by Tawna Fenske
“Fuck you, too, Johnny,” Ty muttered under his breath.
Then he turned and stared at his own front door. In case he wasn’t sure what had to be done, the words he’d just uttered had underscored it.
Who the hell was he kidding, thinking he could be any sort of role model for a child? That he’d ever be the sort of guy a woman like Ellie deserved? Breaking things off now would be the kindest thing to do. He needed to act now, before anyone got too attached.
You’re already attached.
He shook his head and pushed open the door. His heart was heavy as he moved through the living room. Ellie and Henry sat on the couch, and they looked up as he walked in. Her blue eyes were bright with concern, and the compassion in her expression nearly stole his resolve.
But the memory of Henry cursing like a sailor put it all right back.
Ty picked his keys up off the side table by the door. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I should probably run you guys home.”
Ellie looked at him a moment, then nodded. She got to her feet, reaching down to offer a hand to Henry.
Henry’s response wasn’t nearly as stoic. “But you said you’d play soccer with me,” he said. “And that we’d watch me on TV.”
The words hit Ty like a hundred scalding pebbles hurled at his throat. The disappointment in the kid’s eyes left his whole body aching. All the more reason he needed to end this. Now, before he caused more damage.
“It’s getting dark, sweetie,” Ellie pointed out as she handed Henry his glass of milk and signaled him to polish it off. “You wouldn’t be able to see the ball.”
She shot a look at Ty, probably waiting for him to back her up or to offer a makeup date for the soccer game or the video viewing.
But there’d be no makeup date. There’d be no more anything.
“Sorry, kiddo.” Ty’s throat tightened, and he ordered himself to look Henry in the eye. He owed the kid that much. “I wish it could be different.”
God, that was the understatement of the year. Ty’s chest ached, like a Clydesdale was standing on his ribs. He shifted his keys from one hand to the other as he studied Ellie, committing every detail to memory.
You won’t ever see her again. Not if you do what needs to be done.
Ellie shoved her feet back into her flip-flops and looked at him. Her expression was curious, which made Ty’s heart clench like a fist. She had to know something was up. Ty had never been good at hiding his feelings.
“Come on, baby.” Ellie helped Henry get his sandals on, then stood and smoothed the front of her T-shirt. When she met Ty’s eyes again, he lost his breath.
You okay? she mouthed.
He nodded once then pushed open the front door. The air outside felt fifty degrees colder. A neighbor’s black cat darted across the road, turning to shoot Ty a look of feline contempt.
You’re not the only one disgusted, cat.
The drive home was tense, though as far as Ty could tell, Henry didn’t seem to notice. The boy chattered the whole way, offering a running commentary about the Batman episode where Gentleman Ghost first matched wits against Batman.
“And see, Gorilla Grodd wants to turn all the humans into monkeys, but Batman and Plastic Man think that’s stupid, so they get together and—”
Ellie put her hand on Ty’s knee, and Ty flicked his gaze to her.
“You sure you’re all right?” she whispered.
Ty hesitated then shook his head. He wished he could talk to her about it. Part of him wanted to tell her exactly what he was feeling. To explain why everything had come crashing down the second he’d seen his father in his living room. He wished there were some way for her to reassure him he’d rise above it. That maybe he’d learn to be a good guy, the sort of guy who wouldn’t drag them both down to his level.
But that wasn’t true at all.
The compassion in her eyes made him blurt out anyway, “Seeing my father again—”
He stopped, glancing at Henry in the backseat. The boy was still chattering, oblivious to the tension in the front seat.
“—So then Gentleman Ghost shows up with guns, and he’s all, ‘pew-pew-pew.’”
Henry kept going, fingers pointed like pistols, delighted just to be telling his story.
“I get it,” Ellie whispered beside him. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”
Confused, Ty hit his blinker and merged onto the highway toward Ellie’s place. “About Gentleman Ghost?”
