Bryan

Halloween had come and gone, and I’d celebrated it all at the art gallery. I’d taken the day off and visited Hailey, watching as all the kids of various ages, races, and social classes descended on her studio. She had bowls of candy and free little artworks she had painted and framed just for them, and the sheer joy on those children’s faces was enough to make my heart soar. Hailey was smiling and laughing, selling paintings right off the wall while I stood there in the corner admiring her and watching her succeed at something she’d always wanted her entire life.

I enjoyed the holiday with her. I stayed the entire day at her gallery before we went home and prepared for the trick-or-treaters I knew my home would get. She made us homemade apple cider, and we doled out candy while sitting on the porch. I didn’t think it could get any more perfect than this moment.

But I knew a dinner with my parents was looming around the corner, and as the air continued to grow chilly with the slow approach of Thanksgiving, I realized why the air around my parents’ house was colder than usual. My parents were simply cold human beings.

“Hailey and I are back together,” I said.

“Oh,” my mother said. “How did that happen?”

“Reconciliation. Apologies. You know, talking like adults,” I said.

“Well, I, for one, am happy for you, son. I could see how much she meant to you,” he said.

“What happened between the two of you anyway?” my mother asked. “You never did mention it.”

“She knew what actually happened to John,” I said.

“What?” my father asked.

“She knew what actually happened to John, and she kept it from me,” I said.

“I have no idea what that’s even supposed to mean,” my mother said.

“John didn’t die a drug addict, Mom. John died sober, trying to save Hailey’s life,” I said.

“He what?” my father asked.

“Yeah. Hailey knew him back when he was in L.A. She had her own little art studio that she used to pull him off the streets. He cleaned up the moment he could delve into his art again,” I said.

“That boy was always so dramatic over some little paintings,” my mother said.

“Well, those little paintings saved his life. He cleaned up his act and tried to help get Hailey out of a rough scenario,” I said.

“In a bad relationship or something? Don’t tell me she dated John. She’d be practically bunny-hopping around the family. Who’s next? Me?” my father asked.

“Don’t be silly, you’d never stoop down and date someone like Hailey,” my mother said.

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

“Look, whatever this Hailey girl told you, you know it isn’t true. You saw John a couple months before his death, right? You said so yourself that he was high when the encounter happened,” my mother said.

“I said I thought he was high because never once had he ever raised his voice at me,” I said.

“He did to us all the time,” my mother said.

“Because you ripped his art away from him, and it spiraled him into drugs,” I said.

“Well, that was his choice. It could’ve just as easily spiraled him into something else like music or mathematics,” my father said.

“Taking away a child’s ability to express themselves through art is supposed to drive them toward math, Dad?” I asked.

“So, what was this heroic act our son supposedly died doing?” my mother asked.

I could feel my blood pressure rising as I set down my fork and drew in a deep breath.

“One of Hailey’s art students was selling drugs out of her studio. Some guys came by and threatened her, dragged her out of bed by her neck, Mom. John was there and got them away from her, and then he set out to fix it, so they wouldn’t come back. Those same guys killed him because he was trying to protect her.”

My parents fell silent while they both studied my face. My eyes volleyed back and forth between them, holding onto the hope that the truth would finally set them free of this fucking nonsense and that knowing their son was a hero who devoted his last breath to save the life of a woman would somehow make them proud of him.

But the hope was short-lived the moment my mother opened her mouth.

“And you think this was John?” she asked, grinning. “You think he got sober and became Superman.”

“You have to admit, Bryan, it doesn’t sound at all like John,” my father said.

“Are you two serious?” I asked. “You really don’t think your son was capable of getting sober and staying that way, much less helping a woman. Dad, you were the one who drilled into our heads the value of treating a woman with respect.”

“Yes, but not saving her life,” he said.

“So, you wouldn’t save Mom’s life?” I asked.

“I’d do it in a heartbeat, but that’s because I love her. Was John in love with your girlfriend?” he asked.

“No. They weren’t dating. He probably loved her, yes, but because she helped him, pulled him off the street and gave him a place to clean himself up. Mom. Dad. He had a place he was renting before he died. His own home,” I said.

“Are you sure she didn’t track you down, Bryan?” my mother asked. “Sounds like she just wanted a piece of the other brother, if you ask me.”

“Don’t you ever talk about her that way again,” I said.

“I’m just stating a possible truth. John couldn’t have done those things. He didn’t have it in him. He was always the shy, timid kid. You were the outgoing one,” my mother said.

“John died because he was mixing with the wrong people. For all you know, he knew those guys who came into her studio if that’s even true. And you need to learn from his death, son. You need to get away from people like Hailey.”

“And Drew,” my mother said.

“Before you end up like him,” my father said.

I couldn’t believe my ears. My parents had actually found a way to spin my brother’s heroic death into nothing other than more lies, deceit, and manipulation. They were still trying to find a way to get my life back on some path they felt I should be on, and it made me realize why I’d automatically accused Hailey of all those things and why my emotional reaction had been the way it had been that day in the back of her art gallery. I’d been scared that I’d fallen in love with someone like my parents.

