Bryan

It was time for dinner with my parents, but even as I sat there, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about anything. We silently spooned our soups between our lips while my parents mindlessly talked about bullshit subjects, but my mind was totally blank. My bones were heavy from all the alcohol I had been drinking, and every time I jumpstarted my brain, her fucking face would be right there.

Hailey fucking Ryan was still in my thoughts.

“So, Bryan, have you given any more thought to developing that commercial property branch of your business?” my father asked.

“Not really,” I said.

“Oh, you should really consider it. Bringing in rent and things like that would be a good monthly stipend for your business,” my mother said.

“Then I’d have to open a branch of the business that deals specifically with rental properties, too,” I said.

“Well, trust me, son. It’s well worth the new hires and the development of your business,” Dad said.

“I’ll look into it soon,” I said.

We finished our soup, and our bowls were promptly taken away. I knew I was distracted, and I could tell my parents were picking up on it. I was always a bit distant from them during these dinners, but this time was different. They were trying to get me to talk about things, so I would open up to them, maybe start spewing my guts to them like I used to when I was ten.

But I wasn’t ten anymore, and John wasn’t alive anymore, and Drew was thinking about leaving the business, and Hailey was just another lying, manipulative bitch.

“How’s Drew?” my mother asked.

“Why do you care?” I asked.

“She’s just trying to make conversation,” my father said.

“Drew’s fine. Thinking about opening his own tattoo business,” I said.

“Is that why you’re holding up on the development of that branch?” Dad asked.

“Not really, though I was going to hand that over to Drew. That was more his passion anyway,” I said.

“Still like hiring the hobos?” Mom asked.

“If you’re going to address the homeless community in my presence, please do so with a bit of respect. Otherwise, keep your opinions to yourself,” I said.

“Don’t you talk to your mother that way,” my father said.

“Then tell her not to talk to me that way. I’m not the only insulting person at this table.”

The silence descended back upon the conversation again as the main course was set in front of us. Grilled chicken breasts stuffed with cheeses and an array of different types of apples with a honey-apple glaze. Roasted vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes donned the plate as well, and a glass of wine was promptly set in front of me. I grabbed the glass and chugged it down, raising it high in the air to signal I wanted another one. My parents stared at me for a moment, surely taking in the way I was acting, and then my mother did it.

She asked the fucking question.

“How’s Hailey? I half-expected her to be here with you this evening.”

“With the way you talked to her last time? Not a chance,” I said.

“Bryan,” my father warned.

“But it doesn’t matter because we aren’t seeing one another anymore,” I said.

“I was wondering. We met her back in July, and you hadn’t really talked about her since,” my mother said.

“Well, there’s your confirmation,” I said.

“What happened, son?” my father asked.

“Don’t act like you care, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s why I haven’t been talking about her.”

“You know we’re here for you if you need to talk,” my mother said.

“Like you were there for John when he needed to talk?” I asked.

“And here we go again,” my father said, sighing.

“Nope. That’s all I have to say on it, actually.”

I held my mother’s gaze, and I thought I saw tears brewing behind her eyes. She dipped her head and started eating, and I could feel my father’s gaze on the side of my face. But I wasn’t letting them have the victory this time. I was staying for this entire fucking meal, and whatever was said at this table would be said. I had the strength to fuck Hailey from my system, mostly, and that meant I had the strength and the maturity to say what I felt needed to be said to my parents, no matter what they thought of it.

“Well, I for one am glad you aren’t dating her anymore,” my father said. “She was definitely a different one.”

“She would’ve never fit in around here,” my mother said. “I’m glad our input helped you to come to your senses.”

“Oh, is that what you think happened? You mean she was different like I’m different?” I asked.

“No, no, no,” my mother said. “You just have those wretched things on your body and a job that makes you work too hard, but you aren’t different. She, on the other hand—”

“Was a free soul you couldn’t stand because she silenced you with her reasoning and put you in your place,” I said.

“Sounds like you’re not quite over this little girl,” my father said.

“She’s far from a little girl.”

What the hell was I doing? Why the fuck was I defending her to my parents?

“And I’m glad Drew’s thinking about leaving the company,” my mother said. “It seems like life is finally trying to push you in a direction you’ve refused to go for a long time. It parts you from all that rabble he caused in your life. I know he was the influence behind those wretched things on your skin.”

“You could even liquidate the business and use the money to look into something a bit more profitable for yourself. I could even help,” my father said.

“You mean like how you wanted to help John?” I asked. “You think you can assimilate me back into the world of social calendars and investment firms and gossip?” I asked.

“Oh, no. You’d never find your place there anymore,” my mother said. “But that doesn’t mean you still couldn’t attend a few of the functions with us.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather starve on the street,” I said.

“Don’t you dare say things like that to your mother,” my father said.

“Or what? You’ll cast me out?” I asked. “Good, because these dinners give me hernias anyway.”

“Then why in the world do you come to them?” my mother asked.

“Because I still foolishly believe I could actually fix you guys,” I said.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that we aren’t the ones who need fixing?” my father asked.

My eyes connected heavily with his as I set my fork down. The anger I’d come to know as a familiar companion was welling within my chest again, and I rolled my shoulders back. I knew I was posturing. Preparing for a fight over this meal. But I’d had enough of the bullshit in my life. It was time for me to take a stand and try to get the reigns back from this horse that was running wild and free underneath my legs.

And I was starting with my fucking parents.

