As the clock's hands approached 5 pm, I arrived at the charming enclave of Pop Dina restaurant, my steps measured and my mind a whirlwind of contemplation. I had painstakingly sifted through an array of words, carefully constructing phrases to encapsulate the sentiments I wished to convey.
Yet, like a puzzle missing its final piece, the perfect arrangement remained just beyond my grasp. With a sense of trepidation and resolve, I embraced a more spontaneous approach, entrusting the ambient backdrop of the bustling eatery to shield our conversation from undue emotional turbulence – a storm that had increasingly frequented my recent encounters.
This culinary gem had etched its way into the annals of our shared experiences during one of Dale's midday respites. A period marked not just by the typical pause in his work routine, but by a juncture when my penchant for gastronomic exploration surpassed his own.
While Dale's palate veered decidedly towards the familiarity of takeout Chinese fare, he did display a glimmer of curiosity, a willingness to venture beyond his culinary comfort zone – a characteristic strikingly absent in Josiah. Regrettably, the frequency of our visits dwindled as Josiah transitioned into a fixture of our lunchtime tableau, a shift that subtly altered the fabric of our companionship.
With an order already placed for pho noodles and spring rolls, a tangible sense of mutual apprehension hung in the air. As I settled with our lemonades, Dale made his entrance, our eyes locking before he navigated his way to me. Warm greetings were exchanged, followed by an awkward hug and subsequent seating.
Taking a moment to study him, a transformation previously overshadowed by shock and anger came to my attention. Dale now bore an uncanny resemblance to our father – stature, physique, honey-brown eyes, dark bronze skin, and finely chiseled features. The most conspicuous deviation was the tattoos adorning his biceps, a departure from the concealed ink I was accustomed to. However, the ink wasn't the reason behind this newfound resemblance to Dad.
Interrupting my contemplation, Dale began to speak. He admitted, "I should have disclosed the truth about your mom. My silence was rooted in the belief that ignorance was kinder. Yet, your pursuit of clarity is justified. This isn't about my emotions or Dad's; it's about your needs. I'm ready to address any queries you may have, a gesture to demonstrate my remorse."
Seated in reflection, the food's arrival hardly registered, and my focus was now squarely on Dale's unexpected willingness to open up. A first, indeed. Initially braced for an adversarial confrontation, my thirst for answers – the why, the understanding – shifted toward a longing for normalcy.
A sigh later, I finally said, "I have no questions."
Though our meal lay before us, my appetite for sustenance had been supplanted by a newfound appetite for closure. Astonished by Dale's vulnerability, I acknowledged his genuine intent to bridge the divide.
"I don't wish to dwell on the past any longer," I affirmed, meeting his wary gaze. "Understanding might forever elude us, and that's okay. I understand that your intentions were never to hurt me. So, I forgive you. Let's forge ahead."
His scrutiny lingered, a veil of contemplation shrouding his demeanor.
"Shall we indulge in our meal now? Hunger gnaws at me," I suggested with a nervous smile, uneasy about the lingering tension.
A reciprocal smile finally graced Dale's lips.
"Indeed, please. It warms my heart to see you nourish yourself."
A teasing remark escaped me, "Already resorting to critiques, are we?"
Drawing another deep breath, he chuckled softly, prompting my own laughter. "I jest," I reassured, acknowledging the weight of our shared history.
"Perhaps a tad premature," he mused, embarking on a spring roll.
"Ah, but I couldn't resist," I countered, my playful tone prevailing.
He paused to savor the bite, and I seized the opportunity to jest, "I must maintain appearances, you know. Everyone's been showering me with compliments."
To that, he responded, "You've always held beauty in my eyes. However, your well-being matters most."
Confidence radiated from me, as I affirmed, "And I feel absolutely fantastic."
"Is the pursuit of weight loss ongoing?"
"No more weight loss goals for me – just maintenance."
"Excellent."
As our meal progressed, conversations flowed. I shared insights about my career and recent cohabitation with Caroline. In turn, Dale illuminated me about his new living situation with his girlfriend.
