The fragrance of ginger, hot chili, and fresh mint fills his nose and his apartment. Danny pulls the cork from the bottle of wine and tries to sneak a peek at what's happening on the stove.
"Ugh, get. Go. I told you I'm no good at this if you hover." Mindy swats him away. Her face is pulled in a way that looks exactly like her mid-surgery-level-concentration face. And it's adorable. He kisses the side of her neck and it makes her momentarily forget to continue pushing him out of the kitchen. Her skin tastes like the lemon she just juiced.
She sways into him and he tosses the corkscrew, cork still threaded on it, onto the counter so he can loop his arms around her waist. "Tell me what we're having again."
"It's called Murgh Makhanwala."
"Yeah, you told me that. But what is it?"
"It's basically chicken in a savory tomato sauce. Although there's clearly nothing basic about it. There's like five million different steps and ingredients. How did my mother come in after work and make this every Tuesday night?"
"Mom's are good like that. I think it's 'cause they do it all the time." Danny draws his hands over her stomach and places a kiss behind her ear. "This is good practice. You'll have to get faster whenever we have a kid."
Mindy turns her face into his neck and he can feel her eyelashes against his skin when she blinks. His gaze falls to the counter and the mess strewn everywhere, and Danny wouldn't mind doing this every Tuesday night. Only -
"Min, that seems like a awful lot of butter. Are you sure you've got the amount right?"
"It literally means Butter Chicken. Okay, out. Stop distracting me with your mouth and your words. Scram." She pushes him away, but not before he steals another kiss. "Go pour the wine."
He's pulling the stemware from the cupboard when his phone rings.
"Hey, Richie," he answers.
"Hey, bro. How are you?"
"Good." Danny wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear while he pours the wine then hands Mindy her glass. "I'm good. You?"
"Great. We're about to leave for a booze cruise for the night."
"Sounds like fun." And it does, in a way. Though nothing sounds more appealing right now than the wine in his hand and the woman in his kitchen.
"What are you up to tonight?"
"Staying in. Mindy's making -" he drops the phone away from his mouth. "What is it called again?"
"Murgh Makhanwala."
"Right," he pushes the phone back. "Mindy's making Murgh Makhanwala."
"Oh, God. I haven't had that since the good Indian place off Dade Boulevard closed. Ask her if she'll make it next time I'm home."
"She'll make it. She's having to practice." Mindy throws the dishtowel at his face. He misses the towel but catches her smile.
"That's awesome, I appreciate it." The line goes quiet and Danny's about to check if the call got disconnected. "Listen. I uh, I talked to Dad."
Danny's stomach tightens against his will. "Okay..."
"He said he got a letter from you?"
It's been six weeks since Danny had Mindy read the letter he wrote to his father. Six weeks since they stayed up until 3:00am talking about their childhoods and crying and making promises to each other to be good parents. He had taken a deep breath and mailed it the next day.
Danny grits his teeth. "Yeah, I sent him a letter a while back."
"You must have said a lot of heavy stuff in there." Richie's voice is soft and it's the only thing that keeps Danny from ripping into that comment.
"There was a lot of heavy stuff to talk about, Rich. And you were the one who told me to go to therapy and get all this off my chest."
"No, Danny, I know. I wasn't saying anything about it. I'm glad you finally told him how you feel. And you know - all of it, not just the surface stuff."
"Okay, yeah. Good."
"I wanted to tell you he got it. In case you were wondering. He seemed a little - I don't know - freaked about it or something. I don't think he knew how to take it."
"Well that's his fucking problem."
"Totally. I just - I got the feeling he wasn't going to be talking to you about it anytime soon. And I didn't want you wondering. I thought you should know."
"Thanks."
"How does it feel putting it all out there?"
Danny scratches a hand into his hair and looks up, catching Mindy watching him. She gives him a little closed-lipped smile before going back to grating cucumber. "Honestly, it feels pretty damn good, man."
Once winter comes Danny realizes just how drafty Dr. Franklin's office is. There are gaps in the mortar and there's enough cold air bleeding in from the original leaded glass windows it's making the hair on his arm dance. It makes him wish the fireplace wasn't bricked-in.
"I talked to my dad a few nights ago."
"How did that go?"
Danny shoves both his hands under his thighs to keep them warm. "It went the way it's been going. He answered, said he was fine when I asked, and then immediately gave the phone to my sister."
"Has he still not said anything about the letter?" Dr. Franklin asks.
"No. Not to me, anyway." Danny tries not to sound bitter.
"Why do you think that is?"
He scoffs and this time doesn't even try to censor how it sounds. "Because he's a chickenshit. It's the same reason why he left. He doesn't know how to be a man."
She jots something on her pad and he hopes she's writing that down, word for word. It should be a helpful key: Alan Castellano = Chickenshit/Not A Man
"Do you want to talk to him about it?"
"Yes. Or - not really. But some acknowledgement would be nice. Why can he talk to Richie about it and not me?"
"Maybe he's scared of what you'll say."
"He should be. I told you, he's a coward."
"Okay. Danny, let me ask you something. And I want you to think about it before you answer. Why do you want to have a relationship with this man?"
He doesn't. That's his answer. He doesn't want to have a relationship with a man who could abandon him and his kid brother and then go off and start another family like it never happened. Like they never happened.
"I don't," he finally mumbles.
"Do you mean that, honestly?"
He's pissed to find a few tears dripping down to his chin and he swipes at them. "Yeah. I do. I don't need him in my life, and I haven't for a long time. And there was a little while where I thought maybe I wanted him to be a part of my life, but -" he shrugs. "I think it was more about what you've said before, about validation. It was more about that than it was him. You know?"
"Yeah, I do." Dr. Franklin clicks her pen over and over before sighing and leaning all the way back in the chair, her hair a dark halo against the leather of the sleek wingback. "Don't do it, then."
"What?"
"If you truly feel that way, then don't put yourself under pressure to build a relationship with him."
It's his dad, though. Regardless of if he likes it or not, Danny's got a half-sister and a whole side to his family that's new. "Shouldn't I at least try?"
"Isn't that what you have been doing? Listen, I don't want you to misunderstand what I'm saying. It would be good if you could communicate with your father. For both of you. And I'm not saying that I think you should put away the idea or write him off. All I'm saying is, you've done your part."
Danny nods his head in half-hearted agreement, picking at the seem of his jeans. It doesn't feel like he's done enough if nothing's fixed.
"You can't force your father into being a better person or take responsibility for him not making an effort now, no more than you can fault yourself for him leaving in the first place. You told him how you felt and you were honest. And you've left those channels of communication open. It's enough. Danny, it's time to stop feeling guilty about your dad's shortcomings."
"Yeah?" his throat is rough, closed up, and he has to clear it before he can continue. "How do I do that, Doc?"
She chuckles. "Time. And therapy."
Notes:
There has been such an amazing outpouring of love and support for this story. I am overwhelmed. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.