“No.” Ellie shook her head then glanced over her shoulder at Henry. The boy was still talking, showing no interest in the adult conversation happening two feet away.
“And then Plastic Man, he makes his hands into big fists, like this—see? So Batman is all, ‘You stop that right now, Gorilla Grodd!’ And then Gorilla Grodd says—”
“I’ve been thinking about fathers,” Ellie whispered, so softly it took Ty a few seconds to be sure he’d heard her right. “About how a lousy one is so much worse for a kid than no father at all.”
Ty felt Plastic Man’s fist slam hard into his gut. Ellie’s words took the breath out of him, made him absolutely sure of what he had to do. As he took the exit toward her house, she put a hand on his knee. “Would you mind dropping Henry at Jason and Miriam’s place?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Thanks. They texted while you were outside with your dad. They wanted to have him over for a Popsicle and hear all about the trip before bedtime.”
Popsicles.
The summer before his grandmother passed, she’d comforted him with a grape Popsicle every time his father failed to show for a scheduled visit. By the end of August, Ty’s mouth was stained purple and his eyes were bloodshot from crying.
Jesus.
He clenched the steering wheel harder.
“No problem.” Ty turned onto their shared street, grateful he’d have a few moments alone with Ellie. It would be easier that way.
The second he pulled up in front of Jason and Miriam’s place, Ellie hopped out. “I’ll be two seconds,” she said. “Come on, baby.”
“Wait,” Henry said. “I hafta say good night to Mr. Ty, right? I’m not gonna see him again.”
“Not tonight,” Ellie agreed, and Ty’s chest ached again. The seat belt felt too tight around it, so he unfastened the latch and got out of the car. Henry was already out of his seat, standing in the grass median beside the mailbox. He put a hand up, and Ty stooped down to hug him before realizing the kid just wanted a handshake.
You can’t even get that right, he told himself, hugging the kid tighter.
“Good night, kiddo,” he said. “Be good for your aunt and uncle.”
“Okay.” Henry pulled back and grinned up at him, eyes bright behind his smudged glasses. “And maybe tomorrow we can play soccer.”
A slick spear of ice slid between Ty’s ribs, and he lost his breath. “Maybe.”
With that, Ty added lying to a child to his list of crimes.
Ellie didn’t say much as they drove the few hundred feet to her front door. She kept glancing at him sideways, waiting for Ty to make the first move. He gathered their bags out of the trunk and followed her up the walk, trudging like a man headed to the execution chamber.
The second the door closed behind him, Ellie turned to face him. “I know you’re upset about your dad showing up like that,” she said. “Obviously it wasn’t ideal, but I want you to know I’m not offended or upset about—”
“We need to break up.”
Ellie’s eyes flashed with surprise. The bags slid from Ty’s grip, making a dull thud in her entryway. He raked one hand through his hair, knowing he needed to rip the Band-Aid off quickly.
“I know we barely got started,” he said, struggling to explain. “But that’s why I think it’s important to end things fast. Before anyone gets too attached.”
“Before anyone gets too attached.” She stared at him, a mystified look on her face. “You think I’m not attached?”
“I know I’m attached,” he said. “That’s the problem, Ellie. I care too much about you and Henry to ruin your lives.”
She blinked hard, and Ty wondered if she was struggling to hold back tears. His throat was thick and tight, and he wasn’t sure how to fight back his own flood of emotion.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “How would you be ruining our lives?”
Ty clawed at his hair again, knowing this wouldn’t make sense to her. But he owed her an explanation, no matter how shitty it might be. “I grew up with the world’s worst father, Ellie. The rare times he came sweeping into my life, the only things he left behind were disappointment and bad habits.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“Tonight, Ellie…it was so clear. That’s exactly what I’m bringing into your life. Into Henry’s life. Bad habits and regrets and the certainty that this whole thing will eventually blow up and leave an innocent kid sobbing into his pillow.”
“You don’t think Henry will miss you if you walk away now?”
