Not Pretending Anymore by Ward, Penelope (easy to read books for adults list txt) 📗

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said as I pulled away. “I’m definitely better off not being alone with my thoughts at this point.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. I’d hoped he’d tell me how glad he was that we could hang out tonight, but right now I felt more like I’d disturbed his peace by coming back. In all the weeks I’d known him, Declan had never given me the impression he wasn’t happy to see me, until now.

“How was your time at your dad’s?” he asked after a moment.

I shrugged. “It was okay. Definitely glad I did it. He’s doing a little better. I know he liked having me there. Better late than never, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I spent every waking hour with him, and when he napped, I’d go to my room and read. I didn’t really force myself to make small talk with Kayla. I did get to take my sister Siobhan out for lunch one day, and we bonded a little. She’s scared, too. I think the only thing worse than the fear of losing your dad in your twenties would be losing him as a child.”

“She’s lucky to have you for a big sister.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” I plopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“I have so many regrets when it comes to my father, Declan.”

He took a seat next to me.

“We all have regrets in life. No one is perfect.” His expression grew somber.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Does he not realize I can see through him? “You seem…down or something.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”

“Did something happen at work?”

“No. Nothing happened.” His tone was a bit short. He let out a long breath. “I’m the last person you should be worrying about right now, okay?” Then came another forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me about what you were saying. What specific regrets are you referring to?” He seemed intent on moving the conversation off of this issue and back to me.

I paused to examine his face again before I answered his question. “Well, I guess what I mean is, I was so young when my father left home. I didn’t understand how complicated relationships could be. I faulted him for leaving us when it was really more about his marriage to my mother not working out than him wanting to abandon his kids. He wasn’t happy. What—did I need him to stay in a loveless marriage for my sake? I don’t agree with how he handled things. But to have shut him out all these years for making the decision to put his own happiness first? In retrospect, that seems very harsh.”

Declan shook his head. “Okay, but like you said, you were young, you were hurt—we can’t help how we feel.” He placed his arm along the top of the couch and scooted a few inches toward me. “And you know what? You’re still young. You’re figuring these things out while your dad is still here. It’s never too late to make amends, as long as the person is still with us.”

Nodding, I wiped my eyes. “I feel like I’ve really tried over the past few weeks.”

“You have. And your dad loves you no matter what. He’s proven that—from the room he kept for you, to the way he looks at you. You can always tell someone’s true feelings by the way they look at someone. He’s not holding anything against you.”

It was ironic that Declan had said that. Because one of the only things that made me wonder about his feelings for me was the way he occasionally looked at me. I loved the way he didn’t seem to notice anyone else in the room but me. He was always fully engaged with our conversation—like whatever we were talking about was super important, even if we were just discussing the weather. But that look was nowhere to be found right now. Instead, his eyes were vacant and distant.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I prodded.

“I am,” he said and again pushed the subject back to me. “Tell me what else has been on your mind.”

I was tempted to continue prying about why he seemed melancholy. But I knew he’d just brush me off again. So I exhaled and answered his question. “This whole thing with my father has caused me to reflect on myself. My dad is too young to be facing death. He hasn’t had time to accomplish everything he would want to. And it makes me feel like I’m not doing enough with my own life.”

He nodded. “Yeah, sometimes it takes something like this to get us thinking about stuff like that.” He stared down a moment before looking back at me. “I can tell you right now, if I died tomorrow, I wouldn’t feel like my life had been enough. I mean, I work in advertising, shoving products down people’s throats with exaggerated claims. How is that helping the world, you know? It’s not. It’s helping put money in the pockets of already-overpaid executives. My sister Catherine is on the other end of the spectrum, living her entire life doing good deeds. But I try to make small differences where I can. The hope is that they add up in the overall scheme of things.”

I smiled. “They always say what people remember most about someone is how that person made them feel. You definitely make those around you feel like you’re truly invested in them. That’s how you make me feel. You’re a good friend.”

“And to think, you almost let me walk away because I have a penis.” He winked.

I laughed, relieved to see his first genuine smile of the night. “That would’ve sucked.”

“In all seriousness, being a good friend is one way people can make an impact. It’s never too late to call that friend you’ve been meaning to call, or to do small things that add up. Stop the homeless person on