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LEAVING LIKE A FATHER

Hugh

NOVEMBER 20, 2003

I ’D LONG SINCE ACCEPTED THE KNOWLEDGE THAT I WOULD ALWAYS LOVE L IZZIE Young.

My heart didn’t have an eject button; therefore, she would never lose her place inside of it.

She just had to change spots if I ever found someone else.

If I ever dared to open myself up to that kind of love again.

If it was even possible.

Something I very much doubted.

I tried to think pragmatically about the breakup, to use logic and reason, but it was so fucking hard when my heart was splattered at her feet.

I couldn’t be the better person, and I couldn’t turn the other cheek this time.

Because it hurt too much.

Because this was it.

If I took her back, this was how it would be for me, and I deserved more.

I loved her enough to stay, I adored her enough to hang on in there, but until when?

When did this end?

What happened when she had another episode?

Would she cheat on me again?

Would I receive another influx of text messages from concerned teammates, telling me about the rumors they’d heard about my girlfriend?

What if I stayed with her and this continued into college and beyond?

What about when we were married and had children?

Would I still have to live like this?

Would I be able to?

And how was I supposed to explain this to the children we shared?

Where was the line?

This , I suddenly realized.

This was the line, the limit, and the breaking point.

This was where we parted.

This was the part where I left the sinking ship.

After her apology, Liz kept texting, kept apologizing, kept phoning.

I had to turn my phone off because it was breaking my heart to ignore her.

When I told her to erase my number, I hadn’t meant it.

But I wasn’t strong enough to handle the aftermath.

Everything inside of me wanted to rush back to her, but I couldn’t.

“Hugh.” My father’s voice infiltrated my thoughts, and I spun around from where I was packing my lunch to find him sitting at the kitchen table. “Sit down, son.”

“Can’t,” I deadpanned, retraining my attention on my lunch. “I have to catch the bus for school.”

“Please, Hugh,” he pushed. “We need to have a little father-son chat. I’ll drive you to school after.”

Jesus Christ .

This man irritated me to the point where I avoided him as much as possible.

It wasn’t hard, considering he spent a good portion of his time avoiding his family like the plague.

Therefore, I found his sudden desire to have a father-son conversation both unnecessary and annoying.

“So,” Dad said when I reluctantly joined him at the table. “How have you been doing, son?”

“Fine.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

Mam!

Lovely .

“If you have something you want to ask me, then just go for it.” Leaning back in my chair, I folded my arms across my chest. “No need for beating around the bush with small talk.”

Pain flickered in his eyes, but I felt no remorse.

He didn’t get to check out on me for a decade and jump back in whenever he felt like it, and I vowed to never do that to the people I loved.

My family and friends could always depend on me.

I would never check out like he had.

I would be a man.

I would be honorable and dependable.

I would work hard and never take handouts from a man I had lost all respect for.

He would never be able to sway me with presents and impromptu trips away when he had a “good week,” like he did with my sister.

He could keep his money.

I would make my own.

“I hear you’re having relationship problems?”

“I’m having life problems, Dad,” I replied flatly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Maybe I can help you.”

I scoffed at that. “You can’t help yourself, let alone the rest of us.”

Dad winced. “That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, well, life’s not fair, Dad, and the truth hurts.”

“I know I haven’t always been there for you,” he began to say, but I cut him off before he could spew another excuse.

“That’s putting it mildly,” I shot back with a humorless laugh. “You’ve been a fucking ghost in this house since Joe died. As for being there for me? Well, you haven’t been there since my communion.” On a roll now, I quickly unleashed my wrath on him. “These pop-up visits might work on Mam and Claire, but don’t bother trying it on me. Because I don’t need it, ya hear?” Narrowing my eyes, I spat, “I don’t need you .”