Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Teenagers aren’t exactly known for their communication skills and social graces, but you tried and you showed support.” I meandered into the yard, grateful for the temporary distraction. “How was the spaghetti?”
“Not so great,” he groused. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I might have burned the onions or used too much garlic. No one complained, but I’ve had the real thing and I knew the difference. Dad’s was so damn good. He didn’t even have to look at a recipe to get it right. I think he would have been proud of my effort, but Dad was a master. He was the best—”
“He wasn’t that great, Ryan,” I intercepted.
“Sure, he was,” Ry protested, sounding a tad confused. “What are you talking about?”
Okay. I hadn’t planned on telling this truth, but my day had been all about clearing slates, so maybe it was time for some brutal honesty.
This tightness in my chest disguising itself as grief was pent-up anger. And my anger was grief, which meant this vicious cycle my shrink had assured me was a natural stage of grieving was a balancing act I couldn’t get right.
I mean, c’mon, it seemed irrational to be pissed at a dead man, but damn it, I was.
Anger had been simmering for years on a low boil, slowly building into a frothy mess. I swallowed around the lump of raw emotion and willed myself to keep my composure.
But I couldn’t do it.
“You heard me. You gotta stop doing that, Ry. You make it sound like Dad was a fucking saint and he wasn’t,” I croaked.
“I didn’t say he was a saint,” my brother replied cautiously. “But he was a good cook and a great dad and—”
“Was he, though? ’Cause I think if he was such a fucking great dad he would have listened to the fucking doctors and maybe his life wouldn’t have blown the fuck up.”
And I wouldn’t be in the middle of blowing up everything that mattered to me too. History repeats, history repeats.
“Ezra. Hey, cool down. Don’t say that.”
“It’s true and you know it,” I spat. “He was an addict, Ryan. He lied to get his fix. He lost jobs, he lost friends, he lost his dignity, and he let us curate a fucking cookbook dedicated to false memories, so we’d convince ourselves he was the best dad in the world. He wasn’t, Ryan. He was selfish. He shouldn’t be dead. He shouldn’t be gone. But he is, and I’m…” I swiped at my eyes as I stared up at the blue sky. “I’m pretty sure I’m never going to get over it if I don’t face the truth and stop…lying. He fucked up, and I keep fucking up, and I can’t help thinking this is how history repeats itself.”
Static hummed on the line for so long, I wondered if he’d hung up.
“You’re wrong, Ez. You aren’t tied to those mistakes. You can’t feel guilty about something you never had the power to fix.” Ryan’s voice was pure gravel. “No, he wasn’t perfect. And maybe I go overboard singing his praises, but I choose to remember the good times and the guy he wished he was when he was in his right mind. We both know if Dad were in my shoes, he wouldn’t have asked Gus’s boyfriend to come to dinner. He would’ve been passed out before the doorbell rang. But that isn’t who he wanted to be. Get it? He wasn’t a bad guy, Ezzie. He was a good man who made bad choices. But he loved us. You know that.”
Silence.
Yeah, I did know that. I struggled with the notion that love wasn’t enough. That it was better to keep shit that mattered to myself. That somehow, if I didn’t talk about things, they wouldn’t hurt as much when I lost them.
People, my mind corrected. Not things.
“Yeah, I know. I’m…sorry.” I blinked when tears welled out of the fucking blue. “I’m such a selfish prick, but damn, I wish he was around. And I wish you were still here and I wish life was simpler. Like it was in that fucking fantasy cookbook where people you loved stayed and everything felt…safe and happy. Like Disneyland, right?”
I lightened my tone, so Ry wouldn’t start thinking he needed to jump on the first flight to California. He had enough to worry about without adding me to the list.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t listen to me, man. I sound like a loon,” I sighed.
“No, you don’t. But you have that cookbook for a reason, you know. He wanted you to have the notes and the photos. He wanted you to think of the good times…especially when life feels tough. He wanted us to do everything he couldn’t. To live a good life, to be honest, work hard, and find someone who could love us for who we are. At the end of the day, I think that’s all any good parent wants for their kids. Something better.”