My father, Troy, on the other hand, is far more reserved, preferring to keep to himself and speaking only when absolutely necessary, or when he’s had far too many beers.He was never abusive or neglectful—he was a hard worker who provided for our family the best way he could, but he wasn’t much of a role model either.
I grew up watching my parents argue constantly, so often that the neighbours would call the cops because the fights were so loud and aggressive it sounded like they were on the verge of killing each other. They never did anything romantic—no flowers, no anniversary dates, no gifts or even physical affection. They lived more like rivals than an actual married couple.
My mother was the worst. She found great pleasure in belittling my dad in front of family and friends every chance she got, making him out to be a lousy, useless husband and father. And when the arguments got so bad, the whole household would be so on edge that my brother and I would often leave early just to escape the tension.
My dad would disappear for long stretches of the day, while my mother isolated herself in her bedroom or in the living room, drowning her pain in alcohol, even if the relief was temporary.
To this day, I still don’t understand why they remain together. My brother, Dylan and I aren’t children anymore. There’s nothing tying them down to this place. Sometimes I wish they’d just divorce and find happiness elsewhere, because it hurts to watch them slowly waste away and lose themselves in a marriage that’s always been empty and loveless.
I climb out of the car, grabbing my phone and keys, and lock the door behind me. As I reach the front door, I knocktwice before the door swings open. My mother stands at the threshold, still in her nightrobe at one in the afternoon, looking small, frail, and exhausted.
She’s always been a beautiful woman, with her blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and petite figure. She was the youngest daughter of my father’s boss, my late grandfather, Carl. And her parents were devout Christians, who were strongly against having children out of wedlock. So when they discovered she was pregnant with me, they practically forced my parents to marry as soon as they could.
“Kaden! What a surprise,” she rasps, her voice rough and strained, probably from all the drinking and smoking.
“Hey, Ma. Thought I’d pop by for a visit. Dad home?”
She groans, like she always does at the mere mention of my father. “He’s somewhere in the house… who knows? Come in, and shut the door behind you, will ya?” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
I step inside, making sure to lock the door, and follow my mother into the living room. She settles in her usual armchair, some TV game show playing in the background. I sit on the couch opposite her, my eyes searching the room for my dad, but I can neither see or hear him.
He’s probably out in the shed, like always.
“How’s my boy?” she asks as she takes a loud sip from her coffee mug.
“I’m fine. Still eating. Still sleeping. Still working. Still breathing.”
“Good. I’m happy to hear that.”
“And how are you and Dad?”
“Oh, the usual. My arthritis won’t stop flaring up, and I think your father’s starting to lose his mind.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“He keeps wanting us to leave the house and go for walks together. Says we should start being more active and healthier now that we’re getting older.”
“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing?”
“Are you kidding? Since when has he ever cared about my health and wellbeing?”
“Mum, that’s not true. Otherwise, he probably would’ve killed you by now.”
She huffs. “As if that man can commit a crime. He’s the biggest coward I’ve ever met.”
“For fuck’s sake—that’s my dad you’re talking about. Would it really hurt to show a little kindness towards your husband every now and then?”
She rolls her eyes and huffs again, like a stubborn, immature child. “I’m still married to him, aren’t I? Isn’t that kindness enough?”
“You know what? Just forget about it.”
My mother and I have never been the kind to share warm, easy conversations. Everything between us has always felt a little forced, occasionally awkward, and sometimes edged with tension, nothing that ever came naturally between a mother and her child.
It was even worse when I was married to Skylar. Not only was she openly rude to her, but her need to meddlein our relationship was just downright exhausting. I can’t even blame my ex-wife for not wanting to being around her. Susan Grant is the perfect definition of a monster-in-law.
“Anyway, have you heard from your brother lately?”
“No. I rarely hear from him these days.”
