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“I’m calling because of Wally.”
The muscles in my neck tensed. “What about him?”
“He called me the other day and told me all about your argument. Why won’t you let our son do what he wants?”
I laughed bitterly. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s always been like this. You always play the good cop and make me out to be the bad guy.”
“Youarethe bad guy, Jesse. Our son is out there fucking couch surfing because you’re too stubborn to let him live his own life!”
My blood boiled. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Melissa. You don’t get to patronize me after you ran off with the fucking dog walker. I was the only one providing structure in his life. I was the only one being aparent.”
“Not a very good one.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“You’re pushing your son away over something stupid, Jesse. You’re pushing him away, and one day, Wally’s never going to come back. Is that really what you want?”
I ended the call, but not before the sting of her words stabbed me straight through the heart. Of course that wasn’t what I wanted. Wally was my son. My boy. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But as much as I hated to admit it, what Melissa was saying rang true. I was pushing him away. I’d be heartbroken if I pushed him away forever.
God. I must have really fucked up if Melissa of all people was making sense.
Doubt crept in and festered in the crevasses of my mind. I allowed myself to imagine Wally pursuing culinary arts. He’d never expressed any interest in cooking before, but was that because I hadn’t been listening?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how little I knew my own son. I spent so much time away, working myself to the bone to provide him everything he’d need for a comfortable life. It was the same song and dance with Melissa, and I wound up driving her into the arms of another man.
Maybe Wally could make it. Maybe he’d become a world-class chef and open his own restaurant, even end up on one of those reality TV cooking shows or whatever. He could be the next Gordon Ramsay, though without the British accent and significant anger issues. The chances of Wally reaching those heights seemed slim, but at least…
At least he’d be happy.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Melissa had a point. I’d rather Wally try to follow his passion than hate me. If on the off-chance things didn’t work out, he could always give the medical career track another attempt. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could see now that I was out of line.
I tried calling Wally, but he didn’t pick up. I then proceeded to send him a few texts. Those were a lot harder to ignore since they tended to pop up on the lock screen.
Wally, come home so we can discuss things.
I’ve given culinary school some thought.
We can talk things through when you get here.
A few minutes went by, but I received no response. He was ignoring me.
How was I supposed to apologize if he refused to speak with me?
“Dammit,” I grumbled under my breath. If he wasn’t going to pick up the phone for me, who would he pick up the phone for?
I bet he’d answer if Vivian called him. It was worth a shot.
I ventured down the hall toward the guest room, hand hovering over the door to knock. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Things between Vivian and I were…uncertain. I tried keeping my distance. I wanted to be respectful of her space. The realization that I felt more for her than I cared to admit had been a frightening one. I wasn’t ready to take things further, maybe ever. So I thought pulling back was the best option for us both. Save us the heartbreak.
The softest sound reached my ears from the other side.
Sniffling, then outright sobbing.
My throat closed and my heart thudded.
