Stroke It

by Ivy Jordan

  I decided to be safe and tap gently on it.

  “Come in,” said Eugene.

  I stepped into the office carefully. It was a small space, certainly not a cubicle but not as big as my own office. He was sitting behind a desk, slouched comfortably in the desk chair, pushing back slightly from his computer. Fluorescent lights overhead cast an eerie glow on the place. He took his glasses off his nose and set them on the desk.

  “Quinn, I wasn’t expecting you. What exactly brings you by? Did you have an appointment?” Eugene was quick to express his confusion at my presence and even quicker to diffuse any idea that he wanted me gone. “Please, please, take a seat.”

  “Sorry, I should have called ahead.” I’d gotten so caught up in my own rescue narrative that I’d forgotten to consider that he had a full day of work to do, and might not have time to see me.

  “It’s alright. I’m not busy. But what brings you by?” Eugene leaned back slightly. It was hard for me not to draw similarities in his face with his son’s. They had the same jawline, the same straight nose, the same heavy brow. Eugene had significantly less hair, though for his age it was just as dark.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Sawyer,” I said.

  Eugene’s expression faltered. The smile disappeared from his face, and he cleared his throat. “Oh,” he said. “I’m not sure I have anything I can tell you about him.”

  “Well, I think you might,” I corrected carefully. “See, I know some of what happened. I know Sawyer really, really messed up before he went overseas. And… well, I can’t tell you a lot of it, because it’s confidential.” Even if we’d been talking at a restaurant and not in therapy, it would be horrible of me to divulge specifics. “But I think that improving your relationship with him could really go a long way in helping him.”

  Eugene stared at me for a few moments before pushing his glasses back on his nose. “Do you know what he did?” he asked me. “He disgraced the family name. He nearly got me fired; I got demoted two positions.”

  I stayed quiet, prepared to do what I did best: listen.

  “I wanted to think that it was all his girlfriend’s fault,” Eugene said. “But they weren’t even together at some point. He stole from us, he lied to us, he treated us like… wel, his mother, Quinn, he broke her heart. I couldn’t just forgive and forget on the spot like nothing ever happened. And then he tore off to the military.”

  I frowned. “I think he went to the military to recover,” I said. “I think in his mind, going to the military was going to teach him discipline and self-respect. He’s certainly shaped up from what I’ve heard.”

  Eugene frowned, too. “I hadn’t considered that. I suppose the military would teach a fair amount about discipline and the like. But he didn’t talk to us much when he was overseas. It was like he could tell that it was going to be difficult, and so he didn’t want to bother.”

  “So you never got to talk about it,” I paraphrased.

  “Exactly. And so he came home, and what, I’m supposed to pretend it never happened?” Eugene shook his head. “I want to. I want to pretend it never happened. But it did happen, and we can’t brush it under the rug.”

  “Bottling things is never healthy.”

  “Right. But I don’t know how to talk to him about it without sounding like I’m ungrateful for what he did to get back on his feet. And God knows he can’t stand the sight of me anymore. He sees me, and he takes off. We’re never in the same room more than a few moments at a time.”

  I shook my head. That was strange, considering the narrative I’d gotten from Sawyer was considerably different in nature. He’d claimed that his father avoided him and didn’t want anything to do with him.

  “I mean, I tried to talk to him about his new house about a week ago,” Eugene continued. “I was so surprised that he was willing to stop and listen to me that I just said the wrong thing. Told him I was happy he was leaving, and he stormed out. I only get one strike, and I’m not the person that did something wrong in the first place! It should be me unwilling to forgive him, but I’m so tired of fighting.”

  I could understand. Weariness worked wonders in relationships where people wanted something better, but what they really wanted was for the fighting to stop. It was a common cause for toxic relationships to go on so much longer than they needed to. People preferred not to fight, for the most part, or to deal with difficult things.

  “I think that he wants a relationship with you,” I said. “Even if he acts prickly or like he hates you, I don’t think that’s the truth. I think he wants things right.”

  “Well, I certainly want things right,” Eugene said. “But I have to say, Quinn, it’s easier said than done.”

  “Of course.” I had no illusions about the nature of the upcoming conversation that they would need to have. Doubtlessly it would be horribly awkward and not quite as picturesque as so many sitcoms made family feuds out to be. There was a chance that talking about it could make it worse, too—it was a gamble that we were taking here.

  He had a client coming in soon, so I took my leave and walked out of the building. I sat in my car, staring blankly for a moment, unable to believe that I’d just done what I’d done. It wasn’t like me to be so bold. I fumbled for my phone in my purse for a moment, thinking of calling Babs to express my surprise with myself.

  Instead, I needed to flesh out this plan that I was formulating. I dialed Sawyer’s number and sat back in my seat, running a hand through my hair. Today wasn’t even over, and I’d already gone and set up something I couldn’t control.

  “Hey, Quinn.”

  “Hey.” I tapped my steering wheel. “Listen, um, I won’t be able to get up to your house tonight.”

  “Is everything alright?”

