My phone dings, drawing my gaze down as David's voice drones on. I swipe it open quickly, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at Tyler's request. Further irritated that the boy couldn't even spare me a fucking hello. Not surprising, really. It's truly shaping up to be a shitty week.
Tyler [9:00a]: Dad, can you please send me fifteen hundred dollars? Please?
Ignoring the text, I attempt like hell to not let the correspondence ruin my meeting. I place my phone face down and resume listening to David. Pulling up a spreadsheet on my computer, I record any information that's relevant, keeping myself the picture of a person who's in charge and put together. Which I am…to a certain extent anymore, I suppose.
I clear my throat gently, pulling up another spreadsheet. "Thank you, Osterkamp.” I eye the man next to him. “What about you, Robinson?"
I move on to the next one, then the next, until I take care of all twenty employees under me.
As everyone spends the morning updating me on their work, I shake my head wearily, wishing I had something to look forward to when I get off besides texts asking for money, and a cold, empty house.
Different day, same old bullshit.
The end of the meeting is beyond disappointing; everyone's full-up, so I won't be offloading any of Sarah’s and my clients. See what I mean?
Absolute. Bull. Shit.
A [11:49a]: Tyler, please tell your mother to stop asking you for money. I won't send you any for her to take. Now, I haven’t heard from you in a while. How's your day been going?
He doesn't reply.
When I journey back to my office, I spend time looking at the gold framed photo of us that sits on my desk. It's the one of when he was ten and thought he wanted to play the cello, like me. I was so proud, and it reflected in the brightness of my smile. He's posing with the instrument, my arm around his shoulders. I looked down at him, beaming. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was so surprised and excited that he'd taken up something that I loved. I thought we could practice together, maybe be the start of us bonding. But like everything else, the cello fell by the wayside not even a year later.
Reaching forward, I turn the photo away from me so I can focus on work and not the past.
But at the end of the day, like every single day, I drive home, cook myself a simple meal and eat by myself at the breakfast table. No music today. I want to wallow in my solitude. Once I finish my meal, I wash my dishes, then head up the stairs to the room down the hallway, and push open the only door I keep closed.
His room.
I keep it just like he left it. Same dark green comforter with the planet projector on his bedside table. I walk to it and open the top drawer, seeing the raggedy stuffed animal that he used to haul with him everywhere before abandoning it when he was seven-years-old. Smiling, I pick it up in my hand and rub my thumb over the matted fur, remembering a night, twelve years ago in the winter, when he left it at the restaurant we'd had dinner at. I drove half an hour back to that restaurant that samenight in the freezing cold because I couldn't bear to see him cry himself to sleep.
I think that was the last time I felt like his hero.
That night, Hannah made love to me, telling me she was turned on by how fatherly I was, only for us to end up divorced a year later. My eyes prick, and I place the animal on his pillow before shutting the little drawer. I click on his planet lamp and take a second to marvel at the patterns it makes on his wall while I think about my life, all my regrets and choices. I didn't spend nearly as much time as I'd wanted in here. It would have been magical, snuggled up with him in bed and reading him book after book under the stars.
Truth of the matter is, I didn't even get to read him even half of the books I'd bought, and I doubt his mother did, either.
Fuck, I failed him so badly.
I scrub a hand down my face and walk to his closet where I get out his old cello before going back to his bed. Sinking to the mattress, I roughly dust off the case before unzipping it. The mahogany looks just as bright as when I’d first bought it. Contemplating change, I stare for a second before taking the rosin out of the small pouch and test it. Surprised it's still any good, I brush it over the strings and then stand it up. The bow snags a little as I play a few chords, but it still sounds decent enough for another parent to have a chance to accomplish what I couldn't.
Tightening my lips, I return it to the case, click off the lamp, and leave the bedroom, my fingers wrapped around the handle with a death grip. I'm not quite ready to let go of what could have been, but I know I need to start taking the steps to. My mental health can’t take holding on like this much longer.
Just outside the door, I turn my head slightly and allow myself a moment to grieve before meandering down the hall.
I leave his door open for the first time since he moved out.
Placing the cello in the foyer to donate, I journey to my den to turn on the fireplace and put on the television in a rare need to zone out, keeping my phone face up on the cushion next to me. Propping my feet on the table, I keep a hopeful eye on my phone and stay up an extra hour later than normal in consideration of our time difference, hoping he'll respond.
But he doesn't. He never does…really.
I shut the fireplace and television off, both my heart and soul heavy as I make my way up the stairs to the bedroom. Painfully aware it's not just a different day, it's a completely different time in my life, and maybe it's time I start coming to terms with it.
Chapter five
Same Bull
Afewhourslater,I moan, rubbing the back of my neck. I'm in so much pain that I don't even know how I'm going to be able to drive home. I had all my clients back-to-back, butthankfully I'm now out of session for the day and can focus on administrative work.
