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It’s only a minute or so later that the door opens and Rhett joins me.
“Dad didn’t eat?” he asks, disapproval dripping from his words.
“I cooked. I told him the food is done. Am I supposed to force-feed him?”
Rhett ignores me and starts making him a plate, then warms it up in the microwave.
“He doesn’t need to be babied.”
“We’re his sons. He’s had a stroke.”
“He can work all day, make phone calls, yell at people and all that, but not put together some tacos?” It would be one thing if I felt he couldn’t truly do this for himself. I would do it. Or hell, if he’d asked, I would have done it too, but Rhett’s natural inclination is always to be the first to suck up to Dad, to show him how good a son he is, when our father has never cared to prove to us how good of a dad he can be.
“I should have known you wouldn’t care. You know Dad doesn’t ask for help.”
“Fixing his plate isn’t going to make him show you he loves you. It isn’t going to make him be a good dad, or tell you he’s proud of you, or treat you like an equal.”
He tries to cover it, but I see him flinch. As much as I dislike my brother, I feel sorry for him too. He’s spent his whole life following in the footsteps of a man who doesn’t deserve it, trying to make proud a man who will never be satisfied, to earn the love of someone who will never show it.
“Jesus, you’re such an asshole. I wish I’d never listened to Dad and asked you to come home.”
Dad had asked Rhett to get me home? That’s news to me, and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Is it just to get his way? Be in control? Prove that I love him? But now definitely isn’t the time for me to try and work through it. “Being an asshole seems to run in this family, and I’m here now. What do I need to know about Dad? Real stuff, not making his plate.”
Rhett pulls a pill container from the cabinet and goes over the meds he takes—blood pressure, blood thinners, on and on. They’re separated by morning and evening. He’s got a list with the bottles, explaining how to refill the container if Rosie’s not here, and what meds he takes when. He’s got it all organized in a way only Rhett can. “Dad is good about taking them most of the time, but sometimes he forgets and sometimes he gets stubborn.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not a goddamned adult.” The man in question comes into the room.
“I’m not talking about you like you’re not an adult. I’m talking to Morgan like he’s not one. I made you a plate.” Rhett takes it from the microwave and starts putting together soft tacos for him.
“I can do that myself,” Dad snaps. Rhett shakes his head and steps away.
“If Rhett hadn’t started to do that, you would have expected him to do it. But because he did, you have to find something to complain about,” I accuse. I know I’m right.
“Christ, Morgan. Don’t start,” Rhett says as if I wasn’t defending him.
“If I’m such a bad father, why are you here? We’ve been fine without you for ten years. We don’t need you now.”
The thing about him is, he wants what he doesn’t have. Rhett has always sucked up to him, so Dad would sometimes ignore him in favor of me, trying to get me to be more like Rhett, putting more pressure on me. If I’d been like Rhett, he would have moved on to Easton, or hell, maybe just given less of a shit about both of us. But he also can’t ever look like he cares or needs something. That’s likely why he asked Rhett to get me home but now pretends he doesn’t care if I’m here or not.
With a sigh, I lean my ass against the counter. “I’m trying here, Dad.” Which is more than he ever did. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
He takes his plate and limps to the table. “My damn family to be together and functioning. Is that too much to ask? No one else has to deal with the shit I do from my kids. Sit down. I want my kids to have dinner with me.”
Rhett starts making a plate, and I watch the two of them. I’m trying to figure out why they don’t seem to realize that not all Dad’s sons are here. “What about Easton? Shouldn’t we call him over?”
“Probably drunk or in jail.” Dad plops into a chair at the kitchen table.
“He’s not in jail,” Rhett says. “Officer Thorn calls me if that happens.”
“He’s an embarrassment is what he is. Your mother…it would break her heart to see him. All those tattoos. The trouble he gets into. She wanted nothing more than to bring him into the world, and this is how he repays her.”
“Hey. Don’t say that,” I warn in unison with Rhett’s, “That’s not fair, Dad.” Well, there’s one thing we agree on. At least Rhett has Easton’s back.
The truth is, Dad never got close to East. To an extent, maybe, before Ella died, but he always babied her in ways he didn’t East because she was Mom’s girl. Sometimes I feel like when she died, he started acting like we lost Easton too.
Maybe we did lose Easton that day.
“I’m going to see Easton.” I can’t sit at this table with the two of them right now.
