Daddy Issues

by Seth King

  Please know that I saw what you did at the beach.

  Mary Kate Prince

  Hey, Mary Kate. I know this is random, but just thought you should know…the reason I really left is because I think your son is falling for Robert. Sorry. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.

  “Susan,” I tell my sister, who is in my room to borrow my Chi straightener, after I read the text from David. “Get me some Pinot Grigio, please. Now.”

  “What?” Susan asks, barely glancing back. “It’s ten in the morning, and why do you sound so faint, anyway? My husband said-”

  I shove the text in front of her face, then listen as she sets down the straightener.

  “Gotcha, then. One bottle, comin’ up.”

  At first I don’t want to believe it. I want to think David is just being jealous and crazy. But then the signs start adding up in my head. The way they kept disappearing, the way there was always a sort of tension in the air around them, the way Eliot keeps wanting to talk to me about Robert, when they never even knew each other to begin with…

  It dawns on me slowly until falling on top of me all at once, like a house dropping onto a witch in the land of Oz. Oh my God, I’ve been so depressed about my divorce, I think I just overlooked the fact that my son wants to sleep with my ex-husband.

  At that very moment I turn out toward the back yard. My stomach flinches – it’s them. There they are. Right there. They’re walking out to the dock area together, and something in the way their bodies are situated, something about the look on Eliot’s face, makes me lose all the feeling in my body.

  I know Halvard Eliot Prince better than anyone in the world. I delivered him via emergency caesarean section at 12:47 PM while watching The Young and the Restless on a Wednesday afternoon. And David was wrong – Eliot isn’t “falling” for Robert.

  Eliot is already in love with him.

  ~

  Later that day I’m collapsed in the bathtub, my bottle of wine dangerously close to empty as I mess with the faucets with my feet.

  I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking known. I invited my son, who is so gorgeous his own high school teachers were known to joke amongst themselves about having crushes on him, on vacation with my ex-husband, who is also so attractive he gets hit on by both sexes – and even crazier, women don’t even care that he’s gay. Even after Robert came out, women would pursue him, knowing he probably wouldn’t be interested. But they still tried anyway. Eliot has looked like an adult since he hit the ninth grade, and Robert simply does not age. Of course this was going to happen. Of course. I am so stupid…

  At first I want to think Eliot has betrayed me. But this isn’t about me at all. It’s not really like there was anything to betray in the first place. If I’m being honest with myself, we haven’t had a relationship in years. Not where it counts. And all because I bungled his “coming out” worse than anything I’d ever bungled with him.

  There were signs, of course – the Kelly Clarkson posters, the strange way he would become a little obsessed with certain male friends, and find ways to unnecessarily mention them and bring them up all day – but I just didn’t want to face it. I didn’t care about what he was – I never did at all. I was just terrified to the point of paralysis. I was terrified for him, and terrified that I’d say the wrong thing and mess it all up, too. Because when Robert “came out” to me, I made every mistake in the book. I couldn’t do that again. And when I get scared, I shut down and shut the person out of my head.

  So when Eliot finally opened his life to me and told me he was gay, I freaked out and pretended it never happened. I fucked everything up, but I didn’t know how to fix it. In the three years since then, we’ve maintained a completely shallow relationship. His sexuality is his identity, his life, and I don’t know how to talk about it – so that leaves nothing for us to talk about. Now it’s all just a big mess, a slow-motion train wreck. I don’t even know my own son, and now he’s falling in love with my ex-husband.

  Jesus Christ. Maybe I did this. Maybe I pushed Eliot away so thoroughly, he went into the arms of Robert. Once I overheard something out of my mother’s mouth, back during one of my tantrums when Eliot was five or six, that I wished I’d never heard at all: “Some people just aren’t meant to be parents.”

  She was right, of course. I’m a bad mom, and it’s something I’ve struggled with my entire adulthood. Sometimes I hate myself so much I can’t even look at him. Motherhood is propped up in society as the best and most valuable thing a woman could ever do; everything else is considered secondary. And from the first moment, I just wasn’t natural with it.

  I got too stressed out, I got overwhelmed by little things, I required too much alone time to ever really “be there” for him one hundred percent. Some women acted like motherhood completed them. All it did was make me feel even more incomplete. How could I ever be there for someone else when I had a kid at barely twenty years old and didn’t even know who the hell I was, myself?

  The more I think about it, the more I realize it’s also hard to really hate Robert for this. I’m not saying it’s not shocking. Clearly he stepped over some huge lines. But it’s never as simple as it seems. Sure, I can look at this in black-and-white, in yes-or-no, right-or-wrong terms. But this is more complicated than that. I’m the one who knows Eliot better than anyone. And someone would be stupid not to love my son.

  People around Eliot have a tendency to become hopelessly devoted to him – there’s just something about him that endears him to people. I’ve seen little teenaged girls make fools of themselves over him, and he never realized any of it. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when poor David hatched that stupid plan to keep him around by giving him a ring. It was crazy, but it wasn’t any more far-fetched or useless than when this girl Rebekah asked me if she should hire a sky-writing plane to ask him to homecoming. (And of course David is trying to get revenge by ratting out Eliot to me, that little worm. I’ll never tell Eliot, but I was happy when he left.) By now I’m used to the grand gestures. I just didn’t think any gestures would come from my former husband.

