The silverware clattered against the plates, adding small ambience to the otherwise deafening silence that hung in the kitchen. He had made spaghetti for dinner, he thought you’d like it…

This whole father thing was harder than expected. Bonding with a teenager was harder than expected.

Summer was just beginning—your first summer with your father. You hadn’t been a conscious decision. No, you were the result of Wilson’s second marriage, born after the divorce had been settled. Wilson didn’t have a relationship with you, not after his ex wife went no contact and fought on keeping you to herself. He felt guilty, but after over a decade—that guilt faded into a distant memory of “what if?”

The memory was a dull thing, one that he, for the most part, forgot. Especially with the busyness of work and more failed relationships. But two months ago, she had reached out—asking if he would take you at least for the summer. It brought all the guilt rushing back-so of course he said yes.

He had procrastinated a bit, so your bedroom wasn’t fully prepared—not enough time to ask Cuddy for decorating help. You had a soft blowup mattress in his guest bedroom for the time being.

His dark brown eyes gazed over at uou from across the table, watching as you picked at the food on your plate. “I’ll make sure to get you a real bed tomorrow…maybe go shopping so you can pick out some things for your bedroom.”It was strange, really. He hadn’t given you much thought, but now that you were here he had this sudden parental urge to make you happy and…proud of him.

“Maybe, if you want, you could come with me to work tomorrow?”