Page 4 of The Rest is History

Chapter 2

Reece

When I open my eyes, I’m curled up in Abby’s rocking chair. I don’t remember falling asleep.

A throw covers my body, warding off the evening chill. The sun is long gone, and the quiet is eerie, but I don’t mind. The movers must have left for the day. Elaine too. The door is left slightly ajar. She must have come in and covered me.

I’m only almost twenty-eight years old, but my bones creak when I untangle my limbs, screaming fatigue like I’ve lived seven decades. My head pounds and my eyes are scratchy.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. The quick succession of the text messages coming in tell me exactly who the sender is. My stomach moves with dread.

I already know how far from the tree I’ve fallen. My father doesn’t need to remind me, although he frequently does. I don’t need to be reminded of how he wished his only son was stronger. Not such a crybaby about everything. So weak. “Pull yourself together. You’ll have other children and even if you don't, maybe that’s a good thing”. And, “Why can’t you just be normal like everybody else?”

I wanted that too. I wanted to be normal too, but I didn’t know what normal was. Abby was our one and only chance to be normal; a normal family.

Because of my father, I learned early on not to make a big deal of things. Why would he take time off from his job to go and watch me get a participation award, he told me one day. It’s not like I earned any kind of academic achievement. If I’d gotten a real award maybe it would’ve been worth his time. And why would he come to watch me be a blade of grass in the background when I got chosen for a part in The Lion King in middle school? It’s not like I was Mufasa or Simba, “or even that hornbill, what’s-his-name. Jesus Christ.”

I secretly loved it when Asher and his parents acted like I went to the moon all by myself when I scored a C on any of my tests.

I ignore the next string of text notifications that comes through.

Sometimes, I wish my mother hadn’t given me up so easily after my parents divorced. But I guess with a bully like my father, I couldn’t blame her for leaving me in his custody when I was four, and fleeing to the other side of the country. Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy.

I walk to the door, pulling it open. They’ll leave the nursery for last. I’m sure the bedrooms have been packed. Maybe I won’t go back to the hotel tonight, where I’ve been staying for the last few weeks. Maybe I’ll sleep in Abby’s room.

In the kitchen, I go to the fridge for a bottle of water. A DoorDash takeaway bag with the words Urban Taj on it sits on the counter along with a note from Elaine: Please eat something. The last thing I ate was a spring roll from the hotel’s breakfast buffet. It’s now past six o’clock. I should be hungry. I’m sure there’s chicken teriyaki inside the bag, but I can’t stomach the idea of eating it now.

I place the food in the fridge. Carrying the bottle of water in my hand, I drift through the house. The living room is still intact – overstuffed couches for Abby to jump on. The plush, robin’s egg blue center rug, perfect for a lazy golden retriever puppy. Julie said she would die of sadness if she didn’t have that rug and a golden retriever puppy. The robin's egg blue went perfectly with the dark brown marble mantel above the fireplace, she said. And every family – every newborn baby, to be clear – needs a golden retriever puppy. We were going to get the puppy after we brought Abigail home.

The evening chill, despite the approach of spring, finds its way into my bones, and dusk settles. In another life, perhaps Julie, Abby and I may have taken a walk to enjoy the crisp air.

The familiar roar of an engine disturbs the quiet. My muscles stiffen inside my body, and I quickly make my way to the main entrance.

My father brings his SUV to a stop next to one of the moving trucks. “You didn’t see my texts?” he barks, stepping onto the gravel ground.

He is a handsome man. Attractive build and height. Expressive eyes and a confident gait. I inherited nothing from him, physically. I’m a carbon copy of my mother: tall, but lean enough to still be considered small, delicate. Pointed chin, almond eyes. Curly, brown hair. More pretty than handsome. More soft than strong and masculine. More stupid than smart.

“Oh. I must have missed them,” I answer, my voice, as usual, subdued and a little shaky.

He comes to a stop in front of me, his hands on his hips, and his eyes searching my face with a disapproval I’ve long become accustomed to. It’s hard to become a better son when your very existence falls short of your father’s expectations. “So, what’s the plan?” he says curtly.

“I—I’m staying at—”

“You need to get yourself an apartment. Lease it for now. No use buying again if you and Julie work things out and have another baby.” Logical solutions. A man of action. No time for sadness.

“Dad, Julie moved to California. I told you last month, remember?”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Yeah. Well. Things change. There wasn’t any good reason for you two to get divorced.”

Yes. Except for the fact that I am not, and have never been, attracted to Julie, or any woman for that matter. A fact Julie accepted with love and compassion when I finally gathered the courage to tell her. A fact my father refuses to accept. I denied it for years after he found that journal when Asher and I were teenagers, but I couldn’t go on like that anymore. So, I came out and told him the truth right after I told Julie. Yes, Dad, I’m gay. Yes, Dad, I was in love with Asher Cameron. I still am.

“Take a few more days, sort things out in your head, and come back to work. Life goes on, Reece. You can’t mope around forever.”

“Okay, Dad.” I learned a long time ago it didn’t do me any good to argue. He thinks I’m an idiot who’d be lost without his interference in my life. Maybe he’s right. I couldn’t even keep my family together.

He turns to leave, then comes back. “Oh, and Reece? With this whole divorce thing, just don’t do anything stupid. I swear to God, if you do anything stupid, I’ll cut you off from your trust fund. Or I’ll fire you, or both. Just don’t be like your mother. You’re a man. You can’t fall apart at the first sign of trouble.”

I give him a sharp nod. Yes. Can’t fall apart at the first sign of trouble. I’ll try to remember that. I want to not fall apart. I don’t know how they do it, people like my father. I don’t how they don’t cry when they’re sad, or helpless, or in pain. Even as a teenager, I cried over everything. My father hated it.

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