Who's Your Daddy?

by Gallagher, Lauren

  “I understand,” I said.

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “I used to get bored in classes, and I’d space out. Daydream. Think about anything other than what the teacher was talking about.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I do.”

  “That’s also how I ended up repeating first-year algebra.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I was bored to tears. Stopped paying attention. By the time I realized I’d missed something important, I was so far behind, I couldn’t catch up. So, took it again the next year.”

  Ryan looked at the floor but didn’t speak.

  “Listen, I know some of these classes are boring and tedious, but take it from me: pay attention.” I absently tapped my fingers on the car. “And if you do need help on something, whether it’s because you weren’t paying attention or you just don’t understand it, you can ask your dad or me. Any time. You know that.”

  He sighed. “I guess it’s hard just to go to him about anything. It’s like, the only time he talks to me is when he’s bitching me out for something.” He scowled. “And when I try to talk to him, he doesn’t listen.”

  “Okay, so, aside from schoolwork, what do you want to talk to him about?” I asked. “If he walked in here right now and wanted to sit down and just talk, what would you want to talk about?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Just…stuff, I guess.”

  “Nothing in particular?”

  “I don’t know, the kind of stuff me and you talk about, I guess.”

  I nodded slowly. “Guy stuff, basically?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “I don’t think Dad even knows what I want to do after graduation. He’s so fucking hung up on me getting there, it’s like he’s counting down the days until he doesn’t have to give a shit anymore.” He did have a point. Of course Donovan cared about his son’s future, but there were times when the stress and conflict between the two of them got to him. Sometimes all he could think about was just making it to graduation or Ryan’s eighteenth birthday without one of them killing the other.

  “What do you want to do after high school?” I asked quietly.

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “So now you’re going to humor me?”

  “No. But I am interested in what you’re doing and what you want to do,” I said. “Even if I haven’t shown that enough myself.”

  “You don’t have to be interested,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “You’re not my dad.”

  I flinched. “No, I’m not your father, but for all intents and purposes, I’m your stepdad. And I do care about you and what you’re doing, just like your dad does.”

  Ryan watched his wringing hands again, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then he whispered, “I want to go to law school.”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  He nodded. His cheeks colored as he looked at me. “I guess it sounds kind of stupid, it’s—”

  “Stupid?” I shook my head. “Not even a little. I think it’s great. I just, I had no idea you were interested in studying law.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thinking about it. It came up on one of those tests the guidance counselor gave me. It sounded kind of interesting, so…”

  “Certainly an ambitious path,” I said. “Both of your parents should be proud of you. And they would be, if you told them about it.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said,” he muttered. “Dad’s too busy getting on my back about stuff, and Mom probably just wants me to get a full-ride scholarship to a school out of state so I’m out of her hair.”

  I pursed my lips. “So, if I’m hearing you right, your dad’s so strict you don’t feel like you can talk to him, and your mom is so disengaged you don’t feel like she cares enough for you to bother talking to her.”

  “Yeah.” He paused, then nodded. “Basically, yeah. At least I can talk to you.”

  I smiled. “I do what I can. There’s not much I can do about your mom, but do you want me to talk to your dad?”

  “Don’t know what it would do,” he said. “You’ve talked to him before. Didn’t do any good.”

  “Couldn’t hurt to try,” I said. “But only if you want me to.”

  “Sure, go ahead. I guess we’ll see what happens,” he muttered. “Not going to hold my breath, though.”

  I sighed. “He’s trying. But, look at the example he had growing up. No one ever communicated with him that way as a teenager.”

  “So, what? He’s just doing the same thing to me?” Ryan scowled. “It was good enough for him, so it’s good enough for me?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. He doesn’t know how to do it differently. He is trying, son. I promise you he is.”

  Ryan said nothing.

  “Would you do me a favor?” I asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Can you meet him halfway?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, like with the curfew thing,” I said. “Accept whatever curfew he gives you without arguing. Be home on time. The more you do that, the more he’ll trust you, and he’ll start letting you stay out later.”

  Ryan’s lips tightened. He probably teetered between arguing about an unreasonable curfew and seeing the logic I’d presented.

  “There’s also the homework issue,” I said. “Have it done before he asks about it. Show it to him if he asks to see it. I’ll talk to him about lightening up if you’ll put some effort forth on your end.”

  He mulled it over for a minute or two, then nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”

  “And I’ll talk to him about everything else.”

  “Cool.” He smiled. “Thanks, Isaac.”

  “Any time.”

  We exchanged a quick embrace before he went back into the house. Watching him go, I chewed the inside of my cheek. I wished I could convey just how much his dad really did want to get things right, especially after his own upbringing.

  And I really, really hoped they could settle some of their differences before too long. Ryan already felt left out at his mother’s because of his half siblings. He needed reassurance he was part of this family before he found out about the baby.

  Shaking my head, I went back to working on my car.