  I could practically hear his facial expression over the phone. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a busier day at work than I’d planned, and I’m going to be pretty exhausted after.”

  “I don’t mind making dinner.”

  Damn it; he was way too sweet. “That’s really sweet of you. I just need a day to sleep, I think. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow sometime,” I said.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Does that work?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Sawyer didn’t sound irritated in the slightest, even though I’d changed plans on him at the last second.

  I smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you going to go out tonight?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Why?”

  “Just curious.” I was giving away too much! He was going to get suspicious. “Say hi to Pete for me, if you run into him.”

  “Are you planning something?”

  “Nope.” I lied, but I had the benefit of him not being able to see my face. In person, I was a terrible liar. Over the phone, I could put more effort into my voice and not worry about my fidgetiness giving it away. “Just asking. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

  “Alright.” He hung up, and I sat there for a few more seconds.

  It was highly likely that he would be angry with me for what I’d done. I knew that. He could probably justifiably get angry that I would intervene with his life and poke my nose where it didn’t belong. But I didn’t know that I cared. I could deal with him getting angry at me. I had a hunch about this entire situation, and I was rarely wrong when I got a hunch.

  Still, he was going to be angry at first when his father showed up at his door to talk about the thing that neither of them wanted to talk about. They were going to have to have a real conversation and not bullshit one another.

  I smiled and put my car in gear. This was extremely off-book for a therapist, but I felt somehow like I’d never done something more right in all my years of practice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  SAWYER

  When I got off the phone with Quinn, I couldn’t help but be a little confused. I was more than willing to let her come over and take a nap. It wasn’t as though she was obligated to be alert when she wa
s over here. Still, if she insisted on staying home, I wasn’t going to push her about it. Sometimes after a long day of work the best thing was going home and going to bed, and I above everyone else understood not wanting to deal with anyone.

  We were one another’s exceptions to that, though, I’d thought. I shook my head and set my phone back in my pocket. It was stupid to take this personally. She was tired, she wanted to take a nap, and she was going to meet up with me tomorrow. I would need to deal with it.

  I started to consider calling Pete and going out with him. I wasn’t really in the mood for a drink, but I could use some degree of company. Despite my policy of preferred loneliness, I found myself hoping that I could find someone to hang out with. Just as I was about to call Pete, I heard a knock at the door.

  Perhaps Quinn had changed her mind, or perhaps she’d wanted to surprise me. I hoped that it was her and walked towards the door, swinging it open, excited and hopeful to see her.

  Instead, my father stood at the door. Dad stood back from the doorway a few steps, like he was maybe about to run back to his car.

  I stared, confused. “Dad?”

  He looked up at me, weirdly surprised to see me for someone who had shown up at my house. “Sawyer, hello. I, ah… I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You didn’t call?” I was inherently—and understandably—suspicious of the situation.

  “I was worried you wouldn’t let me in if I called ahead,” he said.

  “Because I’m the one who’s avoiding you.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  “Aren’t you?” he asked.

  I shook my head, unable to comprehend what was happening. My mother must have put him up to this, or else he’d decided he was finally going to let me have a piece of his mind. Just like before, when he shouted and shouted at me, only then I couldn’t absorb it. Now I worried about how much I would care about the things he could say to me.

  “Heaven’s sakes, Sawyer, could you let me in?”

  I stood to the side, holding the door slightly. I wasn’t sure why I let him in; my conscious thoughts were telling me to slam it in his face. Maybe I knew that the hardest thing to do was also the only right thing to do. If I slammed the door, I’d hear about it later.

  “I wanted to talk to you about what’s happened,” Dad said. “Do you mind if I sit?”

  I motioned to the couch, still speechless. He sat down, and I couldn’t help but notice how he looked older all of a sudden. When I’d first gotten home, I didn’t think he’d changed at all. Now, he looked a million years older, and I wasn’t sure why that had changed in my eyes.

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t call first,” he said. He spoke slowly, diplomatically, the way he did when I was little, and I was being scolded.

  I sat down across from him in a chair.

  “I want to say I’m sorry for what I said last week,” Dad said. “When you told me you’d found a house, I meant to say that I’m glad you’re moving on. You’re finding your place and making progress. And what I said was… well, much different.”

  “It made sense,” I said. “Since I’ve been such a horrendous burden on the family name.” The bitterness came off my tongue before I could stop it.

  Dad stared at me incredulously. “See, that. I don’t understand that. I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s upset?”

  “I don’t see how you could be,” I said. “I’ve done everything I can to prove myself. I went to the military for six years, came home with the intention of turning my life around, and when I come home, you’re avoiding me, you won’t talk to me, it’s like I never did anything to fix it.”

  Dad nodded slowly. “I guess I did avoid you. But I only avoided you because I didn’t know what to say. You left so soon, and I know you did it because you had to, I know we said…” He shook his head. “You left so soon, and then you didn’t stay in touch. I had no way of knowing that you still cared. Maybe it would have been hard, but you called one time, and then we just had to hope that everything was alright.”

