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Brantley chuckles and downs his own shot. “Well, it left a lasting impression on said titty bar because you’re not allowed back there… for life.”
I wave my hand at them but I take the shot anyway. “They didn’t say life.”
“I was there. They did.”
I roll my eyes and flop my head down on the table I’m sitting at. And no, I won’t explain that night because I don’t remember it. If it wasn’t for Tinkerbell, I’d swear they were making it all up.
“What’s wrong with you? Where’s your balls?” my dad asks, and my head shoots up from the table because I know exactly what’s coming out of Brantley’s mouth next.
And it does. “Madison skinned them. He let her wax his nut sac.”
I glare at him. “I told you that in confidence,” I seethe.
“No, you didn’t. Nathalie told me.”
“Ugh!” I groan again.
My dad groans too. “Get off your ass, you pussy. I’m hungry.”
I ENDUP going out to dinner with my dad and Brantley and wedon’tgo to the strip club. Well, they doafterdinner, but I don’t go with them. I stay at the house where they drop me off and FaceTime Callan and Noah while trying to read Madison’s every expression as the boys sit on her lap. This, her, them, it’s all a reminder as to why I have no business being at a strip club. I’m still in love with my wife.
The day Brantley and I leave, my dad offers me some advice I take to heart.
“Are you willing to be there for your boys no matter what comes their way?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Why do I feel like I’m on trial here?
“Are you willing to raise them to be young men and not pussies?”
Is he referring to me? What a dick. He probably is. But I answer with, “Yes.”
“Are you willing to push them to become men and treat women with respect?”
Again, is he fucking talking about me here? He certainly isn’t talking about himself. This man doesn’t know respect around women.
When I nod, he shoves my shoulder, once and pushes me into the side of my truck. “Then don’t give up on them. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
I’m not at all sure how to process his words of wisdom or bullshit, but it makes me think on the drive home. I will never be like Mike Cooper.
That’s sad to say, but my mom once told me my father may not be an example of what to be like, but at least he was an example of what not to be.
So as I head home, my intention is to never make my boys feel like any of this is their fault and set a good example for them. Not a sixty-two-year-old bachelor who’s been married four times and shoots pigs for fun.
Twenty
The Trojan horse deception
It’s beenfifty-two days since Madison filed the paperwork and every day closer to that sixty-day deadline is about as painful as stabbing myself in the heart repeatedly.
I wake up every morning and think to myself, this can’t be real, can it? It’s a joke, right?
I wish it was.
I don’t know why I go by the new house when I make it back to town Friday morning. Maybe because I built the place and I want to see it one last time. I’m not sure.
When I started building this house, Madison, Callan—Noah didn’t really give a shit—and I were so excited to have something of our own that I built and I took pride in that. I took pride in the fact I was creating our home we’d share for years to come, and my craftsmanship would welcome them. Everywhere they’d look, they’d see me in this house, even when I wasn’t there to be with them.