My dad stops and stares at me for a moment. He remains deadly silent as he pulls out his wallet, then a piece of paper from one of the folds.
He unfolds it carefully then starts to read words that make my stomach turn. “Dear, Dad, I can’t wait to be a dad just like you. I want to have a family just like mine and?—”
“Stop. I wrote that when I was, what? Eight?”
“Yeah, eight and fucking happy. Son, you can’t tell me you haven’t always wanted these things in life. You can act like I’m being ridiculous all you want, but you’ve always hated the idea of being alone.”
“Yeah, well, things change.”
“Not like?—”
For fuck’s sake, I can’t take this anymore.
“They do. They do fucking change. They changed for me the first time Mom forgot who you were and I saw my unbreakable dad crumble.” I should stop talking, but I can’t. “I don’t want the person I love to have to go through this. I don’t want to put that on them. I don’t want to forget the person I love. I don’t want my kids to worry about possibly having it when they get older. I don’t want them to have to live so long with the memories alone.”
My dad’s face turns pale. “Dammit, Beckham. You’re not seriously saying what I think you’re saying. You don’t want a relationship because of your mother?”
When I don’t say anything, my dad tosses his cue on the table. “Go home.”
“W-what? I’m not going?—”
“Go home, Beck. I love you more than anything, and I’m saying this in the calmest way I can…but,fuck, son, go home, and don’t come visit until you figure this shit out.”
He starts to walk back in the house, like this is the end of the fucking discussion. I follow him a step behind. “Are you seriously kicking me out the house? Now? You force me to talk about this and now you’re telling me to leave? I told you I’m fine, but you can’t accept that. It’s your turn to tell me fucking why.”
My dad stops and turns back around. There’s not a hint of anger on his face, just pure hurt. “The fact that you think that your mother is a burden on me…me?”
I take a deep breath. He’s not understanding what I’m trying to say. “That’s not what I said. I just?—”
“No, listen to me. You didn’t have to say it, but the fact is that you think that’s what you’d be if this happens to you, right?”
My silence is all the response he needs.
“I’ll gladly live with every single happy memory we have. I’ll love her no matter how many days I have left without a thought or hesitation. And I’d fucking relive all of this, knowing everything I know now, I’d do it if it meant being with her and having you. Don’t rob yourself of that happiness. Your mother would hate to know you feel this way.” My unbreakable father crumples in front of me for the second time. “If she knew this is what has changed your mind… Go home. Figure this shit out.”
When he walks back into the house he doesn’t slam the door, and that somehow makes me feel worse.
“Fuck!” I shout out some frustration but it doesn’t help even a little bit.
My breath starts to feel short so I lean against the pool table. Not now. I can’t have a panic attack now.
I take slow, deep breaths, but when that seems to feel pointless I force myself into survival mode. If I’m going to have a panic attack, I can’t have it here.
I swallow every emotion. I push every thought to short tasks at hand.
Go get stuff. Get to the airport. Find a flight. Fall the fuck apart at home.
Damn, so this is rock-fucking-bottom. To make matters worse, my phone rings.
Callie’s name flashes on the screen, and I send it straight to voicemail. I’m done with today. I cannot possibly handle anything else.
Today is not the day, so if it can wait then call me tomorrow.
Callie Bear
Okay talk to you tomorrow.
Now to get back home.
