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“Go.”
“No. We need to talk about this.”
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was so excited to have a son.”
Bradley’s skin began to crawl.
“Dad?”
His father massaged the tension from his face. He muttered to his desk, “I remember when I found those silly romance novels hidden under your mattress. Then today…listening to you blather away about eyeliner and psychics and Robert Pattinson.”
“That’s what bothers you? Not my addiction but Robert Pattinson?”
“I couldn’t care less about Robert Pattinson!”
Bradley recoiled from his father’s raised voice. His head swarmed with confusion until, like a magic-eye puzzle popping into a clear-cut picture, it suddenly all made sense. “You’re not ashamed because I’m an alcoholic…you’re ashamed of me. Like, in general.”
Of course. How obvious it was now. This coldness between them was only the continuation of a lifetime of freeze outs, with his father only showing interest in him when he was taking the right classes, doing the right sports, the right hobbies, the right way. His way. And when Bradley would dare to let who he really was show, his father would shut him out. His mother and sisters always talked about the important role his father played in their lives, trying to convince Bradley he held the same affection for him even if he didn’t know how to show it. So Bradley had believed them, or at least had wanted to believe them. He’d wanted his father to love him. But he honestly couldn’t remember a time when his dad had been there for him in the same warm way he had the rest of the family. The way a young boy had needed. He saw it so clearly now, an awareness he’d always possessed deep down, slithering around his bones. This wasn’t about addiction. His father was disappointed in the man Bradley never was.
“Jesus, Dad. Is that it? I don’t…”
He couldn’t finish the thought, and his father wasn’t helping. The man remained quiet, jaw clenched in disapproval. And as Bradley took in his father’s dull complexion, a familiar scent—earthy vanilla tones—met his nostrils.
“Are you…drunk?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His father’s enunciation was perfect, but Bradley knew appearances meant very little.
“I’m not being ridiculous.” Bradley inched closer, taking another whiff of the air. “I’m just asking you a question.”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” his father grunted. “I don’t see why we all have to suffer because you can’t handle your drink.”
“Couldn’t handle my drink. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
Bradley knew better than anyone that it was hard to listen with whisky sloshing about your skull, taking hold of your brain, controlling you like a marionette. Suddenly he felt sorry for his father. Worried for his father.
“Do you…do this a lot?” he asked. “Drink alone up here in your study?”
“What are you suggesting?”
His father practically seethed the words, and Bradley felt the urge to take a step back. But he held his ground.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just asking. My therapist, she mentioned genetic predispositions. I never really thought much about that, but maybe you should go see her, with or without me.”
“Stop this,” his father said.
“Stop what? What’s the worst thing that could happen if you talked to someone? About this. Or about me. Maybe it could help us sort out our issues.”
“I said stop this!” His father rose and slammed two palms on his desk. “For once in your life could you try and act like a real man?”
This time, Bradley did step back, struck with a rare bout of speechlessness.
His father’s nostrils flared. This was not the time to be having this conversation. He knew that. He also feared there would never be a good time to talk to his father. Because his father didn’t talk about the difficult stuff. He focused on the functionality of a relationship, its superficial appearance, never the heart of it.
Bradley turned away, prepared to leave, to give up, as he always had when it came to his father. But he couldn’t walk away from the words burning and expanding within him. He swung back around. “You know what, Dad? I am acting like a man. You’re the one who’s acting like a child. You’re the one who should be embarrassed. Not me.”
And wow did that feel good to say. Such a sweet release, a truth he needed to hear aloud to fully appreciate.
He would never be allowed to be himself and have his father’s love. So Bradley was done trying to earn it.
