I stare up at the obnoxious fairy lights surrounding the black door to my father's townhouse, unsure of how I got here in the first place. I'm not drunk or high. I did contemplate bringing in a flask into the baseball stadium and getting higher than I ever could be before attending that stupid game, but I never followed through. One: because Lily was watching my every move as I got ready and wouldn't stop giving me assuring looks the whole way here. And two: because I wanted to prove to myself that I could get through a sports game with my prick father sober. Now, I'm very aware of the stinging sensation in my bandaged fists and the million thoughts zooming through my head. And how much I do not want to be here.
Half an hour ago I was questioning my relationship with my family. I never have before; I always accepted I didn't like any of them and I never would, and I didn't care. I grew up apart from my family. Everything you were warned about in high school, I was doing it all. My brother and father scolded me when I was arrested for petty reasons and lectured me about my dim-looking future, but that was it. I took their words with a grain of salt and did the worst of the worst over and over again, and they barely paid any attention. They were too busy going on debate club trips and golfing with clients to notice I'd burned my curtain in my room when I smoked out of the window, or how I broke a collection of china plates after coming home from a fight. No one cared, and so neither did I.
But sitting on the edge of the bathtub with Lily in between my legs cleaning my father's blood off my busted knuckles and seeing the disappointment in her eyes... I couldn't take it anymore. The loathing and constant state of annoyance and fire of rage that's been simmering within me for almost thirteen years since my mom died. That and I couldn't handle the forced little smiles and words of encouragement from Lily as she cleaned my wounds. And, without even knowing it, she drove me to the point of considering hearing my dad out after thirteen years after her wise words about forgiveness. So, after I was all patched up, I told her I wanted to try to fix things with my dad, and she cried. She guilt-tripped me without even trying to. After getting her to stop bawling her eyes out and telling me how proud of me she was, we left and came here without calling. I didn't want to say I was coming but end up turning around and heading home before I got there, giving off the impression that I cared when it ran out.
"It's okay, I'm right by your side," Lily says and reality crashes all around me. I wouldn't be here if she wasn't with me. I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for her. In another sad, hopeless world, I'm suffering a hangover from partying the night before. That world was mine a few months ago, unfortunately enough. But now I have Lily, a beautiful girl from the inside out, who encourages me to be less of an asshole.
"Here goes nothing..." I push the doorbell and rock on my heels, trying to come up with what to say once I see my father again. The last time I was with him, I'd tackled him onto the floor and started punching him like crazy. Maybe I should start with an apology... or not; he can earn that later, we can't get ahead of ourselves.
When the door swings open to reveal my father, my eyes instantly find the map of bruises on his face. A deep purple bruise sits under his right and a bundle of them are on both cheeks. He has a black eye, and his bottom lip is split open.
His eyes go wide with disbelief. "Blue... what are you doing here?" He doesn't sound like he's going to tackle me into the snow and wail on me like I did with him, but he doesn't sound cheery as usual either.
I look over to Lily for assurance, and she gives me an encouraging smile. "I came here to talk."
"Talk?" he squawks.
"Yes, I just fucking said that. Are you deaf?" I snap, but Lily's small hand squeezing mine calms me. "Yeah... I wanted to talk about some things. Is that okay, or should we just go?" I'm willing to pretend I didn't come all the way here as long as he doesn't talk about this embarrassing moment ever again.
"No, no—come inside. It's freezing out here." He steps inside and opens the door wider. "Catherine and Delia are out grocery shopping."
Noticing my reluctance to move from my spot, Lily pulls me inside. "Congratulations on the baby, Mr. Montgomery. I was pleasantly surprised to hear about it from Catherine," she says to my father with a smile. She hangs her jacket on a rack and tries to take mine off, but I refuse to take my boots and jacket off. If this turns out with a second round of beating up my father, I want to be ready to storm out of the house.
"Thank you! No one was as shocked as me when I found out. I was coming home from work, and she screamed the news on the phone..." He goes on and on about baby proofing the house and coming up with baby names, and I regret coming here every time I hear his annoying laughter and unnecessary hand movements.
My eyes wander his bruised face. I know I should apologize, but I honestly think he deserved it. He knows how much mom meant to me and how broken I became after her death. He has for the past thirteen years, but whenever I am around him, he finds a way to bring up the past and twist the knife in my gut. The discoloration on his face gives me pleasure... until I shift my attention to Lily's kind smile. She loves this family, for some reason, and I'd be taking her from them and further letting her down if I don't try in some way to glue the cracked relationship I have with them. I promised myself I would be a better man, the man she deserves, and if that takes apologizing for fucking up my father's face, then so be it.
