Page 82

Story: All Your Fault

“What?” he asked.

I opened my mouth, but suddenly all eyes were on me. Hell. The last thing I wanted to do was air out my shit in front of the whole family. I looked at Sam, who suddenly looked nervous.

Dad coughed again, taking up the whole room with it. It rankled at me. It shouldn’t have, but it did. He never cared about anyone else except the space he was taking up.

That wasn’t fair, but I didn’t care.

“It’s okay,” I said to Sam. “It’s not you.”

I clapped a hand on the table, making everyone startle. “I wanted to… give a toast.”

Stella smiled. “And here I thought you were going to look like a thundercloud this whole dinner!”

“Hey, he misses Hannah and Remy,” Sam said.

Don’t stick up for me, kid. Not now.

“You’re right, Sam,” Stella said. “Sorry, Will.”

“Well…” I cleared my throat, taking a sip of water. “I guess I did want to say I’m grateful to my siblings for putting up with me over the last couple of years.”

I didn’t say Dad. I wouldn’t.

“I know I wasn’t always a ball of good cheer, you know with the… divorce and everything. But I guess everyone’s used to that.”

I threw a look at Dad.

“Will,” Stella said.

I kept going. “I also wanted to say I’m delighted that both my siblings have somehow managed to find their perfect matches. I thought because I failed that it wasn’t possible. I guess I was kind of a scrooge about love.”

“Will—” Stella repeated, her face suddenly serious.

“No—it’s okay. It doesn’t happen for some people, and that’s fine. I’m just happy it happened for you and Dean and for you, Hank.” I looked at my brother. “For you and Casey. Finally.”

Dean gave a polite laugh. No one else did. Everyone else was looking at me like I had some kind of goddamned disease.

“Will,” my dad said. “You’re making a damn fool of yourself.”

“Dad!” Stella admonished.

“Well, he is. If his mother was here she’d say so too.”

“But she isn’t, is she?” I said, my voice hard. It was only because of Sam that I didn’t hit my fist on the table. “She’s dead. She was the best thing that ever happened to you; she’s gone, and you get to keep on going, your life improved a thousand times over because of her.”

Dad coughed. Of course.

I knew I was sounding like an ass. That I was like the drunk family member at Christmas dinner—and I hadn’t even had a drop to drink. I couldn’t stop myself. All the pain and anger I’d felt toward him was sharpened to a fine point. I waited until he finished.

I stood up, talking only to my father now. “Do you remember, Dad, that she used to give us each a special, personalized thing she’d made every Christmas? On top of the regular presents? I still have that sweater from high school with me throwing a basketball on it. That she learned how to knit because I was the captain of the team that year and we won the goddamn…” —I bit my lip, glancing at Sam. “We won the tournament. Do you even remember that? I’m not sure how you could when you never went to a single game.”

“You don’t know the first thing about what I did for you,” Dad said, his voice raspy. Was he wheezing?

I laughed. There was no humor in it. “Sure. I know what you did. You couldn’t stand the fact that I wanted to do my own thing, that I had interests that didn’t involve the family business.”

“Will!” Stella said standing up. She looked furious but also like she was on the verge of tears.

My stomach lurched. I was an asshole. I knew I was. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. But I’d spent my whole adult life avoiding this conversation with my dad and it was like my brain couldn’t put the brakes on. My chest burned.