Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Forty-Two

     A large sigh leaves him. "We're a family trying to cope," he says slowly. "All of us have been coping in our own different ways, but it's hard and it's difficult to try and get to a place where everything is fine..."

     "Because everything is far from fine," I finish.

     With bloodshot eyes, he nods at me.

     A pang of the most bitter guilt hits me in a way I don't expect. Lashing out has always been something that helps me cope, but under everything there's an ignorance. It's ignoring that other people might not be doing fine when they put up their facades. Garth does it all the time, and now I'm starting to notice it from him.

     "Life without her has been hard for all of us," he says. "It's why I've been putting everything into working, why Glory day-drinks like your mother..." I wince and he catches this, throwing his best apologetic smile. "And god knows it's why you've been so distant from us."

     He shifts on his seat. "Part of me thought that by getting rid of her, it would be easier to just forget her." I catch a glimpse of my sullen face in the dark reflection of the television. "That was probably a poor decision on my part."

     "You think," I fire back, arms folding across chest.

     "Xavier." My father's voice is exasperated, tired of putting up this fight. "Come on to fuck, I'm trying here."

     "Little late for that don't you think?"

     Dark eyes look more determined than ever. "I get that, but you can't blame me for trying." With weight behind his movements, he rises from the chair and stands in front of me. "All I'm asking from you is the same courtesy."

     Thoughts go still for a moment, a titanic wave of ice washing over me. The question on my lips is cruel in so many ways, but I don't mean it to be.

     Looking up at him, I remain adamant in my decision to treat him as an unsuitable replacement for parent of the year. "Do you miss her," I say so tenderly that the words almost catch me off guard.

     For the longest moment, he just stands there expecting me to say something more. His brow arch, trying to examine me more closely. When it's clear that I won't he looks down and his chest heaves. At first, I think he's crying, these small sounds rising from the back of his throat. But within seconds I can tell it's the furthest thing from. His face is marked so harshly with the lines of a belly laugh forming somewhere in him.

     Surprise fills me in such a way that I find myself giving way shortly afterwards, bursting into my own fit of laughter.

     "Xavier, let me tell you something," he says, swiping at his eyes. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss that wonderful mess of a woman."

     I wince. "How long had she been like that? How long had she been sick?" It felt almost strange saying that word in this context. One might forgive me for saying she was sick, but in my mind it was the only word that made sense. Addiction in itself could be seen as some form of sickness—a sickness of the mind that many struggled with through their lives.

     The face which had been nothing but laughter moments prior now sunk down into a sullen frown, looking straight through me. Hesitance filled his own lungs as she played with his own mind.

     Eventually though, he took a seat down next to me.

     "Your mom," he started before heaving a hefty sigh. "Your mom had spent her entire life running from her own past. It's not really my story to tell." There was only a slight pause, in which he straightened up on the couch. "But unfortunately, she's not here to tell it and it is something I think you need to hear."

     I pause, just looking at how much this story might break him. "You don't need too."

     "Ah, but I do," he responds with a half-smile. Once more that guilty feeling rises up in me and I want more than anything to knock it back down. "You see your mother came from small beginnings; her family had to work for everything that they had. When I met her in college, it was pretty clear that she already had a drinking problem. I'd never asked her about it till one night a few years ago, mostly because I thought she would tell me with time."

     Another sigh. "Her old man was a drunk too. Though he was nothing like her; he was a mean old drunk. The only memories I have of him are him being wasted and your mother doing everything she could to look after him."

     "The granddad I've never met?"

     "Mmhmm." He took a few moments to collect his thoughts. "Didn't approve of me because of... well, let's just call it old-fashioned views."

     He didn't need to tell me much more for the picture to click. Mom was white, and dad was the furthest thing from. Old-fashioned views could have only meant one thing in the entire context of everything.

     "But anyway," he continued, rolling his hand. "The fact is that he was a big drinker when your mom grew up. Combine that with his temper, and well... you can start to understand where all your mom's unchecked issues came from. Instead of getting help, she buried herself into the same vice and whilst the short-term outcome was different, the long-term consequences were not."

     Swallowing hard, I tried to digest as much of this as I could. Before this night, I don't think he would have trusted me with this knowledge. It felt like the last private thing he had with the woman he loved and now he was giving it away. He was giving it away to keep me safe from the same life that she had lived on so precariously.

     And in one conversation, I was starting to understand my dad more and more. But there were still things I couldn't say to him. As much as I wanted to put my plans on the table, I just couldn't, knowing full well if anyone was going to stop me it would be him.

     But he deserved some semblance of the truth.

     "I talked to someone about her tonight," I revealed. There was this silence in which none of us said a damn word. "I talked to my friend about what happened to her."

     His eyes were heavy looking into me. A small smile tugged at the edges of his lips. "That's good."

     "He's the only person I think I can talk to sometimes. Every time I need someone to talk to he's there for me," I say in a tumble. I can't help the way in which I talk about him because there's no other way I'd prefer to talk about him other than with this brimming hopefulness. "These past few months have been hell for me, but he's made it at least a bit better."

     He stands, turning to face me when he rights himself. "I believe you kid I really do..." There is a big but coming and I can feel it. "But the next time you go out and feel like not coming home till ungodly hours, at least shoot me a text."

     Oh. Well that's not what was expected at all.

     Thre may have still been a vast canyon of differences between me and my father, but at least now building some sort of bridge didn't feel like an impossible task.