My Favourite Part

43: damned if you do

Under his father's passive yet probing stare, Eric tried to will away his lingering hangover headache with a tight squeeze of his eyes, and recall the last question he had been asked. To no avail, unfortunately.

"Sorry, Dad," Eric squeezed his eyes open and shut once more, "what did you say just now?"

Jono breathed a deep sigh that made his slender chest rise visibly under his crisp white shirt. A crease formed between his sparse silver brows.

"I asked if you were alright, Aubs."

"Oh, right. I'm uh, yeah, I'm fine. Are you?"

When the dry quiver of Eric's 'fine' gave him away, Jono sat back in his lounger with a pensive finger to his thin lips. Despite his son's attempt to mask all emotion, it was apparent that he had slowly but certainly begun a descent into sinking dread from the moment he heard the news.

'The news' in question had taken a twisty route to arrive. It had been told to Kitty by Evangeline (presumably in confidence), then to Jono by Kitty (under the condition that he wouldn't tell Eric), then to Eric by Jono, who saw no use in secrecy and was a frank man by nature.

When he relayed the conversation to his hungover son, he watched him slowly sober, and travel from bewilderment to plain rage to this less recognisable state, somewhere in between panic and perplexity.

In Eric's mind, nothing was much clearer. As outraged as he was by his mother's 'follow the line' drivel, the revelation that Evangeline wanted to study Music and Philosophy in Dublin stirred something much more important in him.

How could he have been so blind, letting the signs pass him by? When she listed only four schools she applied to instead of five; when she was 'just faffing about' on his piano, but managed to play the most charming melodies; when she spoke, dreamy-eyed and intelligent, about intangible notions of truth, conscience, knowledge - why didn't he see her untold desire? Why didn't she tell him about it?

That particular 'why' made bile rise in Eric's stomach. Consciously or not, he knew the answer. He could see it in Evie's adoring gaze, and hear it in her nonchalant proposal that she might not even go to university at all.

Love. Their love, in particular.

"I've gotta talk to her," he spoke suddenly, pulling his phone from his pocket, "I need to talk to her and tell her, tell her..." He stopped short, his frantic movements stilling.

Jono sat forward again, as careful with his movements as he intended to be with his words. "Tell her...?"

Eric huffed in irritation. It was obvious what he needed to say, wasn't it?

"I'll tell her she has to go to Dublin."

"Why?"

"Because it's what she wants."

"Did she tell you that herself?"

"Well, no, but-"

"And what if she says she won't?" Jono crossed his arms with an air of pompous wisdom.

"Aubs," he began, "if there's one thing I've learned in all my years with your mother, it's that you should never tell a woman what's best for her. Whether or not you're the reason, Evangeline's made the decision not to go to Dublin. Who are you to tell her she 'has to'?"

A tycoon before all else, Jono had accordingly given his son guidance that wore the slick, questionable charm of business advice. Sliding down into his chair, Eric considered his father's words.

If he was to stand back and let Evie's decision be entirely her own, he knew what she would do. She would stay in London, even for Thursdays alone, forsaking Dublin and all the what-ifs that went with it. Would he be to blame for that? For denying her her what-ifs?