His dad was still looking out the window. Clarke studied his father’s profile, trying to figure out what had brought on the odd mood. He had never discussed any relationship with his father before, much less a romantic one. That his father even noticed Clarke’s ex-girlfriend or best friend was unexpected. That he commented on it was unsettling.

“You don’t like Elizabeth?” Clarke asked cautiously.

Alton waved a hand. “I like her fine.”

“But not for me.”

His father turned back to Clarke, his expression serious. “Elizabeth reminds me of your mother in many ways.”

Clarke smiled. “Probably why Mom likes her so much.”

“Yes. Probably.” Alton didn’t smile back. “And your mother in many ways reminds me of my mother.”

Clarke winced. “Jesus, Dad. You’ve got to warn a guy before you go all Oedipus complex.”

Alton leaned forward again, his expression intent, ignoring Clarke’s discomfort. “Your grandmother was not a soft woman. She had strong opinions, and she was very good at getting her way.”

“Okay?” This was hardly a surprise. Clarke’s grandmother had passed a few years ago, but he remembered her well as a fearsome, unyielding woman.

Alton looked down at his hands for a moment. “Your grandmother introduced me to your mother. Did you know that?”

“I did not.”

Alton nodded once. “She introduced us. Urged me to court her, even though I was dating someone else at the time. A pretty, sweet girl who made me laugh.”

Clarke looked up in surprise.

Alton gave a fleeting smile. “Yes, son. I know how to laugh. Or at least I used to.”

“What happened?”

Alton merely held his gaze.

“Mom happened,” Clarke said flatly.

“Your mother is a good woman. She loves you very much. She wants what’s best for you, just as my mother wanted what’s best for me.”

“But you think she’s wrong.”

Alton hesitated. “I think they were both wrong. I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to hear.”

“You forget we all lived under the same roof,” Clarke said quietly. “You don’t have to shield me from the fact that your and Mom’s relationship isn’t exactly… affectionate.”

It was an understatement, but Alton surely didn’t need his son to relay just how chilly his own marriage was. Clarke couldn’t remember his parents touching unless it was to pose for a photo, couldn’t remember them going out to dinner unless it was with another couple for networking purposes. Couldn’t remember them even talking unless it was to discuss Clarke’s grades or their social calendar or a monotone summary of their respective workdays.

“Why did you get married, then?” Clarke asked.