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C L A I R E

Just like Mom said, I find him at our private home bar in the hall. He is pouring himself another glass of drink. He has already had three in the last ten minutes without looking anywhere but ahead where more bottles of expensive wine sit on the shelves.

As he is about to drown down another, I walk up to him, my feet pacing slowly across the hall. Even if he hears my footsteps, he doesn't show it on his face. I take a seat on the stool beside him, my feet hanging in the air.

"Dad..." I touch his shoulder with one hand while with the other, I gently take the glass away from him.

He narrows his eyebrows, giving me a studying look.

"What do you want?" He grumbles the question, avoiding looking at me. His forearms rest on the counter as he looks at the glass I have placed back on it.

He wouldn't drink in front of me. It embarrasses him.

It is like for the first time I am seeing my father for real. His T-shirt is tucked out of his trousers, his hands are cold when I touch them and his hair is longer than usual, falling over his forehead. I have never seen him like this. He has always been the tidy, neat man who pays great attention to his appearance but tonight, he looks pale with his lips dry and there are black patches underneath his eyes.

"Dad...I..." I intertwine my fingers over my lap as I stare at them nervously. "I wanted to apologize."

He pays no heed to me, staying focused on the numerous bottles of wine ahead of him. That gives me a little courage to keep speaking. If he had looked at me, I would have lost that courage and gone back to being uncomfortable to say what I came here to say.

"I shouldn't have disrespected you like the way I did all these years," I continue. "I thought you hated me and so I started to hate you back...It...it makes me feel bad. But, you should know that...I never stopped loving you, Dad. The resentment I felt for you was because of the way you sometimes treated me. I felt disrespected too, you know? Like...the time when you stopped speaking to me after Chris's funeral. I know you thought his death was my fault but...it wasn't. It was fate. Not me. I'm sorry but I can't live with a guilt that isn't mine...just because you want me to."

Knowing that I am about to go off-track, I stop speaking. My cheeks warm up with the anticipation of his response. Still, I keep looking at my hands instead of Dad, afraid that he will say something which won't go well with me. I am here to solve the problems between us, not create new ones.

"You know what's the worst thing about being a parent?" Dad suddenly speaks and I snap my eyes at him, surprised at his choice of words. He turns his head to face me and I see the small smile on his lips, shadowed by the look of grief in his eyes. "It is that you can never love your children equally at the same time."

I inhale a breath, letting that sink in. That is not something I thought I would ever hear from him.

Is he finally telling me that he loved Chris more and will always hate me? Or is it something else?

He shifts further on his seat to face me, such that we are knee to knee with each other.

"Dad, I don't—"

"You don't understand?" he chuckles, rubbing his hand on his chin. "You'll someday, honey. That's the truth about being a parent. You always prefer one of your children more than the other but never at the same time. The fact is — there is one point in life where you realize that all this time you've been loving them as equally as possible, even if they never saw it."

When I keep staring at him, unblinking and confused, he sighs and picks up the glass of drink. I watch as the liquid is washed down his throat, making his Adam's apple bob. He places the empty glass back on the counter, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Four years ago, I got a call..." he begins. "The person on the other side asked if I knew Christopher Hill. I said I do and that he was my son. The person went silent for a long time before saying that...that...my son...he...he was dead...That he died in an accident." Dad's voice turns strained and my heart starts thumping fast. "You would think that the first reaction as a father would be to cry but that's not what I did. You see, I was calm, even after hearing that and then, I asked..."

He stops speaking and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Wh..." I clear my throat. "What did you ask?"

"I asked if my daughter was in the car." I gulp as his fingers curl around the glass. "When he said you weren't, I told him that I have to go and pick up my daughter from prom first since she's waiting. Then I'll be at the hospital...You see, that was the day I loved you more. That was the day you meant to me more than him and that guilt of loving you when he was gone...Claire...it never left."

My lips part involuntarily, a sob leaving my throat silently. My hands tremble on my lap as Dad looks back at me, his eyes red and I see the wetness in them as he stops himself from letting them shed.

"You know what, Claire?" he continues, reaching over and touching my hands on my lap, moving his thumb over my knuckles. "When your children come to you with a scrape on their knee, you tell them to grow up, to take care of their wounds themselves...and while doing that, you tell yourself that it'll teach them to be strong..."