  Donovan’s father was the whole reason Donovan and Carmen had clicked. They’d met at a mutual friend’s party and, after a few drinks, started in on the horror stories of their respective impossible-to-please parents. Donovan was too young of a parent, too low on the totem pole at the fire station and much too gay. Carmen had gone to the wrong university, taken up the wrong career, and married too young in the wrong dress at the wrong church to the wrong man. From what I’d heard, their parental-horror-story one-upmanship game had had fellow partygoers howling with laughter and cringing with sympathy until Paul decided his wife was getting too much attention and told her they needed to leave.

  Maybe commiserating about defective parents wasn’t a traditional way to start off a friendship, but it had certainly given them something to bond over. It also gave her a place to vent whenever her ex was being a cunt, which was pretty much whenever he opened his mouth.

  So, shitty parents had given Donovan some common ground with Carmen, but it hadn’t done much to help him bond with his son. After being raised by an emotionally distant single father who was outright abusive at times, Donovan could have easily been a complete dick to his kid, but he tried. God, he tried.

  Sighing, I reached up and rifled through my toolbox in search of a wrench. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to convey to both of them that the dad Ryan desperately wanted was the same dad Donovan desperately wanted to be. If they’d both just cut each other some slack, they’d find more middle ground than they realized.

  The next evening, Donovan came home around the same time I did. After a little wine and our usual dinner conversation about how our days had gone, we went about cleaning up the kitchen.

  While we did, I said, “You talked to Ryan lately?”

  He
looked up from loading the dishwasher. “About?”

  I shrugged. “Anything.”

  He eyed me for a moment. “Something I should know about?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” I paused, handing him a couple of salad bowls. “I mean, have you talked to him? About, just, anything?”

  Donovan cocked his head. “What exactly are you getting at, Isaac?”

  “Listen, he and I had a talk yesterday,” I said. “And he really wants to be able to talk to you.”

  “Why doesn’t he think he can talk to me?” He stacked the bowls in the dishwasher, but looked up at me, his brow furrowed. “I’ve never told him he couldn’t talk to me.”

  “You haven’t exactly been all that inviting, either.”

  His eyes narrowed a little. “I’m his father. Of course he can talk to me.”

  “Just like you can talk to yours?”

  Donovan glared at me. “I have never—”

  “I’m not saying you have.” I put up a hand. “You’re nothing like your father, Don, and I’d never imply you were. My point was that just being someone’s father doesn’t make you open and accessible. Your son needs to know he can come to you.”

  The tension left his posture. His shoulders fell. “What do I do, then?”

  “Have you thought about just sitting down and talking with him?” I asked. “Or, you know, talking in the car? Something?”

  “I didn’t really think he wanted to talk to me, to be honest.”

  “Which is what he thinks about you.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded.

  Donovan winced and shifted his gaze away.

  I went on. “He’s upset because the two of you yell and argue, but you never talk. He doesn’t think you’re interested in anything he does.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “What are we supposed to talk about?”

  “Have you asked him what he wants to study in college?”

  Donovan looked at the counter between us.

  I went on, “You two need to settle as much of this as you can, sooner than later. He needs to know you care about him before he knows about the baby.”

  “Of course I care about him!” Donovan snapped, immediately dropping his gaze and fidgeting. Softer now, he repeated, “Of course I care about him. You know that.”

  “I know it, but does he? Don, he’s a kid. He’s had to deal with both his parents dating, getting into relationships, having more kids, having lives besides him. He needs that reassurance that he’s still important to you.”

  He dropped his gaze, falling silent for a long moment. Then, speaking softly, he said, “What does he want to do after high school?”

  “You might want to ask him.”

  “Just humor me here, Isaac,” he said, and I swore he was almost pleading, especially when our eyes met. “Give me a place to start.”

  I handed over our empty wineglasses. “Kid wants to go to law school.”

  “Law school?” Though his eyes widened, a smile tried to flicker across his lips as he absently took the glasses. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow.” The smile came to life. Part of it was surprise; part of it was unmistakable fatherly pride. “I didn’t realize he was so ambitious.” His own words made him wince, and the smile faded. “God, what else do I not know about this kid?”

  “Why don’t you talk to him and find out?”

  Chapter Ten

  Donovan

  I was in the kitchen when my son came upstairs in his fast-food-chain uniform.

  “I’m goin’ to work,” he said. “I’ll be home around ten.”

  “He’s upset because the two of you yell and argue, but you never talk,” Isaac had said. “He doesn’t think you’re interested in anything he does.”

  “Hang on a sec, Ryan.”

  He stopped and turned around, one hand still on the door. “Yeah?”

  I cleared my throat. “You, um, want a ride to work?”

  He balked. “You don’t mind?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m heading out anyway and figured you could use a little practice behind the wheel.”

  “Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

  I tossed him the car keys. “Let’s go, then.”

