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“The family stays together, and it’s a happy occasion,” his mother chimed in. “Let’s not spoil the mood, please.”
“A little too late for that,” Dylan spat, before storming off to his room and slamming the door.
“What’s his problem?” his dad asked, appearing clueless.
“I should probably go see how he’s doing,” I quickly excused myself, and went into the room after him.
When I opened the door, I found him sitting by the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. This was all too familiar, just the same as back at his parents’ mansion the weekend before.
“Hey,” I said softly, coming to sit next to him. “You okay?”
“I didn’t expect him to come,” he replied. “Can you ask him to leave? I don’t want to host him here.”
I bit down on my lip. Getting involved in other people’s family matters was the last thing I had on my mind. I gently put my hand on his shoulder and tried to calm him down.
“Dylan, maybe you can go out there and have a conversation with him,” I suggested, fully understanding the fact that it was a risky proposition.
He looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles. “There’s no way I am doing that. Either he leaves this house right now, or I’m going to.”
“But he’s come all the way to see you,” I said. “That must mean something.”
Dylan looked at me as if I had just betrayed him.
“Why are you sticking up for him?” he demanded. “You have no idea what he’s like.”
“I know. I can clearly see that he has messed up enough for you to not even want to give him a chance,” I sighed. “But at the end of the day, he is still your dad.”
“What use do I have for a dad who didn’t know how to be there when I needed him?” he asked.
“It’s better than not having one at all,” I said in a small voice. “Trust me, some of us would want what you have.”
Immediately, his expression softened, and he looked apologetic. “I didn’t know,” he said after a moment.
“It’s all right, it’s not something that I talk about too much,” I shrugged.
“When did you lose him?” he asked and put a comforting arm around my shoulders.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Grief was a strange thing to process, even after so many years I still found myself choking up when the topic arose.
“When I was six years old, a drunk driver crashed into my father’s car,” I said after I had mustered the strength. “It was a hit and run. My dad died on the spot and the driver got away.”
“Kathy,” Dylan pulled me into him, “I am so sorry. I had no idea about this.”
“The worst part is they never found out who did it,” I said, with bitterness seeping into my tone. “I knew that I had to step up. So, I grew up to be independent, providing for the rest of my family I was left with. I guess I felt like I had to be the man of the house.”
“You did nothing wrong to deserve such loss,” he sympathized, and squeezed my hand gently.
“I feel like I never really got to know him, you know? I often wonder what it would be like if he was still around.”
“I’m sorry, Kathy,” he said in a quiet voice.
“I don’t mean to tell you just to dampen the mood,” I added. “I just feel like sometimes we take life for granted. You never know how much time you have left with someone. If tomorrow your dad isn’t here anymore, I’m sure you wouldn’t want your last interaction to be a bad one.”
Dylan studied my face carefully for a long moment. I could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tried to decide.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him.”
My lips curved into a smile. “You don’t have to forgive him straight away, but maybe just having a conversation is a good start.”
