“Yes.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
The question came out with a mixture of anger and pleading.
I folded my hands together.
“Because worrying about you has become more important to me than taking care of myself.”
He looked away.
“I never asked you to leave.”
“You asked me to give you space.”
“Chelsea asked.”
“And you agreed.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could have said, ‘Dad, stay for dinner.’”
His jaw tightened.
“I was embarrassed.”
The answer surprised me.
“Of me?”
“No.”
He stared at the sugar container between us.
“Of the situation.”
“What situation?”
“You and Chelsea.
The tension.
The way she talked to you.
The fact that I kept avoiding it.”
“Why were you embarrassed?”
“Because I knew it was wrong.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavily.
I had expected him to defend himself.
To say Chelsea had been stressed, or that I had misunderstood, or that everyone had been tired.