“No, it never occurred to me that I’m the one who needs fixing because my heart isn’t icy. You and mom constantly have your nose in the clouds thinking and assuming you’re better than everyone else when you’re not. You throw around your money, and that’s why people treat you with respect, but if you lived a basic, average life and acted the way you two do, the whole of society would cast you out. You’re a dick, mom’s a bitch, the two of you have tried to forget about your druggie younger son because it doesn’t fit into your perfect lifestyle, and now you’re trying to reform your only living son to try and quell the pain in your heart.”

“You shut your mouth this instant, boy,” my father said.

“Not a chance. I know the two of you hurt. In your own empty ways since John died. Just understand that simply hurting doesn’t make you good parents. Simply allowing that ache to exist doesn’t make you family. It’s what you do with that hurt and that ache that makes you family. That makes you worthy of being his parents.”

“Shut up, Bryan,” my mother said.

“You take down his pictures, and you try to erase his memory because why? You’re ashamed? It’s too hard? Tough. When people walk into this home and see absolutely no pictures of your dead son, do you know what they think?” I asked.

My parents were staring at me as if they wanted to kill me, but there wasn’t an ounce of me that truly cared.

Not anymore.

“They think you’re the ones who are worthless,” I said breathlessly.

“Get out. Now,” my mother said.

“I will never liquidate my business, Father, because my business allows me to do some real good, which is inspired by the life of my brother. I have a chance to really help these people in his name to alleviate some of the guilt I carry around for the circumstances surrounding his death. And I know you think I could help the homeless better by making more money and giving donations, Dad, but that’s not the help they need. The cause doesn’t need money, but the people do. Poverty isn’t a cause. It’s a state of living. Homeless people aren’t a charity, but they are a group of individuals in need of a rope to be cast to them. And does it work every time? No. Sometimes they show up to work high, and sometimes I find them right back on the street after blowing the money they earned, but I ran some figures.”

“I don’t want to hear another word of this,” my mother said.

“Sit down and shut up,” I said to her.

“You watch your mouth in this home,” my father said.

“I will do no such thing. I ran the numbers of successful homeless individuals who have been cleaned up, rehabilitated, placed into homes, and successfully pulled off the streets. Want to know our success rate?” I asked.

My parents were panting with rage as I slowly stood to my feet.

“Ninety-one percent,” I said.

I watched my father slowly rise to his feet as his cheeks colored with the anger I knew as a child. There were a handful of times I’d ever seen my father this angry, and I watched my mother reach over and take his hand. She was trying to get him to back down in her own silent way, but I was determined to stand toe to toe with them.

I was determined to get them to see before I walked out of here and never came back.

“You might want to take a good, hard look in the mirror, son, and figure out if you really want to help people or if you just want to assuage your guilt.”

“Michael, it’s not worth it,” my mother said.

“You might want to make sure you’re reaching into the poverty-stricken in this city and pulling them up because it’s a moral code or if it’s because you couldn’t help your brother,” he said.

“Michael, sit down,” my mother said.

“Before you go slinging the fact that we’re selfish and detached and not dealing with our sadness and guilt property, maybe you should make sure you’re not being any of those things yourself,” my father said.

I stood there in silence, not quite knowing what to say. For the first time in years, the rational part of me succumbed to what my father was saying. The rational part of me understood he had a point. Part of my want to reach into that community and help them was fueled by my guilt for not being more attentive to my brother. Part of the reason I started that outreach was purely for selfish reasons. Part of the reason I kept it going was that I felt I was somehow atoning for the sins I still carried around regarding my brother’s demise.

But part of me also knew I did it because I wanted to and because there were too many people who needed help in this world who were cast out by people like my parents. People who turned their back on others when they thought the situation was hopeless and when they felt there was nothing else they could possibly do.

I wanted to show those people there was still hope because I knew what it was like to be truly, unabashedly hopeless, and I never wanted to make anyone feel like that again.

They were trying to manipulate me like Hailey had, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Maybe part of my want to help the community is a bit selfish,” I said as I stepped away from the table. “But there’s still something that differentiates what I do from what the two of you want me to do.”

“Bryan, sit back down,” my mother said.

“And what is that?” my father asked. “What makes you so different from the people who raised you?”

“I’m not actively trying to write John out of my life,” I said. “In fact, I do this in his honor like the memorial services you two refuse to attend. I might be helping the community to try and keep my guilt at bay, but I’m also providing hope to those who need it most. There’s a difference between doing something in someone’s honor and doing something to discard someone’s honor.”

“And you think your brother had honor?” my father asked. “After shooting himself full of heroin and deserting his family? You think your brother had honor?”

“No,” I said breathlessly. “But he did have something the two of you never will.”

Their eyes were fully trained on me as I walked toward the door. I put my hand on the doorknob and twisted it, allowing myself to be hit with the soft smells of the salted ocean. I closed my eyes and reveled in it, thinking about how this would be the last time I would ever stand in my childhood home and relish in the memories that always made me smile.

Memories of me and John running around playing tag, irritating my mother while my father swung us around. They had been so different back then, so loving and so open and not yet jaded by the world and obsessed with their social calendars.

Not until my father made his first twenty million, anyway.

“He had decency,” I said. “And that’s something the two of you will never have.”

Then, before they could get a word in edgewise, I was out the door and headed for my truck. Except this time, I didn’t feel angry or saddened or defeated.

I felt lighter than I had felt in a long time, and that could only mean one thing.

Hailey was right. I needed to talk with her, but this time, I’d have to seek her out.