by RH Tucker
“Actually,” I stand up from the bench, “I can’t make it tonight.”
“Come on, man.” Taylor swats my chest.
“Yeah, Micah,” Becky adds. “My friend Pam is totally cute and …” she leans closer, lowering her voice, “you didn’t hear this from me, but she’s been eyeing you around the gym.”
Taylor smiles, wiggling his eyebrows at me. What a dick.
“Wow, that’s flattering. Thank you. But I really can’t.” Taylor will probably complain for a week for what I’m about to say, but neither of them will stop unless I do it. “Um, actually, I caught an STI last week.” Her eyes pop open, wrinkling her nose. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Taylor getting hot, shaking his head. “Yeah, sorry. I’m on antibiotics right now. Probably not a good time for some fun, if you know what I mean.”
“O-oh.” Becky takes a step back, and I have to keep myself from smiling at her unease. “Yeah. For sure. That makes sense. Um …” She looks at Taylor, then around the gym. “Well, I better get going. See you guys later.”
I feel kind of proud of myself for how straight-faced I handled that.
“You asshole,” Taylor seethes.
“What?” I reply with a chuckle.
“Guilt by association. She’s gonna think that of you, then think of me, now my chances are totally shot.”
Another laugh escapes me. “I think you’ll be all right, Don Juan.”
“Damn it, Micah. If you don’t—”
Before he can continue my phone starts to ring, and I hurry to my gym towel on the floor, where my phone is. Every time it goes off, a shred of hope strikes, hoping it’s going to be Veronica. And every time it’s not, that shred dies off. What’s even worse is when it’s one of the last people I want to talk to.
“Is it?” Taylor asks.
I shake my head. “No.” I hit ignore and toss the phone on the bench.
Leaning over, he sees the screen. “You need to talk to him, Micah.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Yes. You do. You need to at least hear what he has to say. It’s not a secret.” I glance at him with a warning stare. “Okay, it was to you, but not to your mom. She knew about it. Whatever happened, happened in the past. They worked through it, and they’re still together. You need to talk to him and at least hear his side of it.”
Reaching down to pick up my towel, I sling it over my shoulder and grab my water bottle. “What’s he gonna say? That he’s sorry? That he messed up and my mom took him back? I kind of figured that part out, since they’re still together. I don’t need to listen to a man I thought I knew, tell me about monumental mistakes he’s made in the past, then hid them from me.”
“You’re his son, man. Of course, he wouldn’t want you to know that.”
“I practically worshipped the ground he walked on. And now I find out he’s a completely different person. Screw that.”
“He’s not perfect, Micah. No one is. Not even Veronica.”
My face snaps toward him, and I hold up a finger, warning him not to say another word. When everything happened with Lana, he’d always take shots at her. It was annoying and yeah, some of it downright rude, but I think I put up with it for so long because I knew he wasn’t saying anything I kind of didn’t already believe. But I won’t have it with Veronica. He’s not gonna say one word about her.
As if reading my thoughts, he lets out a sigh, holding up his hands in apology.
My phone goes off again. When I’ve ignored my dad’s calls, he always calls once or twice more. Turning around to hit ignore and head off to the lockers, Taylor intercepts my path and grabs the phone, answering it.
“T!”
“Hey, Jacob,” he answers my phone and holds up a finger to me. “No, yeah he’s all good. We’re at the gym right now.”
“Don’t do it,” I caution him, knowing how his brain works.
“Yeah, thanks. Signed up last week. No, he’s still working on his schedule.”
“I swear to God, Taylor, get off the phone.”
“Yup, I got it actually. Thanks. They’re bumping me up a dollar, and I get a fancy new name tag that has ‘supervisor’ on it. … I know, right?”
“Taylor,” I groan through clenched teeth.
“For sure,” he responds to the phone still, smiling at me. “No, you know, I was telling him the same thing. In a couple of hours?”
“Taylor, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Yeah, no problem, Jacob. I’ll let him know.”
“You’ll let me know shit, that’s what you’ll let me know. Get off the phone.”
“No, he’ll be there. For sure.”
“You’re dead. You hear me? Dead.”
“Okay.” His smile turns cheesy, in the only way Taylor can be. “Totally. … Yeah, thanks again. … Yeah. Talk to you later. Bye.” He tosses the phone up at me. “You’re meeting him in two hours at the diner. If you don’t show up, I’ll drag you to their house later tonight myself.”
“I hate you.”
Pulling into the parking lot, I see my dad’s car. As much as I don’t want to be here, I know in the back of my mind that I need to be. Taylor doesn’t usually make empty threats, so even if he said it jokingly, he would do whatever it takes to drag me to their house if I ditched this meeting. But I need to hear this. At least once.
Walking inside, the soft, dim lights and alternative rock music that usually brings up happy memories of eating here are absent. From outside, I could see that he’s sitting in our usual spot, but I look around, avoiding eye contact with him until necessary. A couple tables are taken. All things considered, it’s a slow night.
Debbie rounds a corner, coming out from the kitchen, and spots me, smiling. “Hey, hun.”
“Hey, Debbie?”
“Your dad’s in your guys’ usual spot.”
