Page 29 of Sour Brew Face

“Fuck.” I stand up abruptly, sliding my chair back loudly in the restaurant. “Excuse me, I need…fuck. I need a minute.” I hastily make my way to the restrooms, pushing through the door to the men’s room and stepping into a stall. I lean back against the door and close my eyes. My stomach churns and I don’t know if I’m going to vomit.

I’m so fucking angry, my body feels like a volcano, a pressure building and building in me that I’m honestly afraid to unleash. How could she do this to me? To Robert and Emerson? To our family? What kind of mother denies her children the chance to know their father? Connives and deceives to keep a father from his sons?

The damage she has caused will have continuous rippling effects for the rest of our lives. And for what? Control? I don’t understand how someone could ruin so many lives. How they could live with the destruction they’ve left in their wake.

The door to the bathroom opens and I’m thankful I’m not throwing up.

“Langston?” The sound of my father’s concerned voice sparks a memory from when I was a child, and he would come into my room when I had a nightmare. He’d say my name just like that. A sob breaks free before I can squash it.

“Son, come here.” Like a lost little boy, I open the bathroom stall and walk into my father’s waiting arms. “We’ve paid the tab, follow us back to my house. We’ll catch up in private and then we’ll introduce you to your family. They’re very excited to meet you.”

Those words, “your family”, ring in my ears and settle in my heart. I have a family.

“Thank you, dad.” I whisper, thankful for his suggestion. I wish Mo was here with me, I could really use her strength right about now.

Mo 25.

Amelia was exactly what I needed the other night. She held me while I grieved for a future that will only play out in my dreams, made me laugh so hard I snorted ice cream (which burns the nose, in case you were wondering), and gave me hope that love still exists as she regaled me with stories of her growing relationship with Dave.

Unfortunately, after she left, the hollowness crept back in until it consumed me completely. I’ve spent the entire weekend laying in bed, laying on the couch, watching animal videos on my phone, or sobbing in the shower.

It’s Sunday night and I’ve decided that I’m only giving myself until 10 p.m. to wallow, then I need to suck it up and move on. I have work and friends and I can’t continue like this. Also, my blankets need to be washed…or burned.

At 10 o’clock exactly, I turn off the tv, the lights, and head to the front door to make sure its locked up for the night. I nearly shit myself when someone rings the doorbell. Reaching behind myself, I pat the seat of my pants and don’t feel anything squishy, so I think I’m safe, then check the peep hole. I take a giant step back from the door. It’s Langston.

Why is Langston here at 10 at night on Sunday ringing my doorbell?

“Mo?” He calls through the door and I’m not prepared for the anguish in his tone. How it sends chills up my arms and raises the hair on the back of my neck. He’s in pain and my first instinct is to go to him and make it better. I clench my fists and take a deep breath, searching for a calm I know I won’t find.

“What do you want Langston?”

“Please.” That one word…I hate myself for how it breaks me. With trembling hands, I unlock the door and pull it open. The sight of him nearly knocks me on my ass. His hair is a mess, the skin around his eyes is dark and sunken, the haunted pallor of his skin, the defeated slump of his shoulders.

“Mo.” His voice cracks when he says my name, and the look of his immense relief is overwhelming. He clears his throat, but it does nothing to rid his voice of the hoarseness. “I fucked everything up. I know…I know I have no right to ask you for anything. It’s just…you’re the only person I want to share this with, the only one I know can help me make sense of the nonsensical. You are my best friend, and I could really use my best friend right now. Please?”

I’m stunned speechless by his plea, by the weight of his words. He is…was my best friend too. In the time we spent together, talking on the phone, lunches, hanging out at the bar, he became essential, necessary, integral. And then he ripped it away. However, looking at him now, I know I can’t deny him. I’m not that kind of person, and I don’t ever want to be.

Silently, I grab his hand in mine and lead him into the living room. I urge him to sit on the couch, then step away to go to the kitchen to get him something to drink, but he grabs my wrist and halts my movement.

“Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” I cover his hand on my wrist with my other hand.

“I’m getting you something to drink, I’ll be right back.” He stares into my eyes, and I’ve never seen him so lost, so vulnerable. He nods and releases his hold. My mind is spinning as I get a bottle of Ishaan for Langston and a bottle ofChimayfor myself.

I sit in the recliner after giving him his bottle and take a sip of mine. His head is down, his hands dangling between his legs as he leans on his thighs. I’ve missed those thighs, the way they felt cradled between my own, the strength in them as he pumped inside me. I push those thoughts aside; they aren’t helpful here. I wait him out, letting him gather his thoughts.

“I remember bits and pieces of my childhood before my dad left. I remember he would come in and comfort me when I had a nightmare, he taught me how to play baseball, tie my shoes, ride a bike. I remember his smiles and laughter when he would play with Emerson and I. And then…and then he was gone. My mom said…well you know some of what she said. That he didn’t want a family anymore, that we weren’t enough for him, etc. I was about 8 years old. I became the man of the house, I didn’t want Emerson to grow up without a father, so I did all those things for him. Mom wasn’t easy growing up, she was particular about how things should be done, and she didn’t like variation.”

He pauses, taking a deep swig of his beer. “Emerson would argue with her, fight back against her rules. He’d purposefully put things where they didn’t belong, and I just thought he was acting out because dad left. He wouldn’t listen to her, and it would frustrate her when he would come to me for comfort. It only got worse when he became a teenager, but through all of that, he was a straight A student, active in clubs and sports. I figured parent’s had a kid they were especially close to, and I was that child for my mom. I didn’t rock the boat too much; I was the peacemaker. I didn’t want her to leave us like dad did.”

He meets my eyes and the regret that swims in the slate depths would cause my knees to buckle if I wasn’t already sitting down.

“He turned 18 a few months before he graduated high school. And they’re arguing only got worse. She wanted him to attend locally, he wanted to go hours away. She said she wouldn’t pay for that, and he didn’t seem to care. The morning after he graduated, I woke up and he was already gone. I tried hard to be there for her, to be both sons to her, to fix things around the house. She’s always been there for me, I felt I owed her the same courtesy. She’s…she’s…fuck,” He growls, running his hands through his hair, “she’s my fucking mom.”

The sad tones of his voice are gone as he continues, the harsh way he spits out the words sends my stomach churning in concern.

“I saw my brother and my dad on Friday. I’ve spent all weekend with them and their families…nephews I’ve never met, a stepmother who is sweet as pie, and a sister-in-law who is so perfect for my brother, it’s like she was tailor made for him. And a father, my dad…who loves me and Emerson fiercely and was denied the chance to watch us grow up. Well, me anyway.” I furrow my brows, not understanding what he means. He laughs darkly, though there is no humor in the sound. “Before Emerson turned 18, he tracked down our dad, Robert Reynolds. They started talking and they grew close over phone calls and a few weekend visits when Emerson would say he was staying with friends. When he left us…me, he went to live with our dad and his wife, Veronica. He stayed with them for the first two years of college, which they paid for. He met his wife his senior year of college and they have two absolutely breathtakingly beautiful little boys…” He lifts a fisted hand to his lips as tears spill over his eyes and I can’t take the distance anymore. I climb onto the couch and plant myself on his lap, holding him and he shatters in my arms.

What happened between us, was devastating and I’m still dealing with the aftershocks of that betrayal. But my heart bleeds, broken as it is, for this man…whose entire foundation is crumbling beneath his feet.

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