Right to Appeal

I saw my father for the first time in nearly three years outside the Cheesecake Factory at the Atrium. His hair was shorter and scruffier than I’d ever seen it and the first strands of gray were starting to show, dotting what once had been a sleek black. He wore a button-down under his winter coat rather than one of the three-piece suits that used to fill half of his side of my parents’ closet. At some point after he’d walked out on us he’d shaved off his goatee. I’d always hated it. When I was young and he would try to kiss me goodnight I usually pretended I was already asleep so I wouldn’t feel his beard, coarse as steel wool, rub against my forehead.

Despite these physical differences I noticed, they were not the changes that caught and held my attention. His cheeks were lightly flushed, the lines of his face were softer, and his forehead was smooth and free of the creases I was used to. He smiled as he held a car door open for a petite woman with a black and red scarf tied around her neck. She must be the girlfriend my Mom had mentioned.

This was not the man I had once known. This was not a man who came home from work at six in the evening for dinner and then kept himself locked in his office until ten. He probably came home at four to help cook dinner. I would be willing to bet that he brought flowers home simply because he felt like doing something romantic.

I wanted to be happy for him, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t in my nature to forgive the way he’d left my mother. A dull thumping hidden somewhere in my chest told me that my blood pressure was rising; it rose along with an urge to call Jay and cancel our plans.

If I turned around and pretended I didn’t see my dad I could call Jay from my car and we could have our date somewhere else. I wasn’t opposed to trying out that sushi place Jay had been bugging me about. I’d take raw fish over my father; once I’d eaten one of those things it would be gone, but if I talked to my father I’d have to talk about it with Jay and then my mother. One experience would turn into two and three, and the memories would stick around. Even if my father fled again he’d still be here. The man’s an enigma.

My dad was a lawyer—one of the best in Boston while he lived here. He always got the high-profile cases, and he could argue for either side of any dispute whether he believed in it or not. More than that, he could make either side seem like the only side worth advocating. He’d earned more money than we needed, so my mother had allowed herself to follow her less-than-profitable passion. She taught high school English, and when we both came home from school we would play cards and she would help me with my homework. Any part of my childhood worth remembering involved her. She raised me, not my father. He was a lawyer first and a father second.

I can’t remember ever seeing my parents kiss. I must be wrong, they probably kissed each other in front of me when I was younger, but all I could remember as I watched my father slip his arm around the woman’s waist were the abbreviated conversations my parents used to hold over dinner. They were forced, I’m sure. The house would have been silent if I hadn’t been there, but I gave them a reason to pretend their marriage was fine. My mother used to try to carry the conversation, but she gave up on that years ago. Neither one of my parents had been happy, but they stayed together out of convenience.

My father left my mother after I had graduated from college. He, being as prominent as he was in the courts, had the right connections; as a result the legal personnel on the case were inclined to side with him. My mom was left with little more than her high school salary.

I’ve always told myself I would never marry anyone like Steven.

“Avia?”

I turned on instinct, and he caught me looking straight at them. The cool assuredness in his expression halted me. Had there been any sign of uncertainty or guilt instead I’d like to think I would have had the upper hand and I would have been able to walk away. If I had been honest with myself I would have realized that curiosity kept me there. What kind of man was he now? I couldn’t be sure if I’d be betraying my mother if I entertained those thoughts.

“Avia,” he said again. “Come here.”

The woman next to Steven frowned for a brief moment, and the two shared a whispered exchange. Her mouth fell open, most likely because she realized who I was, but it looked as though she were trying to catch my father’s breath in her mouth. Her gaping expression morphed smoothly into a warm, inviting smile as our eyes met.

I glanced over at the road, still considering getting back in my car and leaving, but I had made up my mind the moment he called my name. Jay gave me another reason to stay; I spotted his white, rusted Ford slow down and turn into the parking lot. If he was already here I would have to stay—or so I told myself. I gripped my purse strap tighter and walked to meet my father. There were a few more hushed words spoken between him and the woman before I reached them. I stayed silent. Anything I said just then would be trivial compared with our situation.

My father was the first to break the silence. “It’s good to see you,” he said. His face remained calm and put-together.

“Yeah,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not.

The chemistry between my parents may have died 20 years ago, but seeing my father with his arm around anyone other than my mother was unnatural. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with my mother. Maybe his display bothered me because I couldn’t remember him ever displaying this sort of affection before with anyone.

Steven, noticing where my attention was, dropped his arm from the woman’s waist. “This—this is Leslie. Leslie, my daughter.”

