the hating game ; lrh

fifty-five

THE MOMENT WE ARRIVE at the wake, which is being held at a small pub-like restaurant across the road that my father apparently frequented (good to see his drinking habits hadn't subsided completely in his final years), I find myself rushing off to a small function room behind the kitchen in search of some privacy.

Once I finally manage to escape the myriad of strangers sharing stories, tears and laughter about my father, I feel completely free to finally let my tears flow without restrain. I feel entirely out of place in this strange setting. Although this life my father has built for himself isn't really that geographically far from my own, it feels like an entirely different world. I slide down the wall, curling my knees up to my chest and hugging them against my body tightly, not even trying to disguise the sobs that make my entire body shake.

I only look up when I hear the door to the function room open, panicking for a moment as I expect an employee or guest to find me here. I am filled with relief once I see that it is Luke who has entered the room, shutting the door carefully behind him, so I remain in my spot.

Luke quickly makes his way to me, sliding down the wall beside me and tentatively wrapping an arm around me. I don't fight this notion — I know that it is what I need right now, and it honestly feels nice to be held while I am crying.

"It's okay," Luke assures me softly.

"Everyone's saying all these wonderful things about him," I choke out, my face feeling all sticky and gross from my tears. Luke watches me as I speak, concerned but listening intently all the same. "At first I thought that it was because they never really knew him — but maybe I'm the one who never really knew him."

"You knew him," Luke retorts, speaking softly but with such conviction that I am tempted to believe his words over mine. "You just never got to see this side of him; and they never had to see the side that you dealt with."

I let out a small laugh as I think of how truly comedic the situation actually is. "He had a whole different life. He had a daughter," I begin rambling, feeling almost like a crazy person, but I am not afraid of admitting this all to Luke. I don't have much left to lose with him, if anything. "She got everything with him; she got a dad. Why didn't I get any of that? What did I do?"

I am crying harder now, choking out ugly sobs and letting streams of tears cascade down my face.

"You didn't do anything," Luke responds, though this time I don't even feel compelled to believe him.

"Then why did he leave?" I turn to Luke fully now, confused and angry and scared and hurt, so hurt. It seems as though all of the emotions I wasn't feeling before have bubbles up and boiled over, spilling out my rusty edges and erupting into this enormous fit of pure, ugly, unfiltered emotion.

"I don't know," Luke admits, his voice and expression not faltering in the slightest. "But I do know that it had nothing to do with you. And no matter what has or hasn't happened between you two, I know that wherever he is now, he's watching you and he's proud."

"I never even tried to contact him," I admit with a solemn sigh, shaking my head at myself. Perhaps things would have been different if I had.

"He never tried to contact you, either," Luke points out.

"But maybe he was waiting for me?" I suggest, searching for some solution that might have changed how everything happened — that might have allowed me some sort of relationship with the man. "Maybe I could've had all of those things if I just sought him out."

"Rory," Luke turns fully to me, unravelling his arm from around my shoulders and instead gripping them both tightly. "You did nothing wrong, okay? None of this is your fault." I look away, but before I properly can, Luke squeezes my shoulders to bring my attention back to him. "He left, and that sucks, but guess what? You don't need him — you never did. You've become this... amazing, beautiful, funny, kind, intelligent person without any help from him. He didn't make you any of that; you made yourself that. Okay?"