Page 12

DEACON

I n normal circumstances her words would be the perfect introduction for me to beam with pride about how amazing and gorgeous Reese is and just how lucky and grateful we are.

And yet, here I sit, words stiff and stuck in my throat. I’m wondering why exactly I agreed to this, and I’m pissed off nostalgia got the better of me.

“She is,” Julian eventually says on our behalf. “We are so lucky to have her in our lives.”

“Is she an easy bab?—”

“Mom,” I say through clenched teeth, my anger surprising all of us. “This wasn’t an invitation for small talk.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say here, Deacon,” she says, a little bit exasperated.

“Sorry,” I practically shout, my body filled with too much ire to remain seated. “Surely, you didn’t come all this way, after all these years, to not apologize.”

“Of course. I want to put this all behind us.”

Shaking my head, I put a hand up to silence her, and feel Julian rise up off the seat, standing beside me. The blood swimming in my veins is beyond boiling, the heat almost paralyzing. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, pressing hard, and close my eyes; inhaling and exhaling, desperate for some semblance of calm.

“Mom,” I say, blowing out a long, resigned breath. “Say. Sorry.”

Opening my eyes, I catch my father’s figure brush past my peripheral vision. I expect him to continue walking into my line of sight and stand next to my mother, but it doesn’t happen. He just stands there on the sidelines, his attention on his wife, waiting for her to say something.

Waiting for her to say the right thing.

The room is silent and the air thick, each one of us now standing around the living room. Julian places his hand between my shoulder blades, and I give myself the desperately needed reprieve and glance over my shoulder to look at him.

The love and devotion between us, even unspoken, is apparent and obvious, and the perfect epiphany as to why I’m standing here before her. My feelings and thoughts may have been confused and influenced by the softness of raising such a beautiful, innocent baby, but this is not a reunion.

I don’t want to make amends or play happy families. I don’t want to see what the future holds and make up for everything we’ve lost.

This moment is the antithesis of “time heals everything.”

Not with her and not ever.

This is her chance to give us the apology we deserve. The apology I deserve.

It’s been years, and it is overdue. And the truth is, I’m certain it won’t even make a difference—but what I do know is I need to hear it.

I hold my hand out to Julian, who steps forward to stand beside me and takes it.

We stand there as a united front as years of pent up anger, disappointment, and heartache just tumble out of my mouth.

“You know what being a father has taught me?” I ask rhetorically. “Actually, do you know what being both a husband and a father has taught me?”

I don’t miss the way my mother’s eyes widen in surprise as she takes me in. The son she left behind was meek and quiet and amiable to her at all times. The son in front of her no longer lives to placate her feelings.

“Unconditional love,” I tell her. “Being a husband and a father has taught me that I love the people in my life unconditionally. Your love has always been conditional.” My voice cracks on that last word, and I let it, because I am no longer ashamed of the pain and hurt she caused me. “Your love was like one of those mood rings Victoria used to wear; a different version of it for every version of you.

“As a father, my heart is broken even imagining what it would be like burying a child, and I will never, ever, try to take your grief away from you.”

Tears stream down her face, and there is no doubt in my mind they’re for Rhett and not for me. “But I was a child. I am your child,” I say forcefully. “And yet you made me feel like a nuisance, like a bother, like I would be better if I reached all your goalposts, only for you to move every single one when it suited you. I wore the consequences for actions that weren’t mine.”

“Deacon,” she says, her voice shaking. “When Rhett got sick and died, life was?—”

“No,” I shout, cutting her off. “Stop using him as an excuse. Of course your burden was heavier and harder than most, but what about when he wasn’t sick?” I ask.

She furrows her brows at me, and I forge ahead. “Being a father has taught me that I would go to the ends of the earth for my child. But you couldn’t do that for me. Everything was too hard or I was too difficult. Or maybe…” I throw my hands up in the air. “Maybe there’s just something about me that you don’t like.”

“Deacon.” She steps closer, and despite there still being a significantly decent amount of distance between us, I step backward, not needing the distraction of her proximity to derail the point I’m trying to get across. “How can you say that I don’t like my own son? I love you, Deacon.”

The three words are like squeezing lemons on fresh cuts, the sting palpable.

“Then why did I feel anything but loved?” The unanswered question hangs between us, but I can’t seem to stop the words from leaving my mouth. “You made me feel second-best every chance you got.

“You made me feel second-best in my own relationship.” Turning my head, Julian meets my gaze as I confess the worst parts of myself. “You will never ever know what that did to me. You’ll never know how close I was to giving up the best thing in my life because of you.”

Julian squeezes my hand, shaking his head, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “You will never know how inadequate I have felt, loving this man, because of you.”

Finally shifting my gaze away from Julian, I look over to find my mother staring at us and openly sobbing. I should feel some type of way, knowing I’ve upset her and that she’s so distressed, but instead I feel nothing but pity for her. Pity that we’re all standing here in this room, strangers to one another, because of her.

“Deacon.” She hiccups, and this time I let her talk. “I have plenty of excuses for why I was the way I was, and why I said and did the things I said and did. But I understand that they’ll only ever be excuses.”

“Can I ask you something?” I say, interrupting her and surprising us both, the thought hitting me like a freight train.

She nods while dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a tissue.

“Why now?”

Confusion is etched on her features. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you reach out now?” I ask. “I had a whole wedding that you didn’t seem very adamant on attending.”

The silence stretches between us, and I have my second epiphany of the day. A humorless laugh leaves my mouth as my gaze darts between all of us in the room before landing back on her.

“You still can’t accept he’s mine, can you?”

Her spine stiffens, and it’s all the admission I need. Shaking my head, I release my hold on Julian’s hand and stride into the kitchen. I absentmindedly grab a clean glass off the dish rack and fill it with water, drinking it all at once.

“Deacon.” My mother’s voice has my jaw clenching in annoyance, but I bite my tongue, put the empty cup into the sink, and turn around to face her. “I’m trying to explain myself and you’re not giving me a chance.”

“You’re right.” Resigned, I cross my arms over my chest. “Please. Explain.”

“I am always looking for Rhett,” she says. “In a book, in a song, heck, sometimes I’m even looking for a sign in the middle of Costco. And yes, when I see Julian, I see Rhett.

“I know that the more time I see you two together, in love and doting on your family, the more your relationship will make sense to me.”

I huff. Her answer makes sense on paper, but I hate it all the same. “Tell me, Mom. Are you sorry?”

Reaching for me, she places her hand on my forearm, her eyes purposefully locked on mine. “More than you’ll ever know.”