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Kat’s an emotional woman. I didn’t see it at first, but that night, our first night, I got my first taste of it. I could practically hear her tell me she loved me. If nothing else, I know she loved what I did to her.
I wanted to hear her tell me those words so badly. More than anything else, I wantedthiswoman to admit it. She fell in love with me that first night.
I was desperate for it.
I didn’t realize that night that the look in her eyes was exactly what I felt too. Desperate to keep her, but knowing it was never supposed to happen.
I turn on my heels, facing the door as the sound of someone coming up the stairs brings me back to today. Six years later, that night is just a distant memory.
The door to my bedroom opens wide, creaking as it does and revealing my father. I haven’t seen him like this in a long damn time.
His hair’s been gray for a while, but it’s just a bit too long and thinner. With the deep wrinkles around his eyes and only wearing a T-shirt and flannel pants, he looks older and frailer than I remember. Beaten down. Just a few years can change everything. Has it been that long since I really looked at him?
“You getting comfortable in here?” Pops asks me as he walks in and takes a look at the dresser. He runs a hand along it and then makes a face as he turns his hand over and sees the dust there. As he wipes his hand on the flannel pajamas he adds, “It’s about time you came back to clean your room.”
A rough chuckle barely makes its way up my chest.
“When are you moving out of this place?” I ask him jokingly.
“When I’m dead and gone,” my father answers me the same way he has for years now. Ever since Ma passed, I’ve wanted him to move. He won’t, though, and I can’t blame him.
“Good thing I’m not in a nursing home. Don’t think you’d like to crash there, would you?”
I give him a tight smile, feeling nothing but shame. I run my hand through my hair searching for some sort of an explanation, but I can’t lie to my father and I don’t want to tell him the truth. So I don’t say anything and stare past him instead.
The silence is thick between us until he speaks, glancing around the room rather than looking at me.
“I messed up before with your mother, you know. She kicked me out. I thought it was over.” My father flicks on the light and stalks slowly toward the bed, ignoring the fact that I just wanted to pass out and try to sleep. As if I’d be able to in this room.
“I was younger than you, though. By the time I was your age, we’d had you. I’d settled down and stopped being stupid.”
“What’d you do?” I ask my father out of genuine curiosity. I’d never seen anything but love from my parents. They never fought in front of me and the one time I came home early, catching them in the heat of a fight, they stopped immediately.
Later that night, when I was sitting in front of the TV, cross-legged and way too close, all I could hear was him apologizing in the kitchen. It’d been quiet all afternoon and night.
“I don’t want you to go to bed mad at me,” I heard him tell her.
It was the only fight I’d ever witnessed and I remember being scared that he’d done something that Ma wasn’t going to forgive.
But she did. I never asked back then, and I’m sure if I did he wouldn’t remember. This fight he’s talking about obviously isn’t that.
“What do you think I did?” he answers me. “We were young and stupid and had a bad fight over money or something. I gotdrunk, kissed a girl at a bar … went back to her place. I felt like shit about it and she smacked me right across the face too.” He smirks at the memory. “She beat the hell out of me. Kicked me out.” The smile falls and he shakes his head as he adds, “I deserved it.”
“I can’t imagine you ever doing that.”
“I loved your mother. I was angry at her over something stupid, I can’t even remember what.”
The silence stretches between us again as he struggles to come up with what to say next. “I proposed to her a few months after we got back together.” A huff of a laugh leaves him and he adds, “God rest her soul,” as he twists the wedding band around his ring finger. He’s never taken it off. For the same reason he’ll never leave this house.
He still needs her. Even if it’s just the memory of her.
“The point is, we all make mistakes,” he says and then squares his shoulders at me, raising both of his hands and shaking them, “when we’re young and allowed to be stupid.”
“I’m not that old,” I tell him half-heartedly, trying to play it all off. I know what he’s getting at, but I don’t need to be lectured. I’m well aware of how stupid I’ve been. He’s the one who has no idea how badly I’ve fucked up. “I’ll fix it, Pops.”
The silence drags on again and all I can think about is every position I’ve put myself in where not being faithful to my wife would have been the easy thing to do. I focus on that truth and not the night that still haunts me.
“What are you doing, Evan?” my father asks as I dump my bag on the bed. “You’ve fucked up more than you should have. You’re too old to be carrying on like this.”