He shook his head, regretting the small ripples of sadness that might trickle through the boy’s life over the next day or two. But how much harder would it be six months from now? Six years?
“It would be worse later. Trust me. Once he started counting on me. Or you did. Don’t you see?”
She stared at him a long moment, and Ty’s head throbbed. He wanted to take back every word he’d just said. To tell her he didn’t mean it, that he really did want to be with her.
That’ll only make it harder, he reminded himself. When this ends—and you know it’ll end—it’ll just be tougher then.
Ty took a shaky breath. His heart was a cold, dead lump in the middle of his chest. “Before he met me, how many times, exactly, had Henry used the phrase, ‘squirrel fucker?’”
Ellie shook her head and wiped the edge of one eye with the heel of her hand. But in that instant, there was a flicker of uncertainty––of the knowledge that he might be right.
“That’s not a fair question,” Ellie said.
“You know what else isn’t fair?” Ty took a shaky breath, trying to control his voice. The scent of cookies and fabric softener hung in the air of Ellie’s apartment, choking him with memories of home and happiness. Things he’d never had. “It’s not fair for me to get Henry’s hopes up about a paycheck, then having him find out there is no paycheck. Or playing soccer. Or watching a video. Do you know what it does to a kid to find out over and over again that a grown-up he trusted flat-out lied to him?”
Ellie shook her head, eyes brimming with tears. “Ty, you can’t possibly be comparing a childhood of neglect and emotional abuse with a few minor incidents of disappointment and foul language,” she said. “If there were any comparison at all, half the parents in America would have Children’s Services knocking at their door.”
“That’s just it, Ellie.” It was almost like someone skewered his spleen with a steak knife, and he wished more than anything for a way to undo this—tonight’s regrettable incidents, his whole childhood, all of it. “I’m not a parent,” he said. “I’m not cut out to be a father or a husband or a boyfriend or even a role model. Those options aren’t on the table for me. Growing up the way I did—there’s no way I can possibly bring anything but heartache and frustration to your life.”
Ellie stared at him. “And you don’t think I can judge that for myself?”
“No,” he said. “You don’t know me. Not like you think you do.”
She flinched at that, and Ty wanted to take back the words. But they were true, and she needed to know it. “Ellie, the real me isn’t a good guy,” he said. “He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t step in to film your son’s school event in a pinch. He’s the kind of guy who leaves you alone in his living room with a convicted felon.”
There was that flicker of uncertainty again. The look in her eyes that said she recognized there might be something to his warning. That maybe this was for the best.
She stared at him for a long time. There was sadness in her eyes, but something else, too. Understanding, maybe. The knowledge that he was right. That she was better off without him.
She had to know that, right?
“I thought you were different,” she murmured. “I didn’t think you were the kind of guy who’d cut and run at the first sign of trouble.”
The words hung there between them, unspoken. The kind of guy like Henry’s father. Like Ty’s own father.
“I am,” he said in a voice halfway between a sob and a growl. “I’m exactly that kind of guy.”
Ellie shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. But she didn’t sob. She didn’t break down. God, even now she was the strongest woman he’d ever known.
She stared at him, digesting his words as her blue eyes shimmered. Her hands clenched, white-knuckled, at her sides, and he almost wished she’d punch him. God knew he deserved to hurt.
Which stung worse? The look in her eyes that said she didn’t believe him?
Or the one that said deep down she knew he was right.
“I think you’re making a mistake, Ty.”
Her voice was soft. Almost as soft as her skin, which he’d never touch again. He hated that thought. Maybe more than he hated himself.
He swallowed hard, wishing he could reach for her. Wishing for so many other things he’d never have.
“Maybe I am making a mistake,” he said. “But I’m keeping you from making a bigger one.”
And with that, he turned and walked out the door.
…
“Of all the bullshit reasons for a breakup!” Across the table, Miriam stabbed a hunk of chicken breast with her fork and glared.
