“He’s a pain in the ass,” Sam said affectionately. “But it’s nice to be on good terms with an ex I’m never going to shake.”
“Do you wish—no, never mind. Oh, I love this song too.” I cranked the volume on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
Sam batted my hand from the knob and turned Rudolph down. “Yeah, yeah…great song. What were you gonna ask me?”
“Do you wish you were with them?”
“Linc and Jase?”
I waved dismissively. “Stupid question. Of course, you do.”
“No, I don’t. I miss Linc. I always do, but…I was never part of Jase’s extended family holiday celebrations. Happily. I worked and I wasn’t interested in hanging out with twenty aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends whose names I could never remember.”
“Hmm.”
“What does that noise mean?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, but…family or friend gatherings can be nice. I know it’s no substitute for Linc, but if you’re interested, you’re welcome to join me on Thanksgiving. It’s a small group. Just my sister and her husband and a couple of Mammoth friends our parents always invite when they’re in town. It’s tradition.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you, but I’ll be fine. I’ll grab some turkey meat at the market, make myself a big sandwich, watch football, and call it a day. Rooney tradition. It’ll be like old times when I was a kid.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “You ate turkey sandwiches on Thanksgiving?”
“If it was Dad’s turn to have me then, yeah. My folks divorced when I was Linc’s age. I was an only child. I split holidays and weekends between my parents. Mom years were good years for holidays. Dad years…not so much. He wasn’t what you’d call a warm, fuzzy guy. In fact, you might even say he was a real asshole.”
“You didn’t get along?”
“No one got along with Doc Rooney. He was a crusty old man who was always angry that life hadn’t given him his fair share. Of course, he didn’t want to work for anything. It’s like he expected Santa Claus to drop by once a year, leave a fat envelope of dough, and was disappointed that never happened.”
“Oh. Does he get along with Lincoln?”
“He never knew him. Dad died ten years ago. Cancer,” he said in a flat tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mmm.” Sam was quiet for a moment, staring out the passenger-side window. “I wish I could tell you I missed him, but I don’t. He wasn’t a nice man. He was homophobic, racist, prejudiced. He went out of his way to be difficult and sadly, I spent a lot of years trying to please him. I shouldn’t have bothered. Nothing worked. I was a good athlete in high school, got a football scholarship to play at Michigan, and Dad suddenly decided he was an Ohio State fan. In case you didn’t know, that’s the equivalent of joining the dark side.”
I furrowed my brow. “How so?”
“Michigan and Ohio are archrivals. Only my dad would knowingly root against his son.”
“Sounds like he was jealous of you,” I surmised, checking my speed as we drove through Lone Pine.
“Yeah, I know that now, but I didn’t back then.”
“Did he know you were bi?”
“Hell, no. I didn’t come out till after he died. My closest friends knew, but not my parents. I was thirty years old when I finally realized I’d been hiding a big part of myself to appease a man who didn’t want me to succeed. Sometimes, I think he was part of the reason I was quick to marry Jase. Dad wouldn’t have approved and Jase wouldn’t have given a single fuck.” Sam snorted.
“What about your mom?”
“She doesn’t care that I’m bi and she’s thrilled to have a grandkid, even though she rarely sees him. Or me. I stop by when I’m traveling her way, but we mostly have a Hallmark relationship now. Mom’s gotten more distant with age. Like she did the parenting thing and has moved on to other things.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be like her, either. There, but not there. In case you hadn’t caught on, it’s taken me a few extra years to grow up and get over the pieces of my childhood I had no power to make better.”
I cleared my throat, more upset by his revelation than I would have thought. “I think you’ve done a fine job.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure about that. My biggest goal as a dad is to be nothing like mine.” Sam let out a small half laugh. “It’s hard to escape where you come from entirely, but I try.”
“Yes, but…if you don’t mind the observation…it seems like you punish yourself.”
“What? How?”
I shrugged, but kept my gaze locked on the road ahead. “By asserting that you’re the ‘fun dad who isn’t fun during the holidays.’ ”
“Hey, that part is true.”
“Is it? Or is it a role you play to make sure you don’t repeat your parents’ mistakes?” I immediately clasped my right hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. That was too bold. I shouldn’t have said that.”