Chapter 43

See how far we have come

~Nathaniel's Lyric Journal

Dad was awake when I arrived home. Even though I closed the front door quietly and tried to tip toe across the quiet home, I froze when I saw him sitting in the living room couch. He got up from the couch, looking at me.

He got up with a scowl on his face.

"Where the hell have you been?" my father asked curtly. My mouth almost dropped from this first conversation. "It's almost three in the morning."

I walked past him, not answering his question. I kicked off my shoes and shoving the car keys in my pocket. I brushed back some of my sweaty hair before I gave a shrug.

"Nathaniel, answer the question. Where the hell have you been? It's late," he repeated in a more aggressive tone. I turned to the scowl on his face. I was too tired to notice how I looked, but his scowl disappeared into a sad frown.

"Look, I know you hate me right now, and I don't blame you. But you can't be out this late. I'm still your father, and I care about you."

I laughed at the last part.

"Sure Dad," was all I that I could responded.

When his face was etched with guilt, I felt something shift but when I thought about what he did, it quickly was suffocated. I walked into the kitchen, reaching for the closest cabinet to grab a drink of water. Dad followed quietly behind, watching me drink water.

I placed the glass down on the counter.

"Can we talk about what happened the other day?" my father asked quietly.

My head started to throb, and I already felt myself slipping from the thought about talking about what he wanted. There wasn't much to talk about. It wasn't like he was even here most of the time to talk about it.

I looked at Dad, and I realized how much he aged. Before the summer, his hair was graying on the side, and his usually bright eyes were exhausted. His face was haggard, and his frame seemed thinner.

He turned on the light before he settled onto the kitchen table. He gestured to the seat across the table for me to sit. However, I couldn't move from where I was standing.

"What is there to say?" was all I could say. 

He shook his head. "No, Nate. I'm sorry."

My eyes widened, and my eye was twitching. I was trying to stay calm but after he apologized, I snapped.

"That's all you can say?" I responded. "That you are sorry?"

He didn't answer right away. He looked at me, and he shook his head. He didn't stop shaking his head. Eventually he put his head on his hands, elbows planted on the table before he started to cry.

My body was still, my anger dissipating as quickly as it came. He never cried. The last time he cried was Mom's funeral. Even then, it was a few tears slipping down his face or a quick sob, but I never saw him break down. I could only watch silently as he broke down in front of me.

"You don't understand," he sniffled.

"I don't understand," I immediately objected, my voice raising without any care who else was hearing. "I was also there when she was diagnosed. I also took her to her treatments and appointments. I was there when she was slipping away. I was the one who found her body in the bathtub. Where were you?"

"Working," he hurled back at me. He abruptly got up. The chair behind him hit the wall, coming to a halting stop. "I was working overtime to pay for her large health bills. I was in the doctor's office looking for any possible treatment for her. I was flying her across the country to take her to every doctor and specialist and was there for her when nothing worked. I was working for her and for my family until I was too tired to even think, eat, or sleep."

His jaw was clenched, his hands were clenched into fists on the table. His voice was getting louder with each sentence he said. His voice was in pain, agony clear on his face.

It wasn't enough for me to not say, "That doesn't mean you ditch your family behind. Where the hell have you been all this time besides fucking Gina?"

"Watch your language young man," he warned me, though I was him flinch at my crude words.

"You left Carlos and I alone in this house when we needed you the most. Instead, you just left to anywhere except here."

He pointed a finger at me. "You did the same thing as me."

My eyes widened.

He wasn't serious was he?

"Are you serious?"  I asked incredulously.

"You didn't exactly stay around did you? You are out all day, and when you are home, you don't talk. You go straight to your room after. You work and hang out with your girlfriend. You don't come back until midnight nowadays or even later."

I felt my patience wear thin at this conversation.

I snapped, "I didn't get a girlfriend when I had a wife though."

He shook his head, wiping his eyes again at the mention of Mom. We both turned our heads to the picture of my mother hanging on the wall.

"I lied," my father eventually said. I dropped the cup onto the table, my head began to throb again. Before I comment about it, he held his hand up to silence me. I nodded, giving him the opportunity to explain.

"Your mother...didn't know about Gina," he explained awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "Gina and I didn't start anything until last month. Before that, it was just talking."

He stopped talking when he held his breath and muffled a cry.

My vision began to blur. I tried to imagine her arguing to my father that became a shouting math.

I only wished she was here again.

"What did you argue about with Mom on the day she died then?" I whispered to him, finally getting to the bottom of this.

He took a deep breath, gesturing to the kitchen around us. "I told her I wanted to come back here. Your mother hated coming Alabama, even with the cancer. I usually listened, but when she was told the treatments were not working...I was going to move the family back to Alabama so she can be with her family one last time. You can guess her reaction to that."

The screaming and fight hours before she died. 

I felt my anger grow back.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I responded angrily.

He wiped his eyes, and continued with a coarse voice I have never heard of him.

