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I wince when he says that, my heart sinking when I realize that Ken’s apologies aren’t going to be the bridge or olive branch I thought they were going to be. Just more empty platitudes.
“But I think if we try again, perhaps we can find some solid footing for all of us,” he continues, unaware of my discomfort. “I’ve talked to Linda and she feels…badly about how things went last night. Maybe we could see about you meeting the boys, too.”
Then he gives me a soft smile as if what he’s said is in any way enough.
“What do you say?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to sort through the millions of words racing through my mind right now. I’m angry, and it feels like this might be my only chance to ever tell Ken how I really feel.
“What I say is…absolutely not.”
His smile slips away, and I can tell he wants to convince me otherwise, so I hold my own hand up, wanting him to stay silent. He got his turn. Now it’s mine.
“First of all, there are a handful of things you could have done when you came over here. You could have apologized sincerely for the way your wife treated me. You could have taken the time to explain what happened between you and mom, and you and Linda, that even built up Linda’s resentment in the first place. You could have been honest about why you invited me out and then went on a business trip.”
I pause, watching as the guilt on Ken’s face grows.
“But you did none of those things. You came in here with completely insincere, vague apologies that sweep every possible frustration and letdown of my life into one lump. You’re sorry you weren’t there for me? Since when? With what actions have you ever indicated that statement is true? You weren’t just not there for me. You abandoned me—without a backward glance, without a phone call or a fucking letter. Look at this life you live, Ken,” I say, waving my arms out. “The wealth you have. Not only did you abandon me, you left me behind without a care as to what happened to me when you left. My mother worked her ass off to provide for us. Three jobs, long nights and weekends and holidays, and we still had long stretches where we slept on people’s couches or had to get food stamps. I don’t need a fucking private snowboard instructor, but not having to use local food banks would have been nice.”
Ken looks down at his hands, the coward unable to look me in the eyes while I flay myself bare.
“And then you want me to understand what this is like for Linda because of the way things are between you two. As if my pain doesn’t matter because you were having such a hard time fucking two women. Excuse me for not understanding how hard it was for you, and screw you for calling me an unintended casualty, as if I’m roadkill. Your actions may have only been intended for my mother, but you knew I existed. You spent time with me, and you…” My eyes fill with tears, the memory coming back to me suddenly. “You sang to me, as if everything in the world would be alright, as if the fighting would stop or things would get better. And then you left. You left. So, whether or not you intended to hurt me or not is irrelevant. In fact, you should care more about how much you hurt me. More. I’m your flesh and blood, and you talk about me as if I popped up out of the ground like a fucking weed you didn’t realize would grow in your garden.”
I swipe a hand across my face to clear away the few stray tears that have fallen as I’ve poured out my pain.
“And it’s bullshit for you to bring the boys into this now, for you to dangle my little brothers in front of me like a carrot when I’ve been starving for so long. You didn’t come here to make things right—not really. You came here because you want to feel good about yourself, because you want to feel like you did everything you could. Well, I’m not going to let you off the hook that easily. You haven’t even begun to make things right. So fuck you and your apology, and your bullshit excuses. That’s what I have to say.”
My chest is heaving, the emotional dump not draining away any of the adrenaline that’s still coursing through me.
Ken’s watching me with an expression that looks pained, but I don’t care. Ten minutes ago, I was ready to hear him out, ready to give him a chance to talk to me about life and whatever was on his mind. I was open to him leading the way on us figuring out a way to move forward and build a relationship.
But he didn’t come here to really fix things between us. He came here to be forgiven and absolved of his sins. He came here with a bullshit apology riddled with clichés and one-liners he probably put together during the drive over here, and he expected me to just accept him and thank him and pat him on the head because of how hard everything was for him.
Well I say fuck that.
In the grand scheme of things, I don’t need a father. My mother was enough—more than enough to replace him, to give me the love and attention I needed growing up that he failed to provide.
I don’t need a man like him in my life, who still deflects his responsibilities and has no idea how to love me like I deserve.
If he doesn’t already love me, he never will.
And I shouldn’t have to convince him I’m worth much more than what he’s shown me so far.
When he sits there not saying anything, I stand and walk over to the door, yanking it open.
“I think you should go,” I say. “I don’t think there’s anything else for us to discuss.”
Ken watches me for a moment, indecision in his eyes, before he finally stands from his spot on the recliner and crosses the room to get to the door.
He looks like he wants to say something when he’s right in front of me, and I make sure to stare directly into his eyes.
Out of the two of us, I know who the coward is, and it definitely isn’t me.
“Goodbye, Ken.”
His gaze drops away and he finally leaves, his feet padding softly along the deck outside before thudding down the stairs and leading to wherever he parked his car.
I move to close the door, but that’s when I notice the person sitting on a chair on the guesthouse deck, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, his expression soft and aimed at me.
