparents made sure they got married. Mom didn’t finish college, but Dad did so that he could have a career, but it wasn’t the career he wanted.” My voice gets a little shaky as I pour the steaming water in our cups so I clear my throat before I continue. “I was another accident several years later. Mom would have a stroke if she knew I overheard the conversation they had about me not being planned. But she was always head over heels in love with him, and he made it very clear he thought I was a lever she used to pull to get him to stay around longer. But she didn’t fight back, just tried to keep him happy. Did whatever he asked, always put in the effort. She wanted to be a family. But I wasn’t that old when I noticed her effort wasn’t reciprocated. He’d work late and barely talk to my brother and I most nights. She’d make his favorite meal and he wouldn’t come home in time for dinner with all of us. He was there, but he wasn’t… Anyways, long, somber story short. Mom shaped her life around him, we moved to California so that he could pursue a new job. Then a few years later he up and left and we haven’t really heard from him since.”

Eric processes what I said for a few moments, and I could kiss him for how seriously he's taking the whole situation. I mean, not kiss him , kiss him. I just appreciate that he’s thinking it over before showering me with the pity most people do. Cutting him off right before he says anything, I add on for good measure, “That’s why it was kind of hard on us when my brother had such a difficult time having a kid. He wanted to be a father more than anything, but biology dealt them a difficult hand. My father couldn’t want to be a father any less, and he ended up with not one, but two accidents.”

“You are not an accident,” Eric cuts me off shortly. “I don’t want to hear that phrase come out of your pretty little mouth ever again, understand? You’re the best thing to happen to me, and just because your father wasn’t man enough to think the same thing shouldn’t make you think any less of yourself. You say he still lives in California?”

“Yeah.”

“And you never see him?”

“Nope.”

“I’m not asking this with any ulterior motive necessarily, but why do you still live there, then?”

I pause for a second because no one has ever asked me that outright. “Because I don’t want him to take that away from me, too. I like California. I was excited when we moved there, and I really felt like I fit in the way of life there. He left right before I finished college, and at the time I was dating someone”—Eric is not subtle in the breath of air he lets out—“and honestly I just didn’t want to uproot my life just because he decided he couldn’t commit. It’s a big state, he can have his space and I can keep my corner of the world that I built myself. Mom didn’t have anything that was hers other than us, her family. When Dad left it felt like she lost everything. She was completely devoted, almost blindly, and even though she put everything she had in it, she could never make up for the fact that he just wasn’t all in. And when he left, she had nothing. That’s terrifying to me.”

Eric nods that slow, understanding nod of his that is both respectful and a little challenging. But if anyone gets ownership and the need to accomplish something, it’s Eric. As if reading my thoughts, he slowly says, “I get it, Red, I do.” Then a little sheepishly he adds, “You said you had a boyfriend at the time?”

I try to suppress my smile at his obvious discomfort. “Yeah, Jeff. Our friend group kind of centered around our relationship. He was nice, but it was never…well, how do I put it. I sort of always felt like when he went out with the guys he would be the type to accidentally cheat. Not because of anything malicious, but just because he was never really…all in. I don’t know. And then when the stuff with my dad happened…he just didn’t know how to handle me with having emotions. I was always so steady. When my dad left it sort of wrecked me, and I guess he wasn’t used to seeing me cry.”

“Are you—” He pauses for a second, gathering his own emotions “—are you saying he left you in the middle of all of that?”

“He stuck around for a bit, but yeah. Sort of lost my whole friend group with it, actually. I got so mopey for a while I stayed at home, and he won them all over. I still see them sometimes, but not a ton.”

“You’re killin’ me, Red.” The pain in his eyes warms my heart, but I don’t want anyone’s pity—especially not Eric’s—so I change the topic.

“Okay, enough sob stories for the night, want to play cards or something?”

“Cards? You want to play cards?”

“I don’t know, is there a chessboard around here that I don’t know about? We could do that instead?”

“You should hope not, I’d whip your ass in chess.”

“Really?”

“I’m a man of many hidden talents, Mia.”

“Prove it.”

A chessboard is located within fifteen minutes (he drove all the way to the main house to find one) and he spends the rest of the night proving me to be very inept at a game I thought I was good at. I’ve played plenty of chess, and I usually win. But not against Eric. There was a game where he checkmated me in three moves. Three! I didn’t know that was possible, but there was no way around it.

It’s practically morning by the time we call it quits, and I go to bed feeling a few degrees lighter. Now he knows. He can understand why I’m just not interested in anything but equal amounts of crazy.