Chapter 15

It's been a few weeks since the scene at my place and my reconciliation with Harlow. Having her back in my life has healed those broken pieces inside of me and filled the hole she left in her wake. I know she was doing what she thought was the best thing or the right thing, but my running battle with Micah goes far beyond anything to do with her.

All the same, even though we're back together, I know she's going to carry around that sliver of guilt and doubt. Harlow is an incredible woman. She's intelligent and kind. But she's also one of the most sensitive souls I've ever known. She tries to hide it, but I can always see that sensitive nature of hers creeping in around the edges. Which means, as long as my relationship with Micah remains in doubt, it's going to be a dark cloud that hovers over our relationship. And I can't have that. I won't have that.

I stand in front of the apartment door and draw in a deep breath then count to ten and let it out slowly, steeling myself for the battle ahead. And this is going to be a battle. But it's one that needs to be fought. There has to be some resolution one way or another so I'm going to bite the fucking bullet and set the train in motion. It'll be up to Micah where it stops.

I knock on the door and wait as I listen to shuffling footsteps approaching on the other side. When the door opens, he stands there, looking at me blankly for a minute, not seeming to know quite what to say. But he runs a hand through his hair and quickly adopts the surly expression I've come to know as his default setting.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growls.

"We need to talk."

Before giving him a chance to react, I push the door open and brush past him. He looks shocked as I pass and walk into his place but doesn't say anything for a moment.

"I didn't invite you in," he says lamely.

"And yet, I'm inside anyway," I reply. "Close the door and get your ass in here."

He closes the door, walks into the living room where I'm standing, and folds his arms over his chest, his face darkening and his expression growing even surlier.

"I don't have anything to say to you," he says.

"Good. Then you can listen because I have a lot to say."

"I don't?—"

"Shut the fuck up," I snap. "Now, I've put up with your pouting and blaming me for everything that's wrong with your life for years. I know you blame me for not being around when you were a kid, and truth be told, I am partly to blame. I could have tried harder, but it was easier to simply avoid the conflict with your mom by doing as she asked and staying away. I'm sorry for that, Micah. That is my fault. But I'm not the only one to blame in that situation. I took it because I didn't want to fight with you about it. I genuinely wanted to fix things between us."

He scoffs and shakes his head but doesn't say anything to refute my point. He doesn't say anything at all, actually. I want to believe on some level I'm getting through to him. Or that maybe he's already come to the same conclusions, but his pride won't let him acknowledge it. I'm not going to push. That's a conversation that can be had another time and isn't the broader point I want to make here today.

"Micah, I know it surprised you to see me with Harlow. I get it. But you two haven't dated in years, and like we told you, it was a chance thing when our paths crossed again. We clicked and started seeing each other," I tell him. "This wasn't some plan to fuck you over or hurt you. It just happened. It wasn't something either of us planned, and no, we weren't plotting behind your back and seeing each other all those years ago. That's just fucking nonsense."

"She's half your age," he finally says weakly.

"She is. And yeah, maybe it's strange, but I'm not going to apologize for it," I tell him. "We just clicked. Sometimes, you click with somebody you never expected to click with. That's what happened here."

"Dating somebody half your age makes you look ridiculous. It makes you look desperate or like you're having a mid-life crisis," he replies, his tone filled with disgust.

"And since when have I given a shit about what other people thought of me?"

He doesn't respond because he knows that I genuinely don't care what other people think of me. I never have. I have a solid sense of who I am and what I'm about, and nobody's half-assed opinion is going to make me feel bad about my choices. Harlow is a twenty-three-year-old woman with her own thoughts and the ability to make her own decisions. They don't know me. Don't know what we have, so as far as I'm concerned, they can fuck all the way off if they're going to judge me.

"Why did it have to be her? Why did you have to go after somebody I was with? It's just fucking weird," he whines.

"I didn't go after her. Like I told you, it all just happened. Running into her was a complete coincidence," I reply. "I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth. We didn't plan this, kid."

"But you knew I was with her when your paths crossed."

"Yeah, I knew you'd dated her years ago," I tell him. "And from what I remember, you didn't treat her all that well. Your temper and inability to treat her well drove her away."

"Whatever."

"Harlow is a special woman, and I love her."

"Wow, that's fantastic," he says dryly.

"One day, you're going to realize that we don't get chances at genuine love and happiness all that often in life, and once you find it, you'd be a fool to not grab on and refuse to let go," I tell him. "What Harlow and I have is special. It's one of those rare and beautiful things life sometimes gives you. I love her and she makes me genuinely happy."

"Great. I'm happy for you. So, you're just here to rub it in my face?"

"No. I'm here to tell you that we're going to be together whether you like it or not. She is one of the best things that's ever happened to me," I reply. "I don't need nor am I seeking your approval to be with her. This is happening, Micah."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Because you're my son, Micah. And whether you believe it or not, I love you," I tell him. "I'm here because I wanted to be honest and transparent with you about my relationship with Harlow. And to tell you that she's going to be around. Hopefully, for a long time."

"Should I applaud? If not, then what the fuck do you want?"

"I'm telling you all this because I love you and still want a relationship with you. I want to fix what's wrong between us," I tell him. "But I wanted to tell you that as much as I want that, I'm not going to compromise my own happiness for it. I have a right to happiness. As do you. But if you're not mature enough to handle seeing me with Harlow, then I don't know what to tell you. But my hope is that you'll do a little growing and maturing and will be able to handle it and still have a relationship with me."

"Are you serious right now?"

"I'm dead serious," I respond. "I'm your father. I'll always want a relationship with you. And I'm always willing to put in the work to fix those things that are broken between us. But I felt I owed it to you to give you the lay of the land and tell you honestly what a relationship with me is going to look like. It's time to grow up a bit, son."

"Great advice," he snarls. "I'll make sure to jot that down in the fatherly pearls of wisdom journal I've been keeping."

I spread my hands out in front of me. "All I can do is be honest with you, Micah. I've told you where I stand, what I want, and what I hope for. What you choose to do with that is up to you."

"Great. Consider me informed."

I sigh and shake my head. I knew coming through the door that this was going to be a knife fight. Nothing with Micah has ever been easy. But there was some small, misguided part of me that hoped it would be simpler this time. That part of me is apparently even more misguided than I even thought when I got here. But it is what it is. I've said my piece and now it's up to him to decide what he's going to do with it.

"I'd like to invite you to dinner next week," I say. "I'll be at Dotello's—you always loved that place when you were a kid—at seven o'clock next Friday. I'll hold the table for an hour and hope you can make it."

"And if I don't?"

I shrug. "Then I'll make the same reservation the week after that."

He scoffs. "So, you're just going to spend an hour at Dotello's every Friday on the off chance I decide to come?"

"I will. I told you that I want a relationship with you. I've told you that I'm willing to meet you halfway," I reply. "The ball is now in your court."

I turn and head for the door but pause with my hand on the knob and turn back to him.

"I hope to see you next Friday," I say.

And with that, I walk out and close the door quietly behind me. I've laid out the boundaries and set up the guidelines for a relationship with my son going forward. That uncertainty is gone as far as I'm concerned since he knows what he'll get from me, and I know what I'm going to get from him. My hope is he absorbs everything I said and uses it as a catalyst to start growing and changing. I'm sure it's going to take some time for any meaningful change to happen, and I have no doubts there will be some bumps along the road, but I'm hoping for the best.

I can only do as I said—meet him halfway. It's up to Micah now.