“It's my dad's birthday.”
The words fall between us, heavy with meaning I don't yet understand.
“Oh,” I say, because I don't know what else to say. “Did you... call him?”
Troy's laugh is hollow. “No. He tried to call me but…it’s complicated between us.”
“Complicated how?”
God, how I wish I had a Dad to have a complicated relationship with. My mom never told me who my father is, and I reckon that’s for a good reason. If he’s anything like the guys she’s been with since, he’s not going to be much to rely on.
He sighs, taking a left turn toward my neighborhood. “Well, we don’t exactly get along. I try for my sister’s sake but…I can’t forgive him. He put us through a lot of shit when he left.”
The bitterness in his voice surprises me. I've never heard Troy sound like this—raw, angry, exposed.
“I didn't know your parents were divorced,” I say carefully.
“They’re not, not really. When I was nine, he left us,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “He wanted to go explore other options but keep his option of home open.”
I wait, sensing there's more. I'm not used to this—to sitting in silence, letting someone else fill it. Usually, I'm the one trying to escape conversations, not extend them.
“He left,” Troy continues, his voice quieter now. “Just... disappeared for a while. Told my mom he needed to 'find himself,' whatever the hell that means. While he was busyfinding himself, I was busy trying to keepeverythingfrom falling apart at home. I remember my mom said to me one day after he left, “Troy, I can’t raise Tara alone. She’s got so much energy. Can you help me? Please? Will you look after us?” and I promised her that I always would. Which is why when he swanned back into our lives, I found it so hard to forgive him. Why I find it hard to say happy birthday to the asshole who made my mom cry every day for a year.”
I think about what that must have been like for him. Nine years old. Taking care of his mom, his sister. Having to be the man of the house when he was just a kid himself.
“That's a lot to put on a child,” I say softly.
Troy's jaw tightens. “It was what it was. Mom needed help. Tara was too young to understand, so I stepped up.”
He pauses, then exhales, voice lower.
“Well—she’s not that much younger. But she’s… she’s special. Always has been. She’s got this heart of gold, and Mom and I?—”
He rubs the back of his neck. “We both agreed we wanted to keep it that way. We made some mistakes trying to protect Tar, but she turned out ok so I don't regret it.”
We pull onto my street,and I find myself wishing we had further to go. For once, I don't want this conversation to end.
“What sort of mistakes?”
“We told Tara he was on business trips,” he continues. “Made up stories about where he was, what he was doing. Made excuses for why he missed her birthday, Christmas, everything.”
“So she wouldn't know he left?”
He nods. “Mom thought it would be easier that way. And maybe it was, for Tara. But still I knew the truth. I had tolisten to Mom cry herself to sleep every night. Had to watch her check her phone constantly, hoping he'd call.”
My chest tightens. I know what that's like—the waiting, the hoping, the inevitable disappointment.
“When did he come back?” I ask.
Troy parks in front of my building, killing the engine. “When I was sixteen. Waltzed back in like nothing happened, talking about how he'd 'changed' and 'found clarity.'” The sarcasm drips from his voice. “Mom took him back. Tara was thrilled.”
“And you?”
He turns to look at me, his eyes reflecting the streetlight. “I never trusted him again. But I pretended to, for them. I smiled and nodded and acted like everything was great. But I watched him, all the time, waiting for him to leave again.”
“Did he?”
“Not yet, but how can I ever know that for sure? It's why I found it so hard when Tara got with Alfie, my best friend, over summer. I just…I don't know how to not look out for her. I can't watch another guy let her down.”