“Yeah.” I offer a strained smile and then finally turn to him.
“I’ll be with you guys in just a few minutes.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I reply, but keep my eyes locked on him.
He’s staring at me, and I suddenly feel like our roles are reversed. As if I’m the parent and he’s the child, and we’re about to have an earnest conversation where he’s confessing a wrongdoing all while waiting to hear how I’ll respond.
“Thanks for coming, son,” he says as I pull out my chair.
“Yeah, well, when Taylor answered the phone, I guess I didn’t really have a choice. He’s dragged me to parties against my will before, so when he threatened to drag me to your house if I didn’t show up, I figured I might as well get it over with.”
“Oh.” He nods, looking down at the table. “Then I’m sorry it had to be under threat.”
“That’s what you’re sorry about?” I snap. Folding my arms, I let out an annoyed scoff. “Dad, you’ve got a whole lot more to be sorry about than just that.”
“I know.” He continues to stare at our table.
“Okay, you guys having the usual?” Debbie walks over, pulling out her order pad.
Dad offers her a small smile. “Just a Coke and the regular please.”
“Sure thing. Micah, the usual for you?”
I can see that she turns to face me, but I’m staring at my father. How can he act so normal? So calm? Blowing out a puff of air, I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
“You sure?” Debbie asks.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
She leaves, and my father finds my eyes, the silence building. I know Taylor’s right. My dad’s not perfect. As much as I’ve looked up to him, I understand that he’s made mistakes. We all do. But this isn’t just getting a speeding ticket or accidentally stubbing your toe. This is major. And no matter how awkward or difficult something like this must be to talk about, I’m not sure how to get past it.
By the time Debbie comes back and drops his soda off, I still have no idea what to say.
He takes a sip of his drink and finally breaks the silence. “Okay, well,
I’m going to lead with the worst part first. Then, hopefully, you’ll let me explain.”
“Worst part?” I curl a lip, my gaze locking on his. “It gets worse?”
Squirming in his seat, he gazes at the table, nodding. When he looks back at me, his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The same dark brown as mine, but now they’re almost hollow. Like he’s not sure who he is anymore. Even as pissed off as I am, I can’t stand to see him that way.
“I cheated on your mother when we were in college. Twice.”
My world stops.
My head drops, hanging between my shoulders, and I slump forward, catching my face in my hands before it hits the table. “Twice? You can’t be serious?”
“I am. I’m sorry.”
I try to respond, but I can’t. My mouth’s open, but the sounds are incoherent. Why? How? What for? So many things I want to know, but I’m not even sure where to start.
“You know we went to the same college. We had all our whole lives planned out when we graduated high school. And, for almost our entire freshman year at the university, it was all going to plan.” I’m finally able to bring my head up and look at him, but he won’t meet my gaze. Instead, he’s staring at his drink, twirling the cup with his fingers. “Freshman year was almost over. We’d been invited to a party, but your mom couldn’t make it. The night started off like any other party; music, beer pong, shots.”
“You drank?” I ask. As long as I’ve known him, he has never drunk alcohol.
“Back then I did.” He nods, still not making eye contact. “I don’t know when it happened, or how it happened, all I remember is the next morning. Waking up in my friend’s bedroom, some girl with her leg over me, and a pounding headache.” He finally looks up, and I swallow down nerves, not knowing if I want to hear any more. “Are you sure you want to know this?”
Right as I’m taking a deep breath, Debbie comes by with his plate. “Micah, you sure you don’t want anything?”
Staring back at my dad, I answer them both. “I’m sure.”
He waits for Debbie to leave, flicking at the fries on his plate, then continues. “I told your mom immediately. I didn’t even go home, I went straight to her house, and confessed everything, knowing it was going to be over. Maybe I could’ve hidden it, but I didn’t want to. Your mother, she’s always been it for me, Micah. From that first day I saw her, sophomore year in high school, I knew I was going to marry her one day. So I told her, she slapped me across the face, tears rolling down her cheeks, and told me she never wanted to see me again.”
He takes a long breath, and I’m not sure if it’s to regain his composure or for me to regain mine.
“I begged her. I pleaded with her for the entire summer. I waited outside her house. I practically stalked her, sending her flowers and candy and anything else I could think of so she’d give me another chance. I begged and begged and begged, and then finally—somehow—she took me back. It wasn’t easy, and she’d check in on me every day. Asking who I was with, where I was. Any and every detail I could, I gave her. And then I screwed it up again.
“It was the summer leading up to our junior year. A week before the semester started, we went to another party. This time she came and everything was fine. But I was drinking again. She tried to tell me I should stop, but it was the last party of the summer. I told her there was nothing to worry about. When she wanted to leave, I told her I’d get a ride from someone later. The last thing I remember that night is the worry and hesitation on her face. It doesn’t matter the outcome that you know now, Micah. I’d give anything to go back to that night and just listen to her. Because she was right, and I almost lost it all.”
He takes a bite of a fry, staring aimlessly at the plate, with more regret on his face than I’ve ever seen on him. But I’ve seen that look of disappointment before. On Lana’s face.
