Chapter Three
Ashley
Tyler’s smile was sickening, just like the first time I saw it when we were introduced at the wedding.
Just as I remembered, he was nice to look at. But the way he stared at me, with his eyes piercing into me and his teeth stretching out around the corners of his smile, as though he had too many, he resembled a shark more than a man.
I was very turned off by his slick, slippery demeanor. Even though his body looked healthy and he was the epitome of what most would consider handsome, with a sharp chin and a bronze complexion, I was immediately turned off.
As I shook his hand, which was a strange thing to do, I grew increasingly uncomfortable with the way he was glaring at me. His hand lingered, grasping mine possessively, almost as though he felt that I was only there for his own enjoyment.
However, I thought that I shouldn’t be too harsh on him, even though I was rarely wrong about my judge of character. I was just having such a hard time keeping it all together. I quickly noted that no matter what he did or how he acted, just his presence annoyed me and, therefore, I couldn’t completely trust myself.
You felt the same way at the wedding, though…I thought, before I quickly reminded myself that was a very emotional day as well. Much like being in this house, I hadn’t wanted my father to get married. He had only met the woman a few months before, and it never sat right with me that the first time she even bothered to meet me, was when she was already a part of the family, whether I liked it or not.
There was something suspicious about the pair of them, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
“I’m looking forward to the chance to get to know you,” I heard Tyler’s voice say, in a manner that was smooth as glass and likely loaded with crap.
However, I didn’t want to come across as rude. Once I realized what he said, over the sound of my own thoughts, I smiled at him and answered, “Yes, thank you…” in the most gracious, interested voice that I could muster. But hearing it ring aloud in my ears, I knew that there was not as much smoothness behind the crap that I was peddling.
I didn’t care to get to know either of them. I was uninterested in having any kind of civilized relationship with the people who, in my opinion, had stolen my father away from me during his time of weakness. But I reminded myself that I was doing this for my father and so, I kept in time with my charade, no matter how awful it came across.
When Tyler finally let my hand go, his mother picked up my attention right behind him. “Hi, Ashley…”
I turned towards the woman who was much younger than my father, but actually saw genuine kindness in her eyes, or at least that was how I perceived it. My stepmother’s expression was not the same as that of her son’s. She seemed to realize, to some degree, the level of my discomfort that not even my father was picking up on. The woman pressed her hand against my arm and moved closer to me, as though asking if it would be alright if she hugged me.
I made the motion to hug her back, just to ensure the room did not grow to be any more awkward, and she seemed thankful.
When we broke away, I caught a glimpse of my dad smiling, as though he was proud of what was going on. I wondered if he was ignoring the obvious strain, or if he was just oblivious to it, like he seemed to be oblivious to most things since he had met Theresa.
I wondered how long he was going to keep up this sense of careful ignorance. After all, I didn’t want to be responsible for creating a problem; but being back in this house, in such a drastically different situation, after all of this time, no matter how I tried to convince myself that I needed to remain under control for my father, I wasn’t sure if I could keep my opinions to myself for an entire summer.
While my father was welcoming and glad I was there, and his new wife was kind, but cautious around me, there was still something that didn’t quite sit right about them and their relationship. There were a lot of things that didn’t make sense to me, and more was wrong than right with my opinion of my stepbrother, but even my dad’s relationship was a little strange. I couldn’t quite figure it out, what I didn’t trust, but I figured throughout the entirety of the summer, there was sure to be some dirty laundry aired. Maybe through that, I would be able to pick out what was going on.
For the moment, though, I decided the greatest threat to myself personally, was my own mind and my stepbrother. Although he was just as attractive as I remembered from our brief exchange at the wedding, I quickly became partial to the impression that Tyler likely spent more time prepping himself in the morning than I did. And that is not the kind of man that I am interested in…
I didn’t even try to expand upon the thought that regardless of how I felt about him, we were family now. But despite trying to shut my brain off before it could actually make that connection, I had a solid thought about it anyway, which caused a shudder to run down my spine.
Ewww! I thought, keeping in mind that even if I hadn’t pictured the two of us getting together, even in the loosest terms, I would still have thought the idea of them being part of the family creepy.
There was just something about the whole dynamic between everyone that now resided in the household that just wasn’t right, and I had no idea what to do to make it any better.
I was simply lost, for words as well as for a sense of understanding, that all I could possibly do was just sit there and stare, while my mind reeled in an effort to gain some answers.
It took a moment for me to even realize that I had plastered a smile on my face and had resorted to making more noises than I had actual words. Thankfully, no one was really talking to me, but rather about me.
My new stepmother continued to usher in one compliment after another, trying her best to make me feel overly-welcome into the family that my father had formed with both his new wife and, for all I knew, freeloading stepson, while I was away, living the dream of a life I actually wanted at school.
Eventually though, the introductions ran out of words to be uttered and I felt my father tug at my arm.
“I’ll help you with your bags, sweetie,” he said carefully, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to speak to me anymore.
