FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Mom lets us stay up late. It’s Saturday and Dad isn’t home yet, so she’s letting us stay up and wait for him. Jamie and Chase are in my room, the lights off, our eyes sore from the glare of my TV. We’re playing Madden NFL on the PlayStation 2 that we got for Christmas last year to share, though I like to think that it’s mostly mine, because Chase barely remembers that it exists and Jamie sucks at every game he tries to play. I haven’t lost once tonight, and we’ve been playing for over an hour.
“Is it true that there’s a PlayStation 3 coming out?” Jamie asks mid-game. I think he’s giving up at this point, because I can sense him looking at me rather than at the screen.
“Yeah. In November,” I tell him with a shrug. On the screen, my team scores a touchdown. My sixth already within this game alone. We’re sprawled out on our stomachs on my bedroom floor, suffering carpet burn on our elbows, and Chase is laying on my bed half asleep.
“Really?” Chase says, growing alert. He sits up, excitement capturing his expression. “Will Santa bring us one?”
Jamie snorts from beside me, rolling his blue eyes, and in the darkness I whack his arm and fire him a threatening glance. “I don’t know, Chase,” I say, pausing the game and pushing myself up from the floor. “Add it to your list and you’ll find out.”
At that exact moment, Mom’s voice echoes up the staircase as she cheerfully calls out, “Boys! Your dad’s home!”
Jamie throws the console controller halfway across my room and springs to his feet while Chase leaps off my bed. The two of them run straight out of my room, wide grins on their faces, and I listen to the sound of their footsteps on the stairs as they race to greet Dad. For a very, very split second, I consider joining them. But then I remember that I don’t want Dad here, and I definitely don’t want to rush downstairs to give him a hug.
I get up, close my bedroom door, then return to my position on the floor and sit down cross-legged in front of the TV again. I end the current game and begin a new single-player one, increasing the volume and focusing my attention solely on the screen. My three days of guaranteed safety are over, and I know Dad hates it when I play video games too much, so I’m taking advantage of the freedom while I can.
Ten minutes pass and I haven’t heard any of the commotion downstairs. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear his voice. But then my door opens and the sound of it sends a shiver down my spine.
“You know, Tyler, it’s considered rude not to come and see your dad after he’s been gone for three days,” he states, and I don’t even pause the game as I glance up from the floor. Dad is standing in the doorway, his hand resting on my door handle, and he is narrowing his eyes down at me. Suddenly, he pushes my door open fully and flicks on the light. “And why the hell are you playing this?” he demands, storming into the room.
My eyes hurt from the sudden brightness and I squint at Dad as he strides toward me, snatching the controller straight out of my hand. “Mom said we could,” I tell him, but there’s no point. He doesn’t listen to me anyway.
“Have you been playing this the entire time I’ve been gone?” he questions, shaking the controller in front of me, his free hand already balled into a fist. “You have, haven’t you?”
“No, only tonight,” I splutter, flinching at the abruptness of his voice. How is it possible that I can make him so angry so quickly? What’s wrong with me? I scramble up onto my feet and hold my hands up in surrender. “I swear, Dad. All my homework is done . . . I’ve already studied this morning!”
Dad throws the controller straight back at me and it hurls against my shoulder and swipes the edge of my jaw despite my efforts to dodge it. Furious so suddenly, he turns to the TV and reaches around the back of it, yanking out wires. My heart is beating so fast it hurts as the fear begins to rise through me. Dad is so unpredictable when he’s angry, so I find myself defensively taking several steps back.
He grabs the PlayStation 2 and tucks it under his arm, wires dangling to the floor, and he fixes me with one of those disapproving glares that I hate so much. It makes me feel guilty, and I really don’t know why. I haven’t done anything wrong. Or have I? I was only having some fun.
“You don’t get to play this anymore,” Dad tells me through gritted teeth. There’s several feet between us, but I wish there were more. “Now get to bed, Tyler. Right now.” He turns around and heads back to the door with the console still in hand, and I don’t know where he’s taking it or why he’s so mad. He glances over his shoulder before he leaves and when he sees that I haven’t moved an inch, he almost throws the console at me, too. “Don’t fucking test me,” he growls, nodding over to my bed. “I’ve had the worst couple of days and this is the last thing I need.”
He doesn’t need to tell me a third time. I learned the hard way what happens if it comes to that. My eyes feel damp as I quickly turn around and crawl into my bed, pulling my comforter over me. I lie on my back, trembling slightly, and I watch him over the edge of my comforter as he turns back to the door, switching off the light again. “Dad,” I whisper. I really don’t know what I’ve done wrong, so I can’t help it. I’m crying. “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry that I make him so mad. I’m sorry that I can never be good enough. I’m sorry that I can’t make him happy the way Mom does, the way Jamie does, the way Chase does. I’m sorry for letting him down.
Dad pauses in the hall, but he doesn’t turn around. His shoulders rise and fall in sync with his breathing, and slowly, he shakes his head. Right before he pulls my door shut behind him, I hear him murmur, “It’s not enough.”
I squeeze my eyes shut in the dark silence of my room, my lips quivering as I cry even harder.
His apologies are never enough either.