My curiosity piqued, and I inquired, "How did you two cross paths?"
Amusement danced in his eyes as he confessed, "She served as my anger management counselor." Recognition dawned upon me – the shifts I'd noticed in him, the serene demeanor, and a certain familiar resemblance – all traced back to his journey through anger management, a metamorphosis akin to our father's transition from rebelliousness.
"No way, seriously? Did you see a therapist? And you're dating your therapist?" I whispered, my voice hushed to avoid attracting attention.
"Sort of. Therapy wasn't exactly effective for me, but that's how we crossed paths," he responded.
I tried to process this revelation. "What led you to seek therapy in the first place?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.
"Josiah didn't mention it to you?" Dale inquired.
I shook my head. Our understanding was clear – we didn't discuss Dale when we weren't on speaking terms. Even now, Josiah remained reticent about Dale, insisting that I initiate contact with him.
"After everything that happened, and when you moved back to California, I just lost control… at work," Dale explained, revealing a side of him I hadn't seen before.
I gasped, genuinely taken aback. Dale was known for his temper, but it usually took quite a bit to push him over the edge, especially at his job. "Dale, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't blame yourself. This anger has been simmering within me for a long time. I needed help dealing with it. Remember William?" Dale prompted.
I nodded. William was the owner of the company where both Josiah and Dale were employed. Their connection stemmed from their shared background in the air force.
"He gave me a second chance, but on the condition that I attend anger management. It didn't really do much for me," he admitted, shaking his head. "I was acting like a jerk. I'm surprised Jenna didn't kick me out. I eventually quit anger management on my own. I was arguing with William about it, ready to quit my job altogether, but he didn't let me."
I nodded, urging him to continue.
"He realized that traditional anger management wasn't the solution for me, but talking things through with him was. So, we started having weekly conversations. I hadn't realized how much I'd been suppressing about Dad, Mom, exes, and even you. Sharing it and confronting it helped immensely. It inspired me to work on my relationships. I eventually apologized to Jenna, and she sent me some strategies to manage my anger via email. That's how our connection deepened, and now we're living together," he concluded.
His emotional journey hit me hard. While he'd been navigating this challenging path, I had been pushing him away in anger. "Dale, I'm so proud of you. And I'm sorry for being so difficult…" My voice wavered with emotion.
"Hey, don't worry about it. I never expected things to change overnight. I'm committed to putting in the effort if you're willing," he reassured.
"I'm willing. Can I give you a real hug now?" I asked, feeling a genuine need to embrace him.
He stood up swiftly, and I followed suit, enfolding him in a tight hug. Dale wasn't typically one for hugs, much like Dad, but this embrace radiated warmth and security. Tears welled up in my eyes, emotions spilling over.
"None of that," he gently chided as he pulled away, his eyes catching my tears.
"You're right. We're supposed to be okay now," I replied, smiling through my tears. We exited the restaurant, a newfound sense of unity palpable between us.
"I understand… it's just that I've missed you so much," I admitted.
His gaze softened, but he shifted the topic. "I hate to disrupt our newfound peace, but there's something I need to say."
I looked up at him, concern evident in my expression. "Go ahead…"
"I believe… no, I know, you need help. Not just with dealing with Dad and Mom, but also with Perez," he asserted.
I shook my head, reluctant to delve into that topic. Ever.
"You're not okay," he countered gently. "The fact that you blame yourself for any of that tells me that you're not okay. I wish you could open up to me about it, but I'm not in a place where I can handle the details. I don't know if I ever will be," he admitted.
I averted my gaze, grappling with my emotions.
"Just consider it, okay?" he suggested, his voice tinged with concern.
I nodded, and he embraced me once more. His phone chimed, prompting him to check it. "So, who's going to break the news to Josiah?" he asked, shifting the conversation.
"Was that him?" I inquired, surprised. I hadn't received any messages from Josiah all week.
"Let's not… how about we just plan to meet up for lunch next week?" I suggested with a hopeful smile, eager to focus on the present moment I was having.