That wasn’t much of a surprise. My father hadn’t really known how to speak to me since my mother died. Perhaps I reminded him of her in a way that was too painful to bear and so, it inherently made him feel guilty. Or maybe I was a constant, undying thought of his old life that he would rather forget, and he feared every time he opened his mouth, he might actually let the truth slip. Or there was a possibility that he genuinely never knew what to say to me, since outwardly, he was the one who had taken my mother’s death so hard.
I knew for a fact that he was guilty about that. While I had never moved on inside my own head, and learned how to adapt in my life so I could keep some semblance of what life was like before I lost my mother, my father just stagnated.
Until he met his new wife, he hadn’t done much except grieve after my mom passed away. Then, when he finally mustered up the courage to put his foot in the kiddy pool of dating, he married the first person he thought would have him.
If that didn’t scream guilt, I wasn’t sure what did.
Still, being my father, I loved him and therefore I was able to put his obvious misgivings aside to actually want to work with him.
That was why I was here, secretly being humiliated and counting the moments until the summer was over, so I could return to a reality I preferred far more than the reality my father existed in.
I followed him up the stairs as neither one of us spoke a word. He seemed nervous and jittery though, like he was trying to get up the nerve to say something to me. Even though I wasn’t a big fan of my father, I still managed to learn his ticks and his attitude.
For instance, right before he said something he felt might be confrontational, he always made strange noises, along with the patterns of his breath. It was hardly noticeable, except to people who were comfortable being close to him, for he hovered right on top of them, even if the confrontational situation he was about to embark on had to do with that person.
I didn’t think that he even knew that he was doing it, despite the fact that I had made it a point to remind him about personal space, another annoying and convenient oversight that he had habitually acquired after my mother’s death.
Still, since I didn’t want to have any trouble with him, I didn’t want to start badgering him about things that his wife probably said to him all the time. I needed to be in his presence, at least for an hour, before I did anything that was considered nagging.
My father walked with me into my room and when we were alone, he closed the door. He carefully set my suitcase down next to him and looked at me with wide, serious eyes. “Ashley, are you alright?” he asked with a grim demeanor.
I sighed and shook off the feeling that this was going to turn into an argument. I knew that look and while it was meant to be concerned, it came off to me as aggravated.
Great, I’ve only been here five minutes and I’ve already upset him…I thought, trying to steer clear of growing angry.
“What do you mean? It’s summer after a great year at my dream college. Of course I’m all right.”
“You don’t seem all right,” he answered, almost as if that was a trigger reaction that he would have said regardless of what I had preceded it with.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, now feeling a rise of heat in my chest as I wondered if he was really trying to pick a fight with me.
“You don’t seem yourself.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What is it? Are you overwhelmed?”
No, I’m angry that you dragged me out here, where there are so many memories with people that are no longer around, just so that you can show off to your new wife and her stupid son. I felt my brow wrinkle, but what I said was, “Sure…A little. I mean, I am just meeting them.”
“You met them at the wedding,” he answered, once again as though he was expecting me to say that.
It caused me to wonder if he had planned out the entire conversation, inevitably ending in disaster from the start. I hadn’t thought about this annoying, yet once again fairly new, knee-jerk reaction to any type of perceived confrontation. Normally when he spoke to me, he was too thrilled to be hearing from me to pull any of this, post-death guilt on me. It might not have been my fault that my mother died, but sometimes, with the way that he acted, it was almost as though he blamed me for it; or for living when she was no longer around to take care of me. How cynical I was depended entirely on how I thought. Today, I just wasn’t sure.
I felt my breath speed up, as I tried to calm the adrenaline that pumped through my head, flooding my brain with quick, sarcastic replies and hurtful comebacks that would just make him go away. However, before I said anything, I took a deep breath, held it and let it go. “Yes, Dad. I did meet them at the wedding, but that was a fairly hectic day.”
“It was a wonderful day!” he exclaimed, as though accusing me of thinking anything less.
Not for me it wasn’t. I thought, trying to hide the contempt that was steadily growing inside of me. Why is he doing this to me? I just got here! Yet, once again, I calmly replied, “I am very happy for you, Dad. This is going to be a fun summer. I meant what I said, I am looking forward to getting to know the new members of our family.” I smiled and tried not to roll my eyes as I sat down on my bed, trying to ground myself for whatever was going to spew out of his mouth next.
“It will be,” he smiled brightly, but then his lips moved back into a slight scowl as he added, “But I wish you would tell me what is bothering you. You don’t act like this when you are overwhelmed, you act like this when you are angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I answered, almost too quickly. Although my father might have his faults, he had always known me very well and now, I was sure that he had picked up on the fact that I was trying to hide my true feelings.
He sighed and sat down next to me. Now, having realized what was actually going on, his nervousness had dissipated and he was able to come to terms with the way I was acting, and that caused him to be a little more rational. “Why?” he asked, as his eyes bore into me.
Remembering this look from childhood, one of the few that remained from when we were really a family, I wanted to cry and embrace him, happy for the small memory and hope that the father I was once so close to was still there, somewhere. This look was not an angry one. It was a kind and gentle gaze, which accompanied a question about what was going on. He simply wanted a reason for whatever it was that was bothering me. This look told me that he was willing to help, instead of just focusing on the negative aspects and demons that I was sure still surrounded him on a daily basis.