“I was hoping I’d get to meet you,” she said. “Your father said you’d be back from grad school, now.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I finished up last May.”

“Congratulations. I bet that feels amazing.”

“It does, actually.” The following silence was heavy and thick. My lungs were fighting against the walls of my chest. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Well,” my father said, “I was giving Leslie a tour of town, so of course I had to bring her here to eat at least once.”

He must have been letting her in on our old family traditions. When he, my mother, and I lived together we would always come here for our birthday dinners. The Cheesecake Factory was within walking distance of my old home, and none of us could ever bake a cake that wasn’t burnt, bland, or lopsided, so it became natural to celebrate at this restaurant rather than at home. Some of my strongest memories came from those three annual dinners at this restaurant.

Leslie smiled over at Steven and grabbed his hand between both of hers before addressing me. “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

“Oh? Yeah, they’re pretty good.” My focus honed in on Leslie’s hands, now entwined with my father’s. It was another gesture I hadn’t witnessed between my parents in years if at all. If my parents had held hands and opened doors for one another, would their chemistry have survived? Before I could consider that thought I noticed that the pattern from their fingers weaved together was interrupted by a ring. It only took a second for me to realize that it was her left hand. The constriction in my chest grew tighter.

Silence again. It would have been the perfect time for my father to mention his engagement. It would be, at least, if he had plans to tell me. Instead he slipped his hand out from between Leslie’s. I looked away, wondering where Jay was. I hoped he wasn’t having trouble finding a parking spot. A buffer of some sort would be great.

“What are you doing here?” my father asked, reflecting my own question back to me. I knew instinctively that he was trying to keep us talking. That was another trait he picked up from his law firm. When in doubt, he’d tell me, ask a simple question so you have something to build on. My childhood was full of his questions.

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend,” I said.

“Oh really? How long have you two been dating?”

“A couple years,” I said. “We’re starting to get pretty serious.” The last part I added for my father’s benefit: another opportunity rose for him to mention his future with this woman that definitely was not Mom. Another opportunity passed.

I spotted Jay on the sidewalk by the Atrium, walking around the corner. His brown curls were as unruly as ever, particularly in the coastal wind. “Actually, there he is.” I shouldered my bag, considering using this as a chance to leave. After three years my father still didn’t seem ready to share his life with me. Maybe he would be in three more.

“Can we meet him?”

My father’s question caught me off guard. I studied his face for a moment, trying to judge how serious he was. His expression was soft and his eyes didn’t stray from mine. I saw hope in the way he smiled at me. He was being sincere.

I glanced between my father and Jay, who was standing on the sidewalk by the valet parkers. I could read Jay’s unspoken questions in the way the skin between his eyebrows crinkled. He was allowing me privacy, but I’d been with him long enough to know that he wanted to come over and see what was going on. It wasn’t that I was reserved against letting him in. It was my father I had doubts about.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. I motioned Jay over and he crossed the lot to join us.

“Hey, babe,” he said once he reached me. He kissed my forehead and rested his hand on the small of my back.

“Hey.” As reluctant as I was to introduce the man who abandoned me to the man who had shown me unyielding support I could not overlook the fact that having Jay stand beside me made the muscles in my jaw relax. I hadn’t realized I’d been tensing them. I found I could breathe much more easily, now. “Jay, this is Steven and Leslie.”

My father extended a hand towards my boyfriend. “Her father,” he said.

Jay shook his hand and then Leslie’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“We were going to have dinner here,” she said. “Any chance we can get you two to join us?”

There were a dozen reasons why I should have come up with an excuse and left, but my curiosity lingered beneath every one of them. I wanted a chance to understand why he’d left, and I wanted to see if he’d be honest. The sun flashed off Leslie’s ring as she straightened out her pea coat.

Jay looked at me with shoulders and eyebrows raised—classic ‘I don’t know’ posture—but he bumped his side against mine. He was encouraging me.

“Sure,” I said. Jay smiled next to me.

“Great,” my father said. “We’d love to have someone keep us company.”

My father led Leslie towards the front entrance, but I held Jay back for a moment, staying a few feet behind as we made our way to the door. He winked at me matched my pace.

“Okay,” I said, “What was the deal with that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Jay.”

Jay closed the space between us and rested his hand at the back of my neck. “I don’t know, just he’s your Dad. I wasn’t going to make you accept an offer like that but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care either way.”

“Be serious,” I said. I’d told Jay the story before. I hadn’t expected him to be so eager to meet him.

“I am. I kind of want to know who your Dad is. I wanted to meet him properly. That’s it.”

