Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Ditto,” Cameron says, his brow arched, begging me to not make him say it.
The old me would’ve teased him about that, would’ve poked and prodded until he said it or more likely, said he hated me, and I would’ve taken it as a confirmation that I was right all along… that they don’t want me in the family. But that’s not who I am, not who I’ve been for a long time, so I nod. “Ditto too, man. Love you, Kayla.”
It feels like a fresh start with two of my siblings, at least, but I know Kayla will have the rest of the boys on a group call before she pulls out of my driveway to let them know that we’re good now. So, in effect, it’s fixing one problem. There’s still a much bigger one to deal with, though.
“I’m gonna fix things with Mom and Dad. I just don’t know what to say,” I confess.
“Start with ‘sorry for thinking you’re a cheating whore, Mom’ and go from there,” Cameron suggests.
“Maybe don’t phrase it like that,” Kayla recommends, smacking Cameron again with the addition of an ‘act right’ glare worthy of Mom.
“I’m not that stupid,” I tell her, but at her look of challenge, I have to admit that they would have no way of knowing that. Especially after my behavior last night where I very much did unthinkingly call Mom that in a roundabout way.
“Start with I’m sorry and go from there. Be open and honest like you were with us. They love you, Kyle. They want to fix this too.”
I sincerely hope she’s right.
I ring the doorbell of my childhood home and Ira answers the door. “Kyle, good to see you.” He looks past me, probably checking to see how much yard I destroyed with my motorcycle this time. But I drove my truck, and I don’t think I’ll do that again. I’m leaving childish antics behind and growing up, starting now.
“Thanks, you too. Mom and Dad around?”
“In Charles’s office. Please knock. They’ve been in discussions all morning.”
Discussions.
The word comes back to me, and I can’t believe I forgot it. Mom and Dad used to say they had something important to discuss and would disappear together for a little while. My brothers would teasingly tell me they were talking about giving me to another family, but for a while, I thought there was a kernel of truth in the joke. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that was my parents’ code word for sex.
I don’t think Ira’s talking about the same thing, though. I imagine my parents are actually talking… probably about me, and maybe about giving me to another family for real this time.
Still, I knock three times on the door, just in case.
“Come in,” Dad’s voice calls out.
I take a steadying breath and open the door. Mom and Dad are curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, her legs stretched out long over Dad’s lap. He’s got the folded-up newspaper laid on top of her thighs and a pen in his hand. They’re doing the crossword puzzle together, another thing I’d forgotten they like to do.
They both glance at me. Mom’s eyes are pink and puffy like she’s been crying. Dad looks ready to throttle me where I stand.
I’ve never felt like the disappointed glares and lectures I’ve received, many in this very room, were as warranted as they are now, but this time, I’m not the wayward kid who fucked up and doesn’t give a shit. I’m the man who hurt the people I care about and who needs to make amends.
“Can we talk?” I ask, knowing full well that if they kick me out, it will be justified.
Dad narrows his eyes but ultimately flicks them toward the chair across from them, silently giving me permission to sit. It’s not much, but I take it, appreciative that he’s willing to talk.
I sit, my hands clasped between my spread knees, and look from Mom to Dad and back. “First, I want to say that I’m sorry. There is no excuse for my accusations or the way I blew up like that. I apologize.”
Dad’s grinding his teeth so hard that I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking, but Mom sniffles, fresh tears tracking slowly down her face as she brokenly asks, “What would ever make you think something that awful?”
I stare at my hands, picking at my cuticles. “I don’t know. I overheard what you were saying about Dad being gone, and Anders being here, and in my fucked-up mind, it clicked together like puzzle pieces, but I wasn’t thinking about… you. I was only thinking about myself.” I trail off, not able to adequately explain what seems so outlandish now.
“And me,” Dad corrects. “You were thinking I would willfully and knowingly choose to parent my children differently, to the detriment of one over the rest.”