Just because he claimed to have a good life with his wife and stepson, while his daughter lived out her dream, far enough away from home as to not mess anything up for him, did not mean he didn’t think about what happened and what he could have done differently. It didn’t mean that he didn’t wonder why there was so much going on inside of his head, or didn’t try to decipher the craziness that was all a part of his mind since the moment my mother took her last breath.
However, when I thought about this, instead of answering his question, he stood up and demanded, “Why are you angry?”
Now the look was gone and I was rocketed back into the reality of having the volatile, crazy father whom I knew well, but could rarely handle. This change in him only made me feel angrier, which caused me to stand and glower at him. I didn’t mean to be callous with my words, but I had already endured too much aggravation to feel any pity or remorse concerning what I was about to say. “Why did you have to bring them here?”
My father stopped and stared at me as honest confusion glossed over his eyes. “What?”
I sighed, realizing that I might as well jump into the argument that he seemed to want so badly, instead of trying to fight against the current, which I knew from experience would simply swallow me whole. So I demanded, matching his original volume and tone. “Tell me why you had to bring them here, of all places! This was our special place. We could have gone anywhere, literally, anywhere in the world, but we didn’t. We came here. Why?”
At first, I was afraid that he was going to scream at me. After all, he was teetering on the brink of going absolutely insane; but instead, he bounced back and tried to actually answer my question, instead of attacking me.
He sighed and tried to explain. “Well, we always had good memories here, right?”
He left room for me to comment, but I felt that would only make me feel worse, so I just widened my eyes, as though expecting more before I would give him any kind of feedback.
He shrugged. “I just…I really thought it would be a nice place to bond…”
“But I don’t want to bond here,” I exclaimed, far louder than I had intended. However, before giving my father a chance to retort my claim, I felt myself breaking down. I didn’t want to cry now though, so I fought it. Instead, I just plead my case with him and explained, in an irritated tone, “This was the place that mom loved most!” I tried to make him see, but as the thought struck me, even harder once I had said it out loud, I was overcome with emotion. “I know that she would have rather seen you sell it and use the money to buy your own new family getaway then to share it with these strangers!”
At this, my father reared back. But instead of coming back at me with fury, he seemed wounded as he plead, “They aren’t strangers. They are our family. I know you think that I took this decision lightly…either marrying Theresa, or coming out here for the summer, but I didn’t. I thought about both for a really long time…and you were even okay with it, or at least I thought you were.”
When he paused, I crossed my arms and answered with the most honest, while still trying not to be hurtful response I could muster. “Well, Dad, I thought I was okay with it too. I thought that everything would be fine, but I can’t help how I feel.”
My father returned his argument a little more indignantly. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but that just isn’t my fault. I asked your opinion and I thought you gave it to me…”
“So, what? Now my opinion doesn’t matter?” I spat, knowing that I shouldn’t be so petty, especially with my father, who was slightly unstable in times like this, but I just couldn’t let the moment pass without saying anything.
“It isn’t that your opinion doesn’t count. Stop being so difficult. It’s just that…” he stopped then and breathed out, as his eyes furrowed, before he answered, “It’s just that now it is too late. I married her six months ago and we are sitting in the beach house, during summer vacation now, so even if I wanted to correct what you think are mistakes, I couldn’t do it anyway. Maybe next time, you’ll tell me the truth.”
I turned my head, ready to retort, but looked at the stormy darkness welling within the pools of his eyes. I figured that now would probably be best not to respond with anything.
So I just stared at him, until the cloudiness in his eyes began to pass and he continued the conversation with me. “Look…” he hissed, “maybe this isn’t your ideal vacation, but it means a lot to me, so could you please try to give your new stepmother and stepbrother a chance?”
My head made some motion that might have resembled a nod, but otherwise I didn’t answer him. I was too depressed to answer him and too hurt to continue to lie. I just stared back at him, waiting for my father to either say something that I had to respond to, or leave.
Eventually my father chose to leave and when he did so, I flung myself back on the bed and finally allowed myself to cry. I quickly grasped the pillow, which made my emotions grow even fiercer, since it still smelt the way everything used to smell, before my life was turned upside down. I was completely devastated. I had countless fights with my father before. That wasn’t really the issue. The point was that I was so aggravated by his need to turn everything around, so that nothing was ever his fault that I felt like disappearing into the bed, never to be seen again, just so I never had to be made to feel like this.
I should have kept my anger in check… I thought; you know there is no talking to him when he is like this!
Still, I knew that no matter what had happened, or how I had reacted, eventually, he would have pushed one too many buttons and the result would have been the same.
I should have never come here, I finally decided as I realized there was nothing he could have done over the phone that would have made me feel as badly as I did right now, with absolutely no way to escape.
If I was still at school, all I would have to do is hang up the phone and get on with my real life. But now, for the rest of my summer, this is my life…and I am surer than ever that I am going to hate it.