Page 106 of The Holy Grail

Martin took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry you and Dad were having issues, but—”

“Issues? For fuck’s sake.”

“—today’s behavior seems a little unhinged to me—”

“I’m sorry you see it that way. I found it to be quite satisfying.” Malcom narrowed his eyes at his brother. “And before you try and somehow blame this on Evan or Jules, let me just say this was all me. They don’t know anything about it.”

Martin looked out his window into the dark. “I wish I didn’t know anything about it,” he murmured, before turning back to Malcom. “What were you doing at his grave, anyway, given how much you seem to hate him? You obviously couldn’t have been paying your ‘respects’ like you told the groundskeeper.”

Malcom pursed his mouth for a moment, before saying, “I was there to read my ‘Fuck You’ letter.”

“Read it to whom?”

“To Monroe.”

“I just can’t get used to you referring to Dad as ‘Monroe’,” Martin said with a sigh. “And honestly, I don’t understand it.”

Malcom explained how the name change had come about in therapy, and the reasoning behind it. When he was done, Martin cocked his head. “Your ‘therapy’ seems to be really working.”

Even though the comment had been made with full sarcasm, Malcom replied to it as if it hadn’t been. “Yes, it is, and don’t say ‘therapy’ like that.”

“Like what? ”

“Like it’s bullshit. Because it’s not.”

They semi-glared at one another for a long moment before Martin asked, “What, exactly, is a ‘Fuck You’ letter?”

“It’s pretty much what it sounds like. It’s a letter to someone who has abused you, in which you basically give them the big middle finger. It’s meant to be cathartic, and give you closure as you move forward, without that person in your life anymore.”

“So, you were there to get closure by reading a letter to a dead man at his grave?”

“Yes, because Monroe died before I could tell him to go fuck himself in person—which was my original plan—so going to his grave and reading a letter instead, became my only option. Only, I wasn’t able to do it because I kept getting distracted by that goddamn epitaph. So, now I still don’t have closure.”

Martin appeared to be struggling with everything he was being told. “You’ve become such a different person in the past year, I’m not even sure how to process all the changes … Jules and Evan, the three of you living together, you being gay—”

“Bisexual.”

“—being in a love triangle—”

“Triad.”

“—hating Dad, going to therapy, writing a ‘Fuck You’ letter, and vandalizing his headstone. Have I left anything out?”

“Only the part about you being a dick.”

Martin’s expression hardened. “To be clear, I’m not trying to be a dick.

This has been a rough week for me, because I lost a father I loved very much.

He was a good father to me, and a good mentor.

Now, I understand he wasn’t a good father to you—and you truly have all of my sympathy for that—but you need to understand and respect what he was to me, even if you might not like it. ”

“I loved him, too, until it was made clear to me he didn’t love me in return, which is a most terrible thing to learn.

It fucks you up, even when you’re forty-two years old, and makes you handle things poorly, which is why I’m getting therapy.

I know you don’t think it’s helping me, but it is, and I know you’re pissed I vandalized Monroe’s headstone, but I don’t care.

It was a lie—a lie he was putting out into the world to make himself look good. ”

“Okay, I will agree the epitaph he wrote for himself was a bit indulgent—”

“Indulgent,” Malcom scoffed.

“—but instead of taking a chisel to his headstone like a teenage delinquent, you should have talked to me about it like an adult.”

“Would you have taken me seriously, if I’d called you and said I wanted part of his epitaph removed?”

“Well, I can’t think of a reason why I wouldn’t have. And we could have worked out a solution, together … which is, ironically, something we now have to do, anyway. It’s a shame we couldn’t have bypassed this whole vandalism situation, don’t you think?”

When Malcom didn’t respond, Martin continued, this time sounding very tired. “It’s getting late, and it’s been a long day for both of us, so why don’t we talk in a few days about what we’re going to do to fix Dad’s headstone? Because it is going to get fixed, and you’re going to pay for it.”

When Malcom arrived home, Evan and Jules were on the couch, watching TV.

They both looked over, and whatever they might have been about to say, or ask, died as they took in Malcom’s disheveled appearance. Not only was he very wet, but his hair was sticking up, and the knees of his Brooks Brothers slacks were stained with mud.

“What the hell happened to you?” Evan asked.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” Jules wanted to know as she started climbing off the couch, concerned.

Evan was a little slower to move, as Dawn Corleone was stretched out on his lap, but as soon as he was able to transfer her to the couch, he was on his feet, too.

“I’m fine,” Malcom assured them. “I got into a little bit of trouble tonight—completely of my own making—and I’ll explain everything after I get out of these clothes and take a shower.”

“Forget the shower,” Evan said. “This calls for a bath.”