The thought made me sick that I could ever lump her beauty and her honesty in with the likes of the disgusting people I was looking at.

“Well, you might get your wish with Drew. He’s probably going to leave the company soon to open his tattoo parlor, which I think is better for him anyway. It’s where his passion lies,” I said.

“Oh, you’re going to liquidate,” my father exclaimed.

“Never said anything about that,” I said. “I’m happy for Drew no matter what he chooses, but I’m staying with the company.”

“Well, that’s Drew’s decision. If he wants to scar the people of this city further with that mess he put on your body, that’s his prerogative,” my mother said.

“It won’t be as lucrative as what he’s doing now,” my father said, “but some people don’t want greatness.”

“I know, Dad. Heaven forbid they actually want to be happy,” I said.

“You should really heed your father’s advice,” my mother said. “Liquidating and investing the money would be a much more substantial way to spend your time. It’ll also help you build your financial future. If you wanted, we could set you up with—”

“I don’t need help liquidating a business I have no intention of liquidating. If anything, I’ll be liquidating Drew’s share of the company, so he can open his tattoo parlor without going into debt,” I said.

“You mean you actually support this venture of his?” my mother asked. “Isn’t he your friend or something? You should be advising him otherwise.”

I sat back in my chair and started wondering why the hell I even continued to try. After the encounter we had last time, I figured I would never see them again. Yet here we were, going around and around the way we usually did where my parents insulted anything and everything about my life and those I loved, and in the process, they expected me to hop on board with what they were saying.

All of it.

“You know, you guys were never like this before you had money,” I said, snickering.

“Like what?” my mother asked.

“He’s about to get dramatic again, Dorothy. Hang on,” my father said.

I felt every single rubber band of patience snap in my gut as I slowly panned my eyes toward my father. He straightened his back as my mother braced herself for what was to come.

But nothing they could’ve done would’ve prepared them for where I was going.

“I’m embarrassed to call you my parents,” I said.

“Excuse me?” my father asked.

“I’m embarrassed and ashamed of the two of you,” I said. “I come here twice a month and listen to the two of you berate and spit all over the life I’ve created for myself, and that’s somehow supposed to garner you favor with me? Are you fucking serious?”

“Watch your—”

“I won’t watch anything,” I said. “I grew up in this home just as much as you live in it. I roamed the halls with a brother who became a hero, even though his own fucking parents are determined to throw him under the damn bus.”

I could see the tears rising in my mother’s eyes, but I no longer cared.

“Before we had money, the two of you loved. You lived life, and you saw the beauty in things, and you experienced it instead of merely walking through it. But the moment you made your first twenty million, Dad, it all went to shit. All the two of you did was stick us with the nanny while you gallivanted off to parties and stumbled in drunk. You stopped supporting things, and you merely started sending checks, thinking your money was enough,” I said.

“One day, should you ever become lucky enough to be a parent, you’ll realize that you’re more than just a parent. Your father and I deserved those parties. We deserved getting away from how rough it was raising two boys like you and John,” my mother said.

“But you were parents when you wanted to rip his art away when you thought he was delving into something you thought wasn’t productive. You didn’t want to steer him toward a career or anything, but you sure as hell were set on ripping his one piece of happiness away from him.”

“That’s enough,” my father asked.

“No. For years the two of you have had your say, but don’t worry. This’ll be the last time I’ll come back to this house.”

“What?” my mother asked breathlessly.

“If you don’t want to acknowledge the fucking hero your son was, fine. That’s not my problem that you simply don’t want to accept your hand in John’s death. That’s cool. But now what you’re doing is overcompensating. You’re pushing me toward a path you think I should be on because you think that’s what you did wrong. You think not pushing John toward a fucking job is what killed him, but do you know what actually killed him?” I asked.

My parents stayed silent as their wide eyes were hooked onto me.

“Your inability to see anything beyond the scope of your fucking wallet.”

I grabbed my coat from off my chair and headed for the door. I could hear my mother crying as my father flew up from the table, and in that instant, I was whipped around and staring eye-to-eye with the man I’d once respected and looked up to.

“Take it back,” he said.

“That very statement proves you know I’m right. Don’t bother calling me for these dinners, or anything else for that matter, until you can actually admit it. I was finally able to and so was Hailey. In my eyes, she’s better than the two of you combined will ever be.”

“Take it back!” my father roared.

“Until you can accept your part in your own son’s death and acknowledge your bad fucking attitudes and apologize for them, lose my fucking number.”

“Bryan, wait!” my mother exclaimed.

But all I did was wrench from my father’s grasp and slam their front door behind me.

“You are the most ungrateful child I’ve ever known!” my father yelled from the porch. “You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself. You’ve always been selfish.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blame it on someone else,” I said, murmuring.

I hopped behind the wheel of my truck and quickly made my way out of their driveway. I drove all the way to the end of the concrete descent from hell before I turned and made my way back to my home. I settled back against the seat of my truck as my mind went numb and blank while I drove through the small streets of the corner of the world my parents had secured as their own.

For the first time in years, I didn't look back at their house as I drove away.