“Dad can come.”
What Brian ultimately decided to do with the records was his decision. I didn’t ask him to make it for anyone else’s sake.
Two days before the wedding, Emily called me.
“Dad can come.”
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
I waited.
Robert came.
“But I want to see whether he means any of this when it isn’t just the four of us watching.”
Three weeks after that dinner, the happened.
Robert came.
Before the father-daughter dance, I saw him approach Brian near the edge of the reception hall.
“Can I ask you something?”
Brian nodded.
“Your cuff. Is it sitting right around the prosthetic?”
Robert pointed awkwardly at Brian’s jacket.
“Your cuff. Is it sitting right around the prosthetic?”
Brian glanced down.
“No. It’s caught.”
Robert hesitated.
“Can you show me how to fix it?”
It took less than a minute.
Brian did.
It took less than a minute.
No hug.
No sudden forgiveness.
Robert simply asked instead of assuming.
Then he went to dance with his daughter.