  For a moment I wonder what they must be like, how their dynamic is developing. I know it’s weird, but I can’t help myself. When I wasn’t acting like a maniac, Robert was the most caring person in the world – he’d pull the car off the highway just to pick me some wildflowers he’d spotted, or he’d write me a handwritten note on some computer paper for no reason at all. I wonder if he’s doing the same for Eliot, and then I cringe and smile at the same time. But then it changes into a full-on smile, making me more confused than ever.

  What is wrong with me? Why am I smiling about this?

  Then I realize – nothing is wrong with me. All I ever wanted, from the moment they put Eliot into my arms twenty-two years ago, was for him to be happy. And I failed. I want his happiness now more than ever – I had gay friends in school, and I would see the way the majority of the world would isolate them, freeze them out in a million little ways, never fail to let them know they were different.

  So I think about it from a different angle. If my son really has found happiness, who would I be to begrudge him of that – especially after the kind of mother I’ve been to him?

  And there’s always the other option. Eliot is an adult, and an incredibly independent and mature one, to boot. What if I forbid him from seeing Robert, and he does it anyway and cuts me out of his life for good? Our relationship has always been precarious. What if this is the final nail in our coffin?

  A deep, guttural cry escapes from my throat, but instead of sounding angry, it’s more frustrated and overwhelmed.

  I sink deeper into the tub and finish off the bottle. That’s when I know this can go one of two ways: I am going to kill both of them, or I am going to have a total meltdown, spill my guts to Eliot in a way I have never spilled before, give him my blessing, and walk away.

  I just have no idea which option is going to actually happen. And right now, the “murder” option is fully pos
sible…

  Part VI

  Arrangements

  Eliot Prince

  I wake up after 11 AM and just stare up at the ceiling. So it’s our last real day here. The little service for Sara is tomorrow morning, and then people are going to start packing up and leaving. Whatever’s going to happen, whatever this is, we’ve got to figure out the deal today.

  Suddenly I get a flashback to coming out to my mom in college. It’s so vivid I can still smell her perfume from that day – Estee Lauder, I think. I was going out of my mind, my spirit wasn’t breathing, and I had to tell someone. My mom was visiting my apartment, and she walked into my (weirdly gigantic) closet and made some passing joke that my things were so organized, she didn’t know if I was straight or not. I knew she meant no harm, but I snapped inside, and something propelled me to blurt out the following words:

  “MomIthinkI’mgay.”

  She turned and looked at me, and I’ll never forget the look on her face – she wasn’t mad, she wasn’t sad, she just looked…lost in thought, I guess. Confounded.

  “You are?” she asked, and I dropped my shoulders and sighed.

  “Yes…I am. I think I am. Or…yeah. I know I am.”

  That’s when a tear came to her eye.

  “No, Mom,” I said, wrapping her in an awkward hug. “I don’t want that. I don’t fear or sadness or anything. I just want…”

  “Oh, it’s none of those things,” she said quickly, shaking her head and pulling away. And then she left the room.

  I got the feeling she was overwhelmed and would return eventually, but when she came out of the bathroom half an hour later, she started talking about dinner. We never really talked about the situation again – ever. She’d mention David in passing, obviously, but we never got in deep. After I came out, the subject was simply dropped – for good.

  Suddenly my phone pings. It’s a comment on a post I’d totally forgotten about – the one pleading for help regarding the whole Robert situation.

  I lay back, smile, and start reading:

  Yo, I’m Amanda and I’ve got a story for you. I fell in love with a girl who – I found out later – was my ex fiancé’s ex-girlfriend. Yep, the chick I fell in love with, was my ex’s ex. That’s a real bitch move, right? I mean, I was dating the ex of someone I used to date. What kind of demon does that?

  So after we realized that little connection, we tried to break up, but I was MISERABLE. Two weeks into things, I realized what I knew all along: it was real love, and nothing the world said could change that. So we said “fuck you” to everyone’s perceptions, and got engaged. We even see our shared ex sometimes. It’s always a little awkward, but I know that deep down she’s happy for us – she even told me that. Sure, people will be freaked, and maybe your mom will hit the roof. But if you turn away from someone you really love in your bones, you’re gonna be miserable without them, anyway. I say go for it. Fuckin’ go for it, bro, and never look back. Not to be a bitch, but you might not find this again. So grab it while you can.

  That’s when I take a breath and decide it: I need to talk to my mom about this. I’m not going to tell her, per se, but…I need to feel things out. If I ever get with him at all, she’s going to have to know. I can’t just spring this on her. Before I leave, I’ve got to get some sense of how she would deal with this – good, or bad. Probably bad, but still, my mom is a good person at heart, underneath the eruptions and the instability. I can’t blindside her.

  After I throw on some shorts and a tank top, I go looking for her. I stop outside her door, but it’s locked.