“I woke up the next morning …” He lets out a disbelieving, almost disgusting, laugh at himself. “God, I still hate this. I always will. I woke up the next morning, and your mom was pushing my shoulder. My head was pounding, but I still wanted to hold her. I pulled at her arm, trying to hug her, and she yanked herself away in disgust. Appalled. She motioned next to me in the bed. Turning around, I saw a girl beside me. Looking back at your mom, I could literally see her heart breaking.”
I lean over the table, putting my head in my hands again, unable to stop the disgusted tone from leaving me. “I can’t believe you …”
“I know, Micah. I don’t know how I even passed junior year, but somehow I did. I’d see your mom around, and the first couple months I didn’t even attempt to talk to her. I knew it was over. But October rolled around, then Thanksgiving. We missed our little Christmas tradition. And just knowing that was never going to be anymore, I couldn’t take it. Not because of certain days, but because of all the days. I wanted her every single day for the rest of my life, but how could I make up for everything I’d done?
“I did everything I could, and nothing worked. The year went by and junior year came to an end. Over that summer, before our senior year, I made a promise to myself. I was going to make sure I did everything possible to show her I’d never do anything like that again. I stopped drinking and focused on building a life I had every intention of sharing with her. All the while, I continued to call her, and she still hung up on me. I’d show up where she worked and she’d tell someone to kick me out. Seriously, she could’ve had me arrested for how I was acting. But she never did.
“When senior year started, she finally seemed to at least acknowledge me. I can’t explain it, but I knew there was still hope for us. Just by the way she’d say hi some days, or by a look. Who knows, maybe if I didn’t get that feeling and she had completely given up on us, then I’d be some lonely hermit somewhere. Thankfully, that’s not what happened.
“Midway through senior year, during our winter break, I went to visit her at her house. Your grandfather was still alive then, and he’d already threatened to break my fingers, but I couldn’t stop myself. We’d missed our tradition the year before, I wasn’t going to miss it again. Christmas day I headed over there with our little paper tree, and knocked on the door, fully expecting your grandpa to smash my face in. Instead, your mom answered the door.
“There are a few moments in my life that I know I’ll never feel happier. One was the day we were married. Another was the day you were born. But the third is that day she answered the door. I lifted up our paper tree, hoping against hope she’d at least take it and not throw it in my face. She smiled through tears, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me.”
He smiles. For the first time during his entire explanation, it’s a genuine smile. Growing up, I always wondered why we had the paper tree tradition. It’s something my parents have always done. They cut out a paper Christmas tree out of construction paper and tape it to something upright. Then, we all write down something we’d like to give the other person, but it can’t be something you can buy. It has to be something intangible. We still do it, and last year, I wrote to my mom I’d make sure she always had a smile and laughter. I asked once why we do it, and my mom said it’s because no matter what happens, no matter how little we have, we can still give one another our love.
“I proposed the very next week. She said no of course, but I just keep telling her whenever she was ready. I wasn’t ever going to make the same mistake I did. I may do some dumb stuff, but I’d never hurt her like that again. And I haven’t. We got married a few months after we graduated. You came along a couple years later, and … now you know. People make mistakes, Micah.”
People make mistakes. There’s that phrase again, and now it takes on an entirely new meaning. I’m still coming to grips with this entire story, and maybe if he didn’t say those last words, my anger might be gone, but it’s not.
“Mistakes? Mistakes, Dad? What you did was more than a mistake.”
“I know.”
“So that’s why Mom’s kept telling me about Lana. B
ecause she thinks anyone who cheats on someone and screws somebody else, deserves chance after chance.”
As soon as I say it, he recoils, hurt across his face. I swallow down my anger, feeling a pang of remorse, the same I got when I threw Veronica’s words back at her.
“Your mom just wants you to be happy, Micah. And yes, she saw a lot of us in you and Lana. And she saw what you two were like in high school. She loves you and just wants you to be with someone who makes you happy.”
“I was.” I push away from the table, standing up. “And guess what? I think she was cheating on me, too.”
Even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. I’m sure everything Veronica told me is the truth, but I’m still pissed off at my dad. Anger and words never mix well.
Without waiting for a reply, I leave the diner.
“Micah!” he calls out to me.
I get in my truck, slamming the door shut.
He knocks on the window. “Micah, please.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, and finally roll the window down. “What?”
“Son, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
I shake my head, not wanting to tell him that I don’t really think it’s true. “I know.”
He leans closer, putting his hand behind my neck. “I’m sorry about everything and that I’ve let you down. I never wanted to tell you, not because I wanted you to think of me as perfect, but because I’m embarrassed, Micah. I’ll always be ashamed of what I did. There are times I still think about it, and out of the blue, I’ll ask your mother for forgiveness because I honestly don’t think I’ll ever deserve it. And now you know, and I never wanted you to look at me how I look at myself. Like I’m not worthy of your mom’s love. Or of yours now.”
Facing him, I’m taken by surprise. Tears run down his face. He’s never been a hard man—always kind and gentle with me, even when disciplining me—but I’ve never seen him cry. It breaks through every piece of anger inside. Getting out of the truck, I wrap my arms around him, tighter than I ever have.