  I stayed quiet. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe my dad was trying to get a feel for what I was thinking as much as I was trying to get a feel for what he was thinking. We were both terribly quiet people. Perhaps the overlap here was what caused so much trouble.

  And his other point stuck out to me the most. “I know that I did something wrong,” I said. “I know I really, really messed up.” I shook my head. “It makes me sick to think about it, Dad, it really does.”

  “I know.”

  “No.” I shook my head again. “No, I mean it makes me sick. I made Mom cry. I stole from you. I did everything I could to destroy my relationship with her, my relationship with you… and I tried to blame it on Stacy, but I couldn’t.”

  “You were an adult,” Dad said. “That was my concern, too. You seemed to be thinking that it was Stacy’s fault and that there was no more conflict. But I need to know that the change has happened in you, whether or not she’s around. She doesn’t matter.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I… I think it was easier to blame it on Stacy. I didn’t want to take responsibility for all that. Especially when it’s… it’s so much. I wanted it to be someone else’s fault, at least a little.”

  “I think it’s her fault a little,” Dad reasoned. “If she hadn’t come around…”

  “Who knows?” I shrugged. “And frankly, it’s not a question I find is worth asking.”

  “You think about it a lot?” Dad asked.

  I glanced at him and looked down, swallowed and tried not to look as unnerved as I felt. It felt like I still might get in trouble for the things I said if I gave him new information or a new reason to hate me. This wasn’t safe, like talking with Quinn or talking to Pete. This was dangerous. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Why was he even here?

  “We don’t have to talk about this,” Dad said, and he set his hands on his knees like he was about to get up.

  “Yes, we do,” I said. My jaw tightened. “If we don’t, what then? We used to get along, Dad. We used to go fishing and build birdhouses and do things together. We used to be a team.”

  I thought I saw my father’s eyes glistening. “I miss it,” he said. “I miss when it was you and me. But Sawyer, you took that away from us.”

  “I know.” I closed my eyes, unsure whether I could fight down the lump in my throat. “I know, and it’s not something I’ll ever forgive myself for. I was selfish and inconsiderate, and I let the entire family down, in front of God and everyone. And then I left, and I didn’t even think to fix things here before I left.”

  Dad leaned forward. “I was too hard on you, too,” he said. “I should have given you a chance when you got home. I’m sorry we let this get so out of hand.”

  “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I warned him. “This isn’t… it’s not like I crashed your car or something.”

  He cracked a smile. “I wish you’d just crashed my car.”

  I smiled, too, and rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know if we can ever be like we were. I think it might be easier to call it off. I can stay out here and mind my business, and I won’t ever hurt you or Ma again.”

  “Don’t you talk like that, Sawyer Gains,” Dad said sternly. He had a deep furrow in his brow. “You made a mistake, and you cost us a fortune, and you publicly embarrassed us, but you are our son, and we love you. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, no matter how much you try to prove otherwise.”

  I stared. “You can’t forgive me for what I’ve done.”

  “Sawyer.” Dad set a hand on my shoulder. “We already have. You just need to forgive yourself.”

  I didn’t cry; I refused to cry in front of him, over this, in general. I sucked in a breath and looked down at the floor, focused on the grain of the wood. Things were going to be alright. I didn’t know what to do with my father’s forgiveness, where to put it or what to do with it. I could compartmentalize it like I did with
everything else, but I got the feeling that I was supposed to use this particular gift to the best of my advantage.

  Dad left shortly after that, and I watched his truck peel off. Part of me wished I hadn’t moved out, but I was also glad that I had so I could have the space to think about what had happened. It was all so strange, like something out of a dream, and yet his words were still reverberating in my skull.

  When I understood what had happened, it hit me like a truck. I went back to my phone and then realized Quinn and I had spoken over the phone, and I couldn’t double-check what she’d said. Still, I remembered how odd it had been for her to cancel so suddenly, for her to insist that I stay home. She’d had a hand in this. I didn’t know whether she’d instructed my dad to come over here, or whether she’d given him the entire script.

  But what my father said hadn’t been scripted. I knew when he was trying to appease me; Mom had told him what to say to me plenty of times in the past to avoid confrontation. What he’d said was genuine. That meant that Quinn had talked to him, gotten him to open up, somehow. The questions of when, how, and why burned in my mind as I walked to my bedroom.

  The only plausible reason why was that she cared about me. She cared about me enough to pursue my father, to make us have this conversation, even knowing that I might get angry and that it might go poorly. Even if everything went well, she had nothing to gain from it except knowing that she’d help me and my father make amends. It was a completely selfless act and one that I would still be at odds with my father without. She’d had to do this.

  How had she known? How had she been so many steps ahead of me, and still so patient?

  She’d done everything for me. I closed my eyes and sat down on the bed. I couldn’t begin to repay this debt to her. I couldn’t even fathom how I might begin to repay this debt to her.

  I leaned back, let my head hit the pillow, stared at the ceiling, and tried to understand the things that had happened during the day. Really, I was trying to understand how I could be falling for Quinn so hard, and so unbelievably quickly.