The last week had been awkward, to put it mildly. But Dad and I were used to that. It was a pattern we’d perfected. We’d have a blowout and we wouldn’t talk for a couple of days. Then silence would turn to “Pass the salt,” and by the end of the week, we’d be shouting answers at a game show together. It’s not like in the movies where you storm out and never speak again or you have a huge meaningful conversation and work it all out. You just get on with it until it isn’t so raw anymore.

He really pulled out all the stops for dinner, as much as was possible for him anyway. He was in the living/dining room lighting candles on the table when I went downstairs.

“This is false advertising, you know,” I told him, kneading my thumb into a scar on the palm of my hand. A nervous habit. Not that I was nervous about anything. “Is this woman marrying you because she thinks you do things like light candles and use napkins?” I lifted a Halloween-themed napkin with black cats on it from the table and turned it over in my hand. Dad laughed and it sounded grateful. I don’t know why I was humoring him, but it might have had something to do with the gnawing feeling in my stomach that had kept me up all night. I guess I felt bad about what I’d said. I mean, it was one hundred percent true, but the look on his face when I said it kept popping into my head.

It’s hard to hate someone and love them at the same time.

The doorbell rang and Dad froze mid-fussing with a vase of flowers.

“Be nice,” he said, eyes narrowing.

I gave him my biggest, fakest grin. “I’m always nice.”

My face contorted into pursed lips when he wasn’t looking. I’d thought about it a lot and I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop him getting married and what would be the point even if I could? It wouldn’t make him love Mum again. This wasn’t going to play out like some dementia version of The Parent Trap. Besides, it was only a matter of time before this marriage went tits up too. That didn’t mean I liked it, but I only had to get through it for the summer.