Landon fidgets nervously at the wheel, which only heightens my anxiety. When Landon came into the living room with a forlorn look on his face, I thought he wanted to talk to me about a divorce. After all, that was the agreement made between him and my father. So, when he grudgingly told me we had to go to dinner with his father, I did not know what to feel.

At first, I was relieved. Another day that we tiptoed around that dreaded conversation. But Landon’s behavior all day has caused me to be anxious. What is his father like? I try to think back to any interactions I had with him at the wedding. I remember he was the spitting image of Landon, or I guess Landon was the spitting image of him. Landon is taller though and more muscular.

I remember Landon’s father came to our table very briefly to congratulate us. It was all very formal and stiff. But I just wrote that off as contempt toward me and my family. It was no secret that my father was not a well-liked businessman.

When Landon starts finger-tapping out a tune on the steering wheel, I snap, “Stop it, Landon! You’re making me nervous.” Cahal stir at my raised voice but luckily stays asleep.

“What? What did I do?” he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

“You’re fidgeting, and you have been acting strange all day,” I say.

“I’m not fidgeting. I’m driving,” he says in denial.

“You are fidgeting, and it is making me nervous. Are you…is it because of me?”

“What do you mean?” Landon asks, glancing at me quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

“I mean, he is your father, and I’m… Well, our marriage wasn’t exactly conventional, and you never really talked about your family before I just thought…” I trail off.

“You thought what?”

I shrug, but Landon just gives me his stubborn look that told me he is not going to let it go. “I don’t know, embarrassed of me or ashamed.” I mumble the last word under my breath.

Landon suddenly pulls over and slams to a stop. I let out a squeak as I get tousled in my seat. He puts the car in park before he turns his body toward me, giving me his undivided attention.

He reach across the console and takes my hand. “I am not, nor have I ever been, embarrassed or ashamed of you,” he says. His eyes stare into mine, and they are filled with sincerity.

My eyes water, so I nervously turn my face away. “Okay…um…good to know.”

I clear my throat of the raspy sound. “So if it’s not about me, then why are you acting so strange?” I ask, meeting his eyes again.

He exhales a long sigh. “I’m acting strange because my father and I…we don’t get along.”