"Um... how's the face?" I ask in a lame attempt to act like I care.
He stops jabbering long enough to wave a hand. "It's fine, don't worry about me."
"I didn't say I was," I scoff.
"Blue..." Lily whispers.
"That's alright, Lily. I'm used to him, he is my son after all."
"Unfortunately," I murmur under my breath, then raise my voice to add: "Can we just talk already?" I'm getting tired of delaying the inevitable.
"Of course, son. Excuse us, dear," he says to Lily, then walks over to his study. But I stay behind to say goodbye to the reason I am here.
I wrap my arms around her waist. "Let's leave now before he starts talking about the weather and bores us to death."
"No, I think this is a great idea and I'm so thrilled you're willing to patch things up with your father," she replies.
"Funny considering you patched up my hands after I beat him up." I crack a smile and raise my hands in the air.
"Nothing is funny about that, you psycho," she says jokingly. "Go in there and talk to him about anything you want. Tell him how you feel, and you two will work this out. In a year's time, you could be thanking yourself for doing this."
"I doubt that," I scoff.
"But you'll never know if you don't try."
As much as I hate to admit it, she is right. I've held in so many questions for a very long time. The hatred and burning desire to punch him again and again until I can't any longer hasn't let me feel normal in so long. I don't even remember feeling normal. What even is that? Is that not punching your own dad? Is it being able to control your unsatisfied anger? Is it not wanting to set the damn world on fire?
"Fine... but you so owe me after this," I tell her, concluding I will talk to him.
"Okay—what do you want?" She asks and eyes my mouth. I smirk and push her hair behind her ear. She gulps and her eyelashes flutter, giving me a boost of confidence. I love to see her react to my touch, it's invigorating. How she loves a clawed-monster as me, I will never understand, but I'll be damned to remind her she shouldn't be anywhere near me. I lean forward and press my lips to hers. The kiss is tender and lasts a few seconds, but her skin is flushed red when I pull away.
"You. That's all," I answer her.
She smiles a blinding smile. "Good luck, I'll be across the hall in the living room. Even if you come out of there with more cuts and bruises on your hands and clothes... I know you at least tried, and that is all I could ever ask of you." She kisses me swiftly on the cheek, then takes a step backward. "I'm proud of you," she mouths before turning around and disappearing from my sight.
"What the hell did I do to deserve you?" I whisper aloud without meaning to.
I walk over to my father's study and steel my hand around the doorknob. I rest my head against the wood and inhale thoroughly and coach myself not to lose my cool after two minutes of listening to him talk. It sounds a lot easier than done, but let's see where this goes. After gathering enough courage, I twist the door knob and push the door open. I shut it behind me and keep my eyes trained on my combat boots as I walk over to his over-sized desk. When I raise my eyes, I find him smiling at me and his elbows on the desk.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" He begins to ask.
"Wait a second." I get up, the heavy chair screeching against the floor, and stride over to the mini-bar near the fireplace. If I'm going to talk to this prick and possibly work out our fucked-up relationship, I need to be hammered. Or at least tipsy. If only I were Lily, I'd only need two drinks of scotch to be blackout drunk. I fill my glass to the top with top-notch whiskey. I drink it all without wincing, then fill up another glass.
"You might want to slow down there, buddy," my father warns.
"First of all, I'm not your buddy. Second of all, shut the fuck up," I say, and he chuckles. Rolling my eyes at his never-ending good mood, I grab the whiskey bottle and walk back to the desk. I plop into my chair and hold the bottle to my chest like it's the most precious item to ever be created.
My father has the most irritating expression on his face as he waits for me to speak. I want him to be angry at me, to lash out and hit me back. But he doesn't do anything a normal human being would do. He just sits there in his chair behind this stupid fucking desk, looking like the human version of SpongeBob SquarePants, and it pisses me off.
"I came here to apologize and fix our relationship," I blurt out. May as well get it all out there and avoid the awkward build up.
His eyes widen, and his mouth opens and closes. "I... I didn't see this coming."
"Neither did I," I admit. "I would never be sitting here uttering those words if it weren't for the naïve girl sitting out there, waiting for me to make the right decision and talk to you instead of punching you again. You and I both know that."
He nods solemnly. "Well, I'm certainly glad you two are together. She is a wonderful young woman—"
"Why did you cheat on mom?" I cut through his empty words. We need to talk real shit if we're going to get anywhere. I finish off my second glass and pour a third in anticipation for this conversation.