  “Oh, don’t go there right now,” my Aunt Susan says, but she won’t meet my eye.

  “What? Why?”

  “She’s…not great right now.”

  Susan still won’t look at me. That’s when I realize she’s keeping something from me – she doesn’t want me to know about the divorce. “Oh,” I say. “What do you mean, though?”

  “Oh, um, she’s been crying all day. I think the death is finally hitting her, poor thing,” Susan says, totally unconvincingly. “Anyway, just leave it alone. I heard her rattling around in her pill bottles. She probably took a Xanax and passed out. She’ll be fine, I’m sure. You should go have fun while you can.”

  She smiles and then heads down the hall as quickly as she can. I knock one more time, but I know Susan is right. When my mom gets like this, she takes one of her pills and knocks herself out for the rest of the night. She’ll wake up in the morning, totally fine, but until then she will be unreachable.

  “Okay, Mom, I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. “Let me know if you need anything. Bye.”

  I take a few laps around the lake after that, breathing in the smell of the sharp pine and the minerally soil. Everyone I love in the world is at this house right now, and I can’t believe I’m about to leave. And what awaits Robert and me? How will we possibly keep this going? And does he really want to keep it going?

  After the run I undress in my room and glance at myself in my mirror. I look better than I ever have before. My skin is firm and golden. I look happy and unbothered. I’ve lost a few pounds of fat, and my (small) muscles are popping. Is this what someone looks like when they fall in love? Like themselves, but the best possible version?

  Robert catches me in the empty hallway after that, and I lose all the feeling in my face. He’s always doing that, making me forget about certain extremities.

  “Meet me in the driveway in thirty,” he says before smiling and walking up the stairs. I figure we’re going walking or boating or water-falling or whatever, so I wear shorts and a Polo. But when I meet him, it seems he has a more specific plan in mind. He’s in a suit, and his skin is darker than ever. His golden color against his blue coat and his starched white undershirt is…

  God. All I know is, I’m about to make some very slutty decisions tonight.

  “I want to take you driving,” he says.

  “But-”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  We hop into his Jaguar, and he sets off down the road. His semi-hard cock in his pants is obvious, and our energy is already filling the cabin. But something else is also obvious – the photo hanging from his rearview mirror, of an attractive guy in his fifties or sixties, with the dates of his birth and death.

  “Lung cancer,” he says as he drives confidently, after he sees me staring. “And he didn’t even smoke. Never a cigarette in his life. Doctors were stumped, but c’est la vie, right? Anyway, he descended for eight months. It was a Tuesday when I watched him die. Well, from outside the room, anyway. He didn’t accept me. My own dad wouldn’t let me into the hospital at the end – strange, huh?”

  “I…don’t know what to say,” I force out soon. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Listen to me, being such a sob sister. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t say sorry. You can’t help any of that. You didn’t ask for it. Don’t ever apologize for what you can’t change.”

  I feel his eyes on me.

  “You’re alright, you know that?” he asks as he reaches over and rests his large hand on my thigh. “You’re not bad at all.”

  “I feel the same.”

  “It’s a good life, Eliot,” he says, smirking at me, and then I get that jolt again, where I’d do anything to sit on his cock – and find a way into his heart, too. “It’s a good life.”

  And then he stops the car, and I realize he only drove us to the end of our miles-long driveway and then turned around. We’re stopped at the edge of the drive, at a path that leads down to the dock house.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to dance with you in the moonlight. And I also want to get away from the house…”

  “Why?”

  He gets a little shifty.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask him.

  “Okay,” he finally says. “While we’re on this subject – what did we eve
r do on the beach that was bad? Before anything else, I need to know that.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “In what sense? The beach? What do you mean?”

  “Um, I just…well, I was just wondering...”

  “That question doesn’t make sense. Tell me why.”

  He takes a quick breath. “Eliot. No big reason. I was just making sure we’re covering our tracks. Do you think it was the Speedo day? Maybe something else...?”

  “I don’t know. I really have no idea. Could’ve been many things.”

  “Okay…god, this thing is a little complicated.” He takes a deep breath and looks over at me. “But at the same time, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing. I’m really glad I met you, Eliot.”

  “As am I…”

  As I melt, I follow him out of the car and down the path. The grass is dewy, and the three-quarter moon is bathing the trees in soft silver. The dock house looks dark and empty, and once on the second-floor deck, he sets his phone in a Solo cup – which creates an instant mini-speaker – and sets it to Speak Now, my favorite guilty-pleasure Taylor Swift album.

  “You remembered,” I say.

  “She’s no James Taylor, but she’ll do.”

  He takes my hand, then wraps his arm around my waist. Our bodies situate so naturally around each other’s, and we just pace as Taylor sings about her dress being on someone’s floor. The wind rustles the trees, and the mountains envelop the lake like they’re hugging it. I couldn’t have asked for a better last night before the funeral. I almost want to cry. We might never experience anything like this again. This might be our very last night…

  A quiet minute passes. I inhale.

  “The first time you saw me, when we first got here,” I say. “Tell me. What’d you think?”