  He stared at the keys in his hand, then shot me an incredulous look. When I picked up my jacket and wallet, his eyes widened, like he hadn’t thought I was actually serious. Smiling, I nodded toward the door.

  The “who are you and what have you done with my father?” look flickered across his eyes, but he didn’t question me as he started for the door. I followed him out to the car, pretending I was never a nervous wreck whenever I got into the car with him.

  He unlocked my car’s doors and got in on the driver’s side.

  I slid into the passenger seat. As I buckled my seat belt, I promised myself I’d bite my tongue and not get on him for his driving.

  Ryan slung his arm over the back of my seat and looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. The tire grazed the curb, and he grimaced, probably expecting me to get on his case.

  “Isaac hits that all the time,” I said, chuckling.

  He eyed me, the “aliens took my dad and sent you in his place” expression still furrowing his brow. He said nothing, though, and shifted into drive.

  As he drove out of the cul de sac and onto the main road leading out of the neighborhood, the speedometer needle hovered a few notches below the posted speed limit. Better than speeding, I supposed. Would have been painfully slow with a more experienced driver behind the wheel, but with my son driving, it was a comfortable pace.

  And I had to give him some credit. Now that I made myself relax and let him drive without commenting on every move he made, his confidence came through more than it had before. His stops were smooth, and he took turns and curves without the timidity he’d had the first few times we’d been out. That shouldn’t have surprised me, and I supposed it didn’t. He’d started driving even before he was eligible for a learner’s permit, and every time he went out, he was better. He’d had his license for a few months now, and I hadn’t been in the car with him for some time. I’d let him take the car occasionally, as long as he wasn’t going too far, and now that I saw how he was driving, I could see letting him take it out farther and for longer periods.

  Which scared the ever-loving fuck out of me, but I had to let him go eventually.

  As he drove on, I cleared my throat. “So, Isaac tells me you’re thinking about going to law school?”

  “I’m kinda, you know, thinking about it.”

  A comment came to the tip of my tongue about focusing harder on grades, but I let it slide for now. “Any, um, particular school you’re thinking of?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe UCLA or something.”

  I looked at him. “Out of state, then?”

  “Maybe.” He glanced at me. “Is that okay?”

  “Sure, yeah, of course.” Out-of-state tuition with a baby in the house? This could get pricey. And I still have to tell Ryan about the—I cleared my throat. “I mean, it’ll be more expensive, so we’ll have to plan ahead a bit. You might have to look into some student loans.” I paused. “But, we’ll work it out if that’s what you want to do.”

  “Cool.” Ryan swallowed. He stared out the windshield for a long moment without speaking, but the way he chewed his lip suggested he was trying to figure out how to say something. Isaac always said my son and I did that, that he could always tell when one of us knew what we wanted to say, just didn’t know how to say it.

  Ryan muffled a cough and glanced at me. “So, is there any chance of me getting a car any time soon?”

  I took a breath. “It’s…a possibility. If you’re considering going to school out of state, you might have to help pony up for some of it.”

  “I have about five hundred saved,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Do you?”

&
nbsp; He nodded. “I’m trying to get some more hours, but…” He trailed off and shrugged.

  “Hmm.” I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “Tell you what. You save up seven fifty, and I’ll come up with fifteen hundred.”

  Ryan’s head snapped toward me, but he quickly looked back at the road in front of him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” I said. “We should be able to find you something halfway decent for that. Gas is going to be your responsibility, but I’ll pay half your insurance. You get a ticket or get in a wreck? Insurance is all yours, and you’re buying the next car.”

  He nodded. “Got it.” Then he smiled. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said quietly. Neither of us spoke again as he drove the last couple of blocks to the restaurant where he worked.

  He pulled up and parked, and after he’d shut off the engine, we both got out.

  Ryan handed me the keys. For a moment, we stood in silence, neither quite sure what to say. Finally, he muffled a cough and gestured toward the restaurant. “Well, thanks for the lift.”

  I nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

  We looked at each other, like we each expected the other to say something more. Or there was some other step here that neither of us was aware of, something a father and son should do or say before we went our separate ways.

  God, I suck at this.

  “You’d probably, um, better get to work,” I said. “Don’t want to be late.”

  “Right, no.” He took a step back. “Thanks again.”

  “Any time.”

  With that, he turned and walked onto the sidewalk, then disappeared into the restaurant.

  I released a long breath. This was the first conversation we’d had in recent memory that didn’t involve Ryan mouthing off at me or me wanting to wring his neck. Now that we’d finally had a discussion like this again, I realized it had been way, way too long.

  I spun my key ring on my finger and threw one more glance at the door my son had gone through a moment ago. It was just one car ride, just one short conversation, but it was a start. Isaac always told me communication starts with one conversation, then two, then three, and so on. We had a few difficult conversations coming up on the horizon, but we’d gotten one short, relatively easy one out of the way.