"I didn't... I didn't cheat on your mother."
"So, it's just a coincidence you married and impregnated the woman you were made out with at a party years before?" I shrug.
"It's more complicated than you think..." He takes a deep breath and pauses. "I... we had a connection I know you will never understand or respect. We did flirt when we saw each other, which I am not proud of. But the only time we ever did anything remotely sexual was at that party when we kissed. It lasted maybe five—ten is pushing it—before we both pulled away. Catherine apologized profusely and left the party and I never saw her again for years upon years. We never kept in touch and I never reached out for her again."
"Until last year when you got married to her," I point out.
"Yes... but we reconnected years ago." His throat bobs up and down nervously.
"What?" I bark.
He holds his hands up defensively. "I was showing her father a condo and she was with him. We were shocked to run into each other again, but delighted nonetheless. We caught up on each other's lives and became fast friends. And then... then we realized our feelings for each other. But we didn't want to jump right into things, especially since you were out of control at the time—" I want to kick him in the face for that comment, but I allow him to continue. "So, we kept our relationship a secret for a little while. We were so in love, we still are now, that I couldn't go another year keeping our relationship hidden. I had to marry her, have her in my life for the rest of my life."
"Bullshit!" I snap and descend into humorous laughter.
"I'm not bullshitting you, son. I truly do love her," he defends in a sad attempt to make me believe him. Actually, I do believe him.
"You know what? You are right. You do love her... more than you ever loved mom."
My words must strike a chord in his delusional mind, because his pupils blow wide open and he points a fuming finger at me. "How dare you say that to me? I loved your mother more than you could ever imagine."
"Oh, really? Is that why you kissed that whore and caused mom to commit suicide?" I know what I'm saying is way out of line, but I don't give a shit. I take finish my glass of whiskey and put it to my lips, when he stands up, throwing his fists against the desk.
"Do not call my wife a whore! And I never caused your mother to do such a thing!"
"Says you. You're the one who kissed another woman. Who knows, you would have fucked her if mom hadn't randomly popped into your brain. Would she have been my step mommy when I was six, instead of eighteen? It would have saved us all thirteen years of you walking around with a golf club up your ass and pretending you were 'getting over' mom's death, when we all know you were the one who caused it to happen in the first place!" I take a swig from the whiskey bottle. Before I know it, my father is standing in front of me and pushing me back by the shoulders, finally showing some kind of human emotion.
"You have no idea what you are talking about," he seethes, and I chuckle.
"Don't I? You didn't give a single fuck about mom. She was suffering for months and you didn't even notice. You didn't see her crying as she cleaned the house. You didn't hear the pain in her forced laughter. You just weren't there to see shit! If you had been there, you probably could have gotten her to seek help, but you were too busy fucking your whore and ignoring your kind wife crying out to you for months!" I yell, and he wastes no time in pushing me again. This time my leg gets caught in the chair, and I stumble onto the floor, the whiskey bottle shattering against the floor and spreading the brown liquor everywhere.
I hear Lily frantically knock at the door. "Is everything okay in there?"
"Yeah—we're just having a heart-warming father-son conversation," I say, hysterically laughing.
She doesn't sound convinced. "Blue... what is going on? Mr. Montgomery?"
I look to my father, who is silently huffing and gathering his composure. I expect him to tell me to get up, sober up, and come back when I've corrected myself. But instead he tells Lily, "We're fine, dear. Give us a few minutes, please," and offers me a hand to stand up.
"I'll see you soon, babe," I tell Lily, knowing she's still there, waiting to hear from me. I slap his hand away and push myself to my feet. I wobble but catch my balance before I can topple over. I go over to the door and press my ear to the door. I hear her light breathing and nails scratching against the wood like she wants to punch through it and check on me, but after a few seconds she sighs defeatedly and walks away.
"I loved your mother, I did," my father claims, lowering his voice.
"Right, right..." I say sarcastically and walk over to the mini bar. I grab the bottle of vodka and drink it straight until I stumble, and a laugh booms out of my mouth. Stars beneath my eyes, I lean against the marble surrounding the fireplace but hold myself upright. "That's why you kissed your current wife. It's also why you never once tried to help mom when she was obviously suicidal."
"I did try... I knew she was struggling with depression. She had been for years. I took her to several therapists and tried different methods to overcome the dark period she was going through."
"You didn't try hard enough!" Gripping the vodka bottle in one hand, I push the other through my hair and tug, hard. "Therapy and fucking yoga glasses weren't going to fix her."