"After your mother died, I was a wreck. I was alone with three kids who needed me to be strong, but it was hard. I couldn't be strong. Gina...was there. I didn't feel as shitty around her. I loved your Mom, but I just didn't want to feel shitty anymore. I couldn't go to you, Carlos, and Mila about this. You all needed someone."

I shook my head at his excuses, closing my eyes and exhaled loudly. Tears were leaking through, but I didn't let it stop me. I was angry at him, and if he expected me he could make me feel bad and expect me to forgive him, then that wasn't okay.

"Why couldn't you come to us? We needed you," my voice cracked at the last statement. He flinched at my somber. My face was aching, wanting to breakdown but was unable to muster up energy.

Dad cried, "How could I help you if I couldn't help myself? I was a failure as a father and husband. I killed your Mom, how could I face you all?"

My eyes widened.

"You didn't kill her"

"I couldn't support her. That's why she killed herself," he cried out. He ran his fingers through his balding hair in the same motion I did when I was stressed. He sat back down on the chair before he groaned loudly.

It was strange to see him like this. It was a painful reminder no matter how different we looked sometimes, we still acted the same sometimes.

I slowly walked to the table, taking a seat next to my Dad. The sad part of all this was that I understood why he did it.

We both did the same thing. We drowned ourselves into our lives and guilt, finding someone else to keep us company. I thought that Dad was hollow: empty of any feeling. But I was wrong.

"I need you to tell you something," I began. I took a deep breath. My father turned to me, red-eyed and his eyebrows arched with confusion.

I didn't know that I was going to finally tell him, but I told him from the start with the bracelet.  His eyes turned from confusion to horror as I told him about Elise, her mother, and dealing with her Dad. I told him about the police station and the suicide letter. Once I started, it all started stumbling out  one by one.

"Elise," he repeated her name. "I thought her name was Eliza."

So he got her name mixed up, and wasn't trying to throw me off.

"No," was all I said. "Her name was Elise."

He nodded mindlessly, his eyes wandering off onto the empty walls. They were rimmed with red from his crying, and his face looked exhausted from the arguing. He yawned loudly before his head hung low.

"You know we all use to be happy in Alabama. I wanted to take your Mom back to this place because this is where we fell in love. This is where our family and friends lived. I didn't know about what happened with Rose, but it all makes sense now. Everything makes sense, but all I want right now is my family back."

I sat there, watching Dad collapse and realizing how much I didn't understand his suffering. Without any thought, i reached out for his hand that was laying on the table to travel as much comfort I could for him.

"I miss her too," I wanted to tell him because I did. "It's not your fault Dad."

What she was none of our faults, and I truly felt that now. As much as the pain was still there at the thought of her, the guilt was clinging to my body like extra weight.

He was shaking his head, tears still falling.

"I knew the cancer was killing her. I always thought she was just down because of that. I never thought she would do something like this," he whispered. "I was careless. She slipped through my fingers. I went out after our fight for a walk, and I returned to find her dead. When she died, I wanted to die with her."

I touched my wet face, my fingers becoming wet from my tears. Hearing him say the words that were running through my mind for months was shattered something inside me. My eyes were wet and my throat was closing up so tightly that it hurt to even breathe.

"Things will get better. I thought it wouldn't, but it will," I told him, trying to comfort him.

He pulled himself up before he wiped his eyes quickly.

"I know it will. It just will take time," he sighed, rubbing his face before stifling a yawn. "I understand why you resent me, but you should've told me everything, son. I wish you came with me earlier. You and Elise are both kids. This is serious stuff."

I shook my head.

"It's over," I responded in an equally stern voice. "It's over now."

He stared at me. He glanced around the room, and he looked at me with an unreadable expression. I stared back at him, hoping that he would understood that I didn't need him anymore.

"I understand. I'm here for you if you need anything." He turned to me. "Can I ask you something though before you go?"

I nodded.

"Of course."

"Can I read the letter she left you?" he asked quietly, looking at me.

I coughed. "Of course."

He gave me a sad smile. "Thank you."

Then he started to cry again softly. Feeling uncomfortable, I shoved my hands into my shorts and coughed. He looked at me with a less teary face.

"Thanks Dad," I said.

Then he kept apologizing over and over again through the tears. I nodded, listening to each whimper. My chest was aching from each whimper. When I looked at him this summer, I resented him. When we looked at each other now, there was some level of melancholy. I wasn't entirely sure what was happening now, but for once, I wasn't going to analyze it.

I've been hanging on in the past for too long. I'm going to look into the future. I'm going to live in the present.

Mom would've wanted that.

Dad gestured down the hall. "Go to sleep son. It's late, and I think we both need to sleep. Let's try to make things go back to normal."

I nodded, smiling at him.

"Okay, Dad. Goodnight. I love you," I said hesitantly. I yawned, feeling tired for the first time tonight. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until now.

"I love you too, my son. We will be okay."

And for the first time, I believed him.