Page 131 of Bring You Back

I give a slow nod, my hope dying at the thought of Jake calling Brent over to reprimand what he considers a shitty day’s work, and my defense returns. “I made a promise and had to deliver,” I say, reaching for some humor in my quoting of Banks, but my voice is thick with the words, throat scratchy. I clear all of it away. “I’ll get back to work.”

I start to move past Brent, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not here to make you get back to work,” he says with a slight laugh. “I have a promise to deliver, too.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I look down at his hand—a steadying hold.

I feel the weight lifting again. Some of the gaps filling in.We’ll talk more soon.He’s ready to do this now. No more easing into it. He’s ready for the heavy shit.

And, somehow, he knew I would be, too. He knew what I would need right now, today.

I need my father.

“What do you say we go for a walk?”

30

You Are My Son

Julian

We walk the pier, which is appropriate considering this is where my current struggles collided. Fitting to have all of them in one place.

I keep finding myself back here. Searching for answers. Clarity. This is where it all started, so maybe this can be where it all ends. Maybe I’ll finally find a cure in these planks.

I laugh to myself. The answers are right next to me. In my father. I don’t need a hunk of wood to wake me up.

But the answers still aren’t coming easily. I don’t have the questions. He’s waiting for me to start, but I still don’t know how. At least he’s not filling my silence with pointless conversation.

There’s something about being here. Looking down through the open space between the planks, seeing the rippling water, hearing the light thud of my feet, the low chatter around us from the few people standing off to the sides, leaning on the railing, laughing with their company—it helps.

It helps, Camille told me the night I asked her about the porch light. Now she’s listening to ASMR. We all have our things. This—the pier, the waves—is one of mine.

We’re halfway across when I just dive in with the first thought that comes to me. “So, how much do you hate each other? I mean, to. . .” I can’t even get the word out. But he knows what I’m asking. He looks relieved that I’m even talking considering the question.

“We never hated each other.”

I’m thinking about how unaffected they both seemed. Yeah, my mom spent more time in her bedroom—longer than usual—and she took some time off work, but she bounced back pretty quickly.Thanks to Camille, my head reminds me. But Camille’s presence couldn’t even makemebounce back. Then again, my mother is a better person than I am, and I have no actual clue about what she has been feeling.

I come to a different conclusion. “You just didn’t really love each other.”

“No, that’s not it, either.” He’s shaking his head and I’m growing frustrated.

“Then what happened?