Ellie sighed. “He does have a point. My job is to protect Henry, and if Ty himself thinks he’s a bad influence—” She stopped there, not willing to finish the sentence. Staring down at her salad, she wondered when saying his name would stop feeling like someone had shoved her heart into a bench vice and started cracking the handle.
She was having lunch with Jason and Miriam at a café next to the community pool where Henry took swimming lessons. Parents had been kicked out after a crowd of camera-wielding helicopter moms fell into the pool, so Miriam, Jason, and Ellie had retreated to the café next door for lunch.
Her brother watched her. He sat stoic and silent beside his fuming wife, thankfully not pulling the overprotective big brother act he’d employed when Chuck left.
Unsatisfied by her husband’s lack of fury, Miriam jabbed an elbow into Jason’s ribs. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked.
Jason frowned. “Asshole,” he offered helpfully, then picked up his ice water and took a swig.
Miriam turned back to Ellie. “I love Ty, don’t get me wrong,” she said. “But what the fucking hell is wrong with him?”
“Well, for starters,” Ellie said, “He was concerned about the effect it might have on Henry to be around an adult who uses profanity.”
Jason and Miriam looked at each other then burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t find that funny.” Miriam stabbed her salad again, one hand resting on her belly. The baby kicked in response, making her whole belly ripple as Miriam chewed another bite of chicken. “It’s just that if cursing’s what separates the bad parents from the good ones, we’re all pretty much doomed.”
Ellie sighed. “But you don’t curse around Henry.” She glanced at her brother. “Much,” she amended, remembering the time he’d whacked himself with a hammer helping Henry hang a Seattle Mariners poster on his wall.
Jason gave her a small smile and reached across the table to offer a brotherly hand-squeeze. “Sorry, El,” he said. “I’m sorry you have to go through this again.”
Ellie’s throat ached, and she had to look away. She couldn’t face the sympathy in his eyes, or the fact that she’d gone and fallen for a guy who’d done the same thing her stupid ex had.
Dammit, anyway.
Miriam sta
bbed a crouton. “Honey, you know as well as I do that it’s not about the cursing,” Miriam said. “It’s about Ty’s abandonment issues. It’s him thinking he has no choice but to become his father. Maybe it’s a guy thing.”
Ellie looked up to see her brother nodding and regarding his wife with a thoughtful expression. “She has a point,” he said, turning back to Ellie. “Remember how Dad was always telling me to watch out for you? ‘It’s your job to protect your sister,’ he’d say.”
Jason’s impression of their father’s growly baritone made tears prick the back of Ellie’s eyelids. She nodded. “I remember. I thought he meant sticking up for me on the playground when bullies pulled my pigtails.”
“He meant that, too.”
She looked at her brother, seeing something in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. Ellie licked her lips. “But also that it was your job to raise me after they died?”
Jason shook his head. “I didn’t do it out of obligation,” he said. “I did it because I love you, dumbass.”
“I love you, too, dumbass.” The tears were welling thicker now, and she stopped to dab the corner of one eye with a napkin.
“My point is that a guy can’t help but internalize stuff like that,” Jason said. “The things his dad says to him, the sort of example the old man sets—we soak that shit up like little sponges.”
Beside him, Miriam nodded. “Poor Ty believed he’d never become anything other than a shit-soaked sponge.” She frowned at her salad, then stabbed another bite.
“You know, it’s actually a good thing he wants to break things off,” Jason said.
Both women glared at him, and Ellie felt Miriam kick Jason under the table.
“Too soon, hon,” Miriam said.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I mean it’s a sign that his first instinct is to protect you. He feels guilty about not being a good enough father figure.”
“You’re suggesting guilt is the sign of a good dad?” Ellie thought about that a minute, twirling her fork through a pile of kale salad. “I’m not sure Chuck feels too guilty about short-changing Henry on child support.”
“Exactly!” Jason nodded and polished off the last of his salmon.