"Nothing could have fixed her. There is no 'cure' to depression."
"There is such a thing as loving her!" I yell.
He looks too exhausted to yell back. "I loved her, I did, but... I could have done a million things and not save her from what she did."
"Why not?" I scream and punch the marble wall.
"Blue!" Dad rushes over and tries to examine my bleeding hand, but I back away, barely holding myself together.
"Do not touch me!" I take a deep breath and hunch over on my knees. "For years, I was grieving. Years! But you and Elliot... you two were acting as if mom dying didn't bother you. As if it was a normal thing and more of an inconvenience than anything." He opens his mouth, but I stand up straight and cut through his words. "No, don't say a goddamn thing because we both know I'm right. I was the only one dealing with the fact that she was gone. You say I was out of control back then, but I was trying to get rid of the deep-ridden feeling of loss. And it never went away. Not when I did drugs, not when I drank, not when I had meaningless fucks. Nothing helped me get over it, and I tried, I really fucking tried, but not nothing worked! I wanted to be like you guys, but I couldn't not go a single day without thinking about her." I take a swig then throw the bottle at the wall. I can imagine Lily gasping and chewing on her nails, contemplating breaking the door down.
"You don't think I lost a part of myself when your mother died?" His voice breaks, and he points to himself. "You don't think I lost my own shit when she walked into that ocean? The second she stopped fighting the natural instinct to hold her breath and let herself go... my heart broken into a thousand pieces. I couldn't breathe without her. I put up a good front for you boys. I slapped on a smile and tried my absolute best. I went to work more than I should have to get away from the home we made together, away from the beautiful boys we created. I held parties and took Elliot to his club meetings and let you grieve on your own term because I could barely focus on how to function." I can barely hear what he's saying by the time he sobs and shouts: "I was lost without her, more lost than you could possibly even believe! So don't you fucking dare say I didn't love her! I loved her with my heart, with my soul—with e-everything, and then she left me. She didn't just leave you, Blue, she left me too."
I'm speechless. I don't know what to say, and I always do. But I never expected this from my father. For thirteen years, he has been silent and all smiles and laughter and happiness. A bubbly man who acted as if he didn't tragically love his first wife, the first woman he ever loved and married and had children with. I never thought he would acknowledge her this way, tell me how distraught he really was after he lost her. He never said anything and instead hid inside vacation homes with his young wife and his successful son. I hadn't dreamt of the day I'd see him crying but now that I am seeing his flushed red cheeks and his knees shake... I'm satisfied. I'm greedy for the emotions he hid away for all these years. I'm desperate to witness someone else other than myself crack under the pressure of loss.
"Why didn't you ever tell me this when I was younger?" I ask him in a calm voice.
He raises his head, his lips trembling, his nose running rapidly. "I wanted to pretend it never happened, like you said. I know it sounds wrong... but it was better than living everyday wondering 'what if?' What if I had seen the signs earlier? What if I focused on her solely instead of building my company? What if I'd loved her enough to save her life?" His voice cracks like frail china glass, and he sobs. "I loved her so much Blue. I swear to God... I-I fucking loved her, and I still do. I will never not love her. I would do anything for her... like keep her letter safe until it was time."
What? "What letter?"
He doesn't answer. He trudges over to his desk and flops into his chair. He stares at the top of his desk for a few seconds before bending down and rummaging through a drawer. He straightens up, holding an aged envelope in his hand. "Her suicide letter."
I can hear my heartbeat raise in my ears as I walk over to him. "You... you fucking kept this from me? After all you saw me go through, you kept this from me?" I rush around the desk and yank him off his feet, slamming him into the wall. I want to drive his head through the plaster, watch him bleed, hear him cry for forgiveness. For years, he kept my mother's suicide note a secret. "I thought she just killed herself, I never got a goodbye from her. And you're telling me she left us a letter and you didn't tell me?" I throw my fist into his jaw and he winces.
"I thought this would send you overboard!" he yells and pushes me off him.
"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You were wild, Blue! Doing drugs, drinking alcohol, even in school—you were going out to every party every single weekend. For a moment, I was sure I'd come home and find your body in your room in some horrific state, either hung up or in the bathtub. I thought you would do what she did because you were just as lost as her." He cries and falls to his knees, covering his mouth in an attempt to keep the uncontrollable sobs in. My mind isn't my own anymore as I fall to my own knees in front of him and burst into tears. "I fucked up and lost your mother and... and I didn't want to lose you either. I couldn't lose you, too."