I didn’t respond, because my father reached the brass doors with the frosted glass and held it open for Leslie. He glanced at Jay and me at this point, the same foreign smile on his face, and waited for us to catch back up and join them inside. His expression was patient—I wondered if he could tell that Jay and I were talking about him. As a girl, I’d thought that he had some sort of sixth sense for knowing if I was guilty of something. It may have been my overactive 8-year-old mind, or it may have been because, as a lawyer, he’d already had to work with the best of liars. He’d dealt with people far better at feigning innocence than I was.

“You really don’t want to do this do you?” Jay said, lowering his voice.

“That’s just it,” I said. “I can’t decide.”

A hostess led us to a booth set up next to a tropical, leafy plant that towered over me. We slid in, me sitting directly in front of my father. I knew he was watching me, but I didn’t look up at him at first. Instead I put more enthusiasm into looking through the menu than was strictly necessary.

I felt like, by agreeing to have dinner with my father, I was giving him the idea that I had forgiven him. The first ten minutes were dotted with uneasy silences. Whatever flow of conversation we’d managed outside had been broken, and it wasn’t until we’d gotten our drinks that we regained any of it.

Leslie was talking about her two sons, both still in high school, when we got our food. Her face lit up whenever she said their names. The entire time Leslie had her left hand rested on the table, clasped in my father’s hand. His thumb stroked along her fingers, encouraging her to talk. As he watched her his eyes occasionally flickered down to her lips, and each time she laughed she turned to my father, who wore a smile to match hers.

I was starting to see why Leslie might appeal to Steven. I imagined Leslie was much like my mother. The two spoke with similar inflections and had a comparable sense of fashion. They both carried conversations to keep them from turning awkward, but the most striking resemblances were their cheerful demeanors and engaging social styles. It made it harder for me to dislike her. I wanted the self-righteous feeling of hating her.

I could still hold a grudge against my father, though, and that satisfied me. If Leslie and my mother were so similar why did he have to leave to find happiness? I couldn’t understand what he got out of his life with Leslie that he couldn’t find with my mother and me.

More than that, if he had been unhappy with us why was he here? Why was he in town? The visit seemed so casual, like he came to Boston all the time to see us. Like dropping in on our lives was of no particular significance. He’d already made the point years ago that work kept him busy—that it was hard to take time off his schedule—so I knew it couldn’t have been a trivial matter that brought him back. There had to be a specific reason, and I was pretty sure it had to do with the ring that my father had yet to mention.

“So,” I spoke up. “How did you guys meet?” I twirled my fork around, creating a lump of pasta and marinara in the center of my plate. It was starting to seem like my father wasn’t going to reveal anything on his own.

Leslie held up a finger as she finished a bite of chicken to claim the honor of starting the story. “It’s kind of a cute story, actually,” she said. She chased her food with a sip of her lemonade. “There was this Latin group playing downtown in Pittsburg for a summer festival. Remember?” she said, placing her hand on my father’s forearm. “You were with that friend of yours? What was his name?”

“Travis,” he said. He rolled his eyes and laughed. Leslie joined in, as though they were sharing a private memory. Her laugh was light and fluffy compared with my father’s deep, rumbling chuckle.

“Right,” she said. “Well, Travis and your father were at the tables in the back talking about one thing or another. Knowing him he was probably trying to convince your father to buy some timeshare with him in Aspen.”

“I can’t remember.” For the first time the wrinkles on my father’s brow that I was accustomed to reappeared on his brow. “He probably was, but she saved me from whatever plan he’d come up with.”

“I asked him to dance. I’m sure you know your father is a smooth talker, but honey he is not a smooth dancer.”

“You got him dancing?” I asked.

My father’s laugh turned uneasy as his complexion took on a rosy undertone. He leaned away from his plate and reached his arm around the back of her chair.
“I mean, I’m the woman but I did all the leading.”

“Give me some credit. I’m doing better now, aren’t I?”

“You are. I’m a bit impressed, actually.”

My father never went dancing with my mother.

I felt Jay take my hand under the table and give it a squeeze. He was laughing at their exchange, but I knew the gesture was meant to relax me. I still hadn’t heard what I was looking for, so I had to dig deeper.

“How long have you been together?”

My father and Leslie turned to each other, looking for an answer in each other. “Well that festival was July two years ago,” he said. “I guess that puts us at two years and maybe eight months.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Two years and eight months as of about a week ago.”

“Well congratulations,” Jay said.

It would have been the perfect time for my father to speak up. I could hear what I expected him to say in my head: ‘Actually, if you are going to congratulate us on anything…’ My father said nothing, but instead smiled at Leslie and rubbed her fingers with his thumb.

“You haven’t changed at all,” I said. I felt another squeeze on my hand as my father and Leslie turned away from each other to look at me.
“I’m sorry?” my father said.

I pulled my hand away from Jay. “When were you going to tell me that you were engaged?”

“Oh,” Leslie said. She automatically started twirling her ring around on her finger. “We were going to tell you about it.”

“But you were waiting for the right moment?” I asked. They’d had forty-five minutes worth of moments to choose from.

My father sat up straight in his chair. “Avia, honey—“

“God, you’re such a jerk.”

My father didn’t finish whatever he had been preparing to say. The table fell silent, and Leslie stopped looking up from what was left of her chicken marsala. Were I not mad the tension at the table would have been uncomfortable, but instead I was glad not to have to hear my father go on about how perfect his life was now that I was out of it. Now that, evidently, I had no place in it. It didn’t seem that he had considered inviting me to his wedding. I would fall to the side as a memory. I’d be that daughter he’d once had years ago.

After five minutes of heavy silence the waitress came back with the check. When my father offered to cover the costs for dinner I felt no guilt letting him. I waited for the waitress to return with his credit card before I pulled my purse back up on my shoulder.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. I slid out of the booth and Jay moved to follow me.

“Actually,” Steven said, “do you mind if I borrow her for a minute?”

Jay made eye contact with me for a brief moment before shrugging his shoulders. “Go ahead.”

My father turned, looking for a sign in me that I was willing to talk to him. I exhaled. “Whatever. Fine.”

My father led me back outside. It was louder out there with the wind whipping past my ears, and I had to anchor one hand in my hair to keep it out of my face. We walked to the side of the building where the wind didn’t hit as strong. I pressed my back against the beige brick wall and watched my father. He didn’t speak right away. Was the lawyer actually speechless?

I sighed. “How long are you in town?” I asked.

“Just a couple days. I wanted to see you.”

I raised my eyebrows. Steven, noticing this, scratched the back of his head.

“I’m happy,” he said. “I wish you’d be happy for me too.”

“But you weren’t happy with Mom.” I almost made the statement a question, but I already knew the answer.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t get that.” My mother and Leslie’s appearances may share no common ground, but the similarities in their personalities were uncanny. To me, it felt like Steven was trying to replace one with the other.

“Well, what do you expect of me?” My father stood with his hands in his pockets and looking at me exclusively. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “I never, and I mean never, wanted to be that guy who got divorced. I loved your Mom.”

“See that’s what I don’t get. You loved her, so you divorced her? That’s such bullshit.”

“What would you have done?”

“Obviously I would have worked on it. If a marriage sucks you do something about it.”

“We did.”

“Oh yeah, it really looked like you put a whole lot of effort into that.”

“Could I have tried a little harder? Possibly. I don’t know, but for a while we did work on it and we never got back to where we’d once been. That’s just the way things go sometimes. They don’t always go the way you plan them. Sometimes it just doesn’t work.”

I considered what my father said for a moment. What if the whole time my parents were having forced conversations they were trying to get back to where they once had been? What if those awkward dinners were the result of trying to save their marriage and failing? Was it possible that I had misinterpreted what was going on all those years?

A gust of wind blew past, and our conversation was put on hold. My father turned his back to the wind that pressed his coat to form perfectly around his body, and I had to extract a lock of my hair from my mouth before I could continue. The wind died down and my father turned to me once more.

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

His eyes flickered away from mine for the shortest of moments. “It means things are different for me now.”

“Great,” I said, “because, you know, that tells me a lot.”

“Please don’t use that tone with me. I’m still your father.”

“No, don’t even go there. You’ve always been too busy to be a father. Or a husband.”

“I know, that’s what I’m getting at. I’m not with the firm anymore. I’m working at a nonprofit now.”

I lost my argument and with it my voice and some of my irritation. My eyes were drawn to where my father’s hands were fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. I hadn’t noticed earlier that it was wrinkled. His shirts used to be pressed and devoid of any imperfection that might lead a potential client to think he was unprofessional.

“You’re really happy with Leslie?” I asked.

“I am.” Steven turned to join me, leaning against the wall a foot away. “We are getting married.” He pulled a white, silver, and sage green card out of his coat pocket. A pattern of overlapping hearts and roses wound around the border. The card was addressed in a loopy, handwritten script to “Avia Lester.”

“It would mean the world to me if you came.” I saw no trace of the lawyer in his eyes.