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“Theo! Baby!” my mother screeches.
I exhale, not ready for a night of her giddy behavior. I love my mother, don’t get me wrong, but she is terrible at knowing when to knock it down a few pegs, to stop overcompensating with volume and cheer, when really something in her life is in shambles. Like her marriage.
Knowing my parents, they are going to act as if everything is fine. That’s where Brenda and I differ, why she asked me not to say anything. She can separate her feelings at times, treat different people with more care than others. Me, I straight-shoot everyone. Maybe Brenda doesn’t want to confront my parents and call them on their bullshit, but me? I won’t hesitate.
I don’t want to be a father and never will be, but I will say it doesn’t take a genius to know that lying and putting up a terribly hidden façade that your marriage is great so your children don’t suffer is far more damaging than just divorcing. They have to know that, right?
Clearly not.
“Mom. Hello.” I kiss her cheek and stand tall again before moving to my dad and giving him a sideways hug. That’s enough affection for the night.
“Son. Good to have you home. We didn’t think you would make time to come spend with us.” Ah, there it is. Maybe my father has learned. Or maybe he has hidden this part of himself all these years and has reached the peak of not giving a fuck. He wouldn’t normally call anyone out on things like that. I can’t say I’m mad. I’d rather have honesty than whatever it is my mother is trying to pull tonight.
“Rob,” my mother scorns.
“What? He’s not a child, Kerrin. We don’t have to baby them anymore.”
Cracks. There are the cracks. Clearly, my father is bending and breaking faster than my mother is.
“Mom, Dad, can we not? Not tonight,” Brenda somberly begs next to me. Mom releases a deep breath, and my father follows suit.
“You’re right. Kids, let’s eat. We need to talk about some things with you.”
“Oh no,” Brenda responds, and turning my head to her, I see her eyes are watering. Fuck. As if today wasn’t already bad enough. Now, I have to watch my baby sister fall apart.
“Cut the shit, Dad. What do you two want to say?” I don’t even blink or flinch when I ask this question. Instead, I take a seat at the table and rap my knuckles against the tablecloth-covered wood—a habit of mine, something I do when I’m trying to decipher something.
“Don’t be so crass, Theo. We haven’t seen you in almost a year. The least you could do is act like you love this family,” my mother scolds like I’m a petulant child.
Taking in a deep breath through my nose, I release it after a brief hold, collecting myself and remembering my control. I can’t snap, not with Brenda in the room. She’s already tearing at the seams.
“I do love this family. Don’t play such a childish card, Mom. But Brenda and I don’t need to be fed, told we are loved, and that it has nothing to do with us. We’re grown, so sit and tell us what I’m sure we already know.” I cut the thick air with my even, low timbre.
My mother sighs, and my father shakes his head, using his hand to massage the back of his neck, an attempt at relieving the tension.
“Okay, you’re right. Your father and I have to tell you kids something, and we want you to know—”
“Mother,” I cut her off. Did she not hear a word I just said? My parents have always had a predictable marriage. Robotic, if you will. I’m not shocked the cracks are showing and the dam is breaking.
“Fine. Your father and I are separating.” She finally lays it out.
“No, can’t we help you two work this out?” Brenda cries.
I place my hands in my lap, my fingers laced as I let my sister work out and come to terms with this. I’ll intervene when needed.
My parents and I have never been super close. There wasn’t any one thing that happened; I just grew up with a different outlook on life, and it showed. I love my parents, make no mistake, but affection, love, adoration—those left me a long time ago. It stayed here when I went to New York. I would be the first person at their aid, but that doesn’t mean I’m the first to break bread any chance we get. Relationships in all forms have never been my forte—except in the sexual nature.
“No, sweetie. We want to attempt to remain friends. We tried for a long time. Therapy and more. It just isn’t our time.” My mother leans over and places her hand atop Brenda’s, and my father rounds the table to comfort her as well. Standing beside her, he stoops and kisses the top of her head.
