Free Right Moves by Ava McKnight

electric energy, so I didn’t cower in the corner as I was typically prone to do when facing my father. I’d always let him railroad me. I’d always let him convince me he knew best and that I was just a kid who didn’t know any better.
    Those days were long gone.
    I took several steps forward and said, “It’s nice to see you, Dad.”
    “Is there some sort of emergency, Claire? Is something wrong?”
    I wasn’t surprised he’d venture down this path—it wasn’t like I visited him regularly and I certainly didn’t call him on a routine basis. I’d given up on that years ago when all I ever got was Candace or his voicemail.
    The concern that flashed in his dark-green eyes, however, made me quickly put his mind at ease. “No emergency,” I said. “Everything’s fine. Great, in fact. I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m only here one night and I didn’t want to risk a brush-off.”
    “I’m very busy,” he said in a defensive tone, which softened instantly as he added, “But of course, it’s wonderful to see you. You look beautiful.”
    This seemed to choke him up, which surprised me. My father had stopped showing any sort of emotion after my mother had left.
    I took a few more steps toward him, these ones a bit tentative. “Thanks,” I said. “You look great too.” He did. My father had always been dashing and refined. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why my mother had left him. He’d even had a compassionate nature when we’d been a happy little family. And his generosity knew no bounds. There’d been nothing he’d deny either one of us. Why on earth she’d thought she needed more than him was beyond me. Before he’d closed himself off emotionally, he’d been very giving of his love and affection.
    I wondered now if that was the problem. Had he posed no challenge for her and she’d therefore grown tired of him?
    The thought of Jack’s personality and the distinct similarities between him and my father flashed in my mind. In that instant, I knew the villain in this scenario was not my father. It was most definitely my mother.
    I could never grow tired of Jack, and if by some extreme and bizarre twist of fate I did, I would be the asshole, not him. I would be the one to sell myself short.
    My mother had done just that, I decided.
    Emotion welled within me as I took those final two steps that closed the gap between my father and I. Giving him a hug clearly took him aback, but he didn’t resist or rebuff the gesture. He held me tightly and tears pooled in my eyes as it dawned on me we’d always been on the same page, yet neither one of us had been able to see the proverbial forest for the trees.
    “I love you, Dad.”
    He squeezed me tighter. “Claire-bear,” he whispered on a broken breath. “I love you too.”
    I’d always adored the nickname he’d given me, though the last time I’d heard it had been twenty-three years ago.
    When he finally released me, I held my left hand out to him and his grin made my heart soar.
    “That’s some rock,” he said, his tone still laced with emotion. “Who’s the lucky fella?”
    “Actually, I’m the lucky one. His name is Jack Reed. Have you heard of him?”
    “Heard of him?” My father laughed. “I saw him the other night on TV. An infomercial I’d caught because I couldn’t sleep.”
    “He’s amazing, Dad. He proposed a few days ago, and that’s why I’m here. I want you to walk me down the aisle at our wedding. I want you to give me away.”
    I meant that in various senses of the traditional concept. Not only did I want my father to be at my side as I made this huge transition in my life, but I wanted him to be the one to place my hand in Jack’s so that I could fully sever the painful emotional binds I’d been tied to and start fresh. With Jack.
    My dad moved away from me and sat in his big chair behind his enormous desk. His elbows rested on the arms of the chair and his fingertips pressed together in a tall steeple. He said,