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“I was there for you?—”
“Bull shit,” I snarl. “Your body might’ve been in this trailer, but your mind… that was impaired by endless alcohol and god knows what else.” I never found evidence of any drug use, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had.
I shake my head. “I came here today to tell you that I’m sorry you’re dying. I’m sorry you’ve led a miserable as shit life, but that is not on me.Ididn’t ask for any of this. You say the day I left was the best day of your life? Well, it was the second best dayof mine. The first was the day I was signed to the Loons. That’s when I knew I would never,everhave to come back here.”
By the time I finish my rant, my chest heaves up and down as I catch my breath. My dad doesn’t say a word.
I wait for him to speak—to say anything. But he just… sits there. And stares. It doesn’t even look like he’s really focused on me. There’s a glazed look in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was caused by tears.
He blinks, and his eyes clear of any hint of emotion. “Is that all?”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “That’s all.” I stand and move towards the door to leave. I said what I needed to say. It’s time to leave my dad in the past. For real this time.
“Are you dating the Jones girl?”
I stiffen, my hand outstretched to push open the thin door. Slowly, I turn to look at my dad. In a dangerously calm voice, I ask, “What?”
He’s back to staring at the blank television. “Are you dating the Jones girl?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I take that as a yes.” He grunts a half chuckle. “I figured this was about her.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I never brought Carlee around my dad. Even Carter only came over to the trailer three times during our childhood. Each time was to check on me after I’d missed school without telling him. Each time, I know he noticed the bruises.
“I saw you two at Rose Hill,” he says, shocking me. “It looked like a date.”
The instinct to deny it is strong, but what’s the point? “It was a date.”
He nods, looking like I just confirmed a long-held suspicion. “Thought so.”
I cross my arms. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“Come on, son. I might’ve been a drunk, but I wasn’t blind. I saw the way you looked at that girl anytime she was at one of your games.”
I don’t know what surprises me more. The fact my alcoholic father noticed me noticing Carlee or the fact he went to my games. I wrack my brain, but I don’t recall ever seeing him in the stands. Though, to be fair, I rarely looked.
“What games are you talking about?”
He rolls back his shoulders and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He’s right. It doesn’t. Knowing my dad might’ve cared enough to come watch me play the sport I love doesn’t change anything. It’s too late.
With nothing left to talk about, I hike a thumb over my shoulder and say, “I’ve got to go.”
“Sure.” He doesn’t make a move to stand from the chair.
What did I expect? A hug? Psh. I wouldn’t even let him hug me if he tried.
I step toward the door without saying goodbye. This isn’t a goodbye. It’s not a see you later or wish you well, either. It’s an end to a conversation that was more one-sided than I expected, but one that needed to be had.
I push the door open. One foot crosses the threshold before my dad calls out, “One more thing.”
I pause and look back over my shoulder. “What?”
His lips are pinched like he tastes something sour. “I have no right to ask this, but when I die, will you make sure I’m buried in the family cemetery next to my parents? I don’t have the funds for the plot.”
It’s a practical, albeit, morbid request, and not at all what I was expecting.
