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“Very well. As you know, your father’s health is deteriorating rapidly. The cancer has now spread to every major organ, and his doctor has assured me that your father has only a few days left in him, if that.”
“And I care why?”
My mother’s eyes widen sharply as her lips curl in annoyance.
“Because he is your father.”
“That man is nothing to me,” I snarl, trying my best to keep the awful memories at bay.
“How can you be this ungrateful? That man put a roof above your head and food in your belly. If it wasn’t for him buying all your hockey gear and sending you to those fancy hockey camps, do you really think you would be where you are today? That man made you! And this is how you thank him? By not even coming to say goodbye while he lies on his deathbed. Shame on you!”
“Shame on me? Shame on me?” I shout incredulously, feeling my whole body tremble with rage. “Shame on you, Mother!” I shout, making her balk and take a step back away from me. “That man you hold in such high regard was nothing but a bully. He made my life a living hell! Or are you really going to stand there and tell me that you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
“You’re exaggerating. Your father might have been a tad authoritarian, but a child needs that type of structure and discipline in his life.”
“Discipline? You call him breaking my arm with a bat because I left the garage light on the whole night after storing away my bicycle discipline? I was eight, Mother! That’s not discipline. That’s tyranny. That’s abuse!”
“You think I had it any better?” she retorts, eyes blazing. “Because I didn’t. I suffered under his hand as much as you did, if not more. But do you see me crying about it? No. Because he gave me a life that most women could only dream of. So stop your whining, be the man he raised you to be, and be by his side when he needs you most.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t see him. I won’t go.”
“Nathan, it is bad enough that he’s been ill for the last six months, and you haven’t shown up once at the hospital. What will people think when you won’t even come to see him in his final days? Will you miss his funeral, too? Do you hate him—or me—that much that you’d embarrass me in such a way?”
“That’s why you’re here?” I stammer, feeling tears starting to cascade down my cheeks, finally understanding why she’s come so far to see me. “Because you’re afraid of what people might think?”
“Really, Nathan, you make it out to sound like I’m making an unreasonable request.” She scoffs, unbothered by my tears. “I’ve never asked you for anything since you left us. Not one thing. The least you could do is grant me this one thing and not make me a source of gossip.”
“Gossip? Gossip?! Is that all that concerns you? Do I mean so little to you that you would come into my home demanding I stand at the bedside of a monster who made my life miserable?”
“Again with the dramatics.” She rolls her eyes. “Next thing, you’ll be blaming me for your father’s actions.”
“I do blame you! You were my mother! You should have protected me. But instead, you preferred to turn a blind eye to his sadistic ways and pretend like we were a normal, happy family. But we were never normal, Mom. And we sure as shit were never happy. Having a sock shoved into your mouth while your father kicks the living shit out of you is not normal! Because of you, I am not normal!”
“Me? What did I do?” She has the gall to act offended.
“That’s just it! You did nothing! You did absolutely fucking nothing! I was your son! Your own flesh and blood, and you just let that monster loose on me without even batting an eye!”
My tears are free-flowing now, my body shaking so hard it’s a miracle that I’m still standing straight.
“And who was there for me?” she accuses with a deep-rooted scowl. “No one. And I survived just fine. And from the looks of it, so have you. Leave the past exactly where it is, Nathan. It’s done and over with.”
I’m in such shock at how easily she’s able to sweep years of torture under the rug that I don’t even see Lottie walk past me to stand toe to toe with my mother.
“Is that all you have to say to him? Your son is visibly hurting in front of you, and that’s all you say? ‘Leave the past where it is?’” Lottie asks, unable to hide her disgust.
“This is a family affair, girl. I suggest you stay out of it,” my mother counters, throwing another distasteful glower at her.
“Lady, from what I heard, you don’t know what the word family even means,” Lottie rebukes. “And frankly, I don’t think you ever will. So, if it’s all the same to you, I think you’re done here.”
“Excuse me?” my mother utters, insulted.
“You heard me. You’re done here. Get the hell out of our house!” Lottie orders with her head held high.
“And who are you to make such demands?”
“I’m your son’s real family, and unlike you, I will do everything to protect him.”
When my mother’s gaze slants at my girl, refusing to budge, Lottie takes matters into her own hands—she grabs my mother by the arm and pulls her towards the door as she protests all the way.