He halts, coughing a little and I hold his forearm in concern.

"Dad..."

"...and there comes the day..." His cough turns into a deep chuckle. "There comes the day when they grow up and go to the world and the world...it hurts them in many ways. Then one day, your child returns home, defeated and broken, expecting to see disappointment for them in your eyes....but the truth is, you don't tell them that you're glad they came to you. Because in truth — you never really want your children to grow up. For you they are always your children and you can never get over the urge of protecting them. You want to keep them in the shell of your arms for so long, hoping that they will be safe that you forget to ask them if they even need protection...You...you forget..."

I have never seen my Dad cry. Even during Chris's funeral, he was silent, standing tall but one could see that he was broken inside. Yet, he didn't cry. So now when I see him burst into sobs, I can no longer control myself.

"Dad, please..." I sob, squeezing his hands.

"I'm...I'm so sorry, darling," he rasps. "You're right. It's not your fault. None of it is. It's mine. I held you close...for too long that I didn't realize when you grew up so much. Some days ago, when you came in through that door, crying...that was the first time I felt defeated. It made me realize that I can't protect you from everything and that I'm at fault for what happened to you. If I had never accepted the Senator's proposal, you wouldn't have...you wouldn't have married...him."

"No, no, it's...it's not your fault," I whisper as I throw my arms around his neck and hug him. "It's not your fault, Dad. It's no one's fault."

He hugs me back, wrapping one arm around my waist while his other hand pats my head.

I haven't hugged my Dad for so long that tonight it feels like the only thing that was missing from my life — his warmth and the knowledge that he loves me, one way or another. He could be a man with the worst traits in this world but he would never want to see me sad. He is just an average Dad who finds it hard to become the father his children need him to be. He doesn't deserve to be hated for that. He deserves to be forgiven.

And I forgive him.

"Por Dios! Is that my husband hugging his daughter? With love? Am I dreaming?"

We break away when we hear Mom's voice. I find her standing behind me, hands clasped together and tears in her eyes. She is in her nightgown. She must have come down to check in on Dad and found us. I glance at Dad and we both burst into a chuckle as Mom steps towards us.

"It's real, darling," Dad laughs as he pulls her into his arms and makes her sit on his lap. She places a kiss on his forehead, hugging him gently.

"I'm so happy to see you smile, baby," she says to him and Dad smiles too, putting his head on Mom's shoulder.

Seeing them like this elates me. My Dad might be a misogynist sometimes but no one can deny how much he loves Mom. He could go to any lengths for her and I wish I had their kind of love.

I bow my head down and look at my finger where my wedding ring is set, keeping me perfectly tied to him even when things between us are close to being broken. Liquid pricks my eyes and I rub it with my fingers, not wanting to cry.

Not tonight

"Mija?"

I look up to see my parents giving me sympathetic looks.

"It'll be okay, honey," Dad assures me. "You'll be okay."

I nod, forcing a smile. The vibration of my phone on the counter alerts me to a call. The caller ID flashes Rose's name and I swipe to receive the call.

"Hello?"

"Claire!" Rose exclaims uncharacteristically. "I...I was wondering if...if you could come here. I need some help...urgently."

I look at Mom and Dad and see them busy kissing while whispering things quietly between them. I get down from the stool, not wanting to disturb them and walk over to the sitting area in the hall.

"Huh...I don't think so, Rose. You know how things have been."

"No, please..." she begs, her voice out of character. It's unusually high-pitched. "Please...Claire. I...I need you."

I hesitate when I hear her frantic breathing. She sounds nervous about something.

"What is it, Rose?"

"Huh...it's...it's my..." she stutters. "It's about my date. I need your help, Claire. Please...I can't say over the phone. Just come once. Vaughn isn't here so it won't be...won't be awkward for you. He...he's at the office. He isn't here."

I stay quiet for some time, wondering if I should be going. It would have been awkward if Vaughn was there, but I could pay a visit now since he isn't.

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Thank you, Claire. Thank you."

If I am not wrong, I think I hear something close to a sob in her voice before she cuts the call.