Page 58 of Taking Care of You
“Mhm. I’m good. I don’t know, it’s weird. I’ve wanted an apology for so long, wanting him to know he was wrong, but when I got it, I didn’t really care either way. I know he was wrong, and that was enough for me.”
Ethan grabs my hand and kisses it. “I’m still sorry you went through that. I’m glad he apologized, though. Even if you don’t care about it, you deserve it.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, looking out of the window. Ididdeserve an apology, and now that I’ve gotten it, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
19
Igo home for a few days before Thanksgiving. Since I don’t plan to come back for a few days after, I need to swap out my clothes. When I walk inside, I’m surprised to see my father in the kitchen filling a glass with water at the sink. He looks up at me and gives me a small wave before he brings the cup to his lips. I wave back and start to head to my room.
It's really weird to see him. I used to want to see my father all the time when he got off work. Now, I don’t know how to feel about him. I’m torn about if I should try to talk to him again or just stick to my plan of writing him off when I head off to college.
“Jakoby,” he calls before I can take more than a few steps down the hall. I pause and turn around to look at him, sure surprise is evident on my face.
Dad takes a few steps towards me and leans against the wall. “How you doin’, kid?”
My eyes almost bug out. I can’t remember the last time either of my parents asked how I was.
While my mother looks older and her skin is very ashen and gray-looking, my dad still looks the same. We look a lot alike, except he may have about twenty pounds on me. Same weirdly-spaced eyes, thin nose, and plain lips. He used to beam when people told him how much we looked alike. Like most men, he was excited to have a son to carry on his name. Let my mother tell it, I’ll never have kids to pass the name down to.
Although I’m sure he doesn’t like it either, my dad didn’t come down on me for being gay. He just said he didn’t understand it and that’s pretty much it. I guess he left everything else up to my mother. I remember thinking it wasn’t for him to understand, since it wasn’t his life. But I was twelve and didn’t know how to stand up for myself.
I still don’t.
Shaking myself from those melancholy thoughts, I mumble, “I’m good, Dad. You?”
“I’m good. Haven’t seen you around here. Down at Crystal’s?”
I shake my head, still surprised by this conversation. It’s just really out of left field.
“No, Dad. I made a new friend. Ethan.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his tired eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because Ethan is the new friend I mentioned and he knows I’m gay, or he wants to be happy that I have a new friend but can’t muster the excitement because he’s working his fingers to the bone and needs to rest. “That’s great, kid. You going over for Thanksgiving? Not sure if there’s going to be much cooking going on here.”
I nod. Neither of us mention that there’s probably no food here for a meal, and the stay-at-home parent that used to cook probably won’t be sober enough to cook anything that passes for a Thanksgiving dinner.
“You want me to bring you back a plate?” I ask him, surprising myself.
My dad isn’t really a bad guy, he’s just absent. He works himself so hard and I understand.
But I shouldn’t be surprised my father spoke to me. I should be used to talking to my dad, not wondering if this may be the last conversation I have with him for another few months.
He smiles softly but shakes his head. “Nah. The plant will still be open, so I’m picking up a shift. Get paid time-and-a-half for holidays. They’re going to have some food there for us.”
Should have known he was going to be working. I’m sure he doesn’t know how to do anything else.
I sigh, realizing that I wanted him to say he wanted me to bring him a plate so I could come home and see him. If he’d asked, I would have come home with a spread so we could sit and talk like we used to. It would have been nice.
“Okay. I have homework,” I say, making an excuse to end the conversation.
“Okay, kid.” He pushes off the wall, then goes back into the kitchen, and I go into my room.
That wasn’t the worst conversation, but I wish I knew how to talk to my father and not feel like he’s a stranger.
Flopping onto my bed, I pull my phone out and text Ethan.
Me: Just talked to my father.
He textsme back almost immediately, which makes me wonder why he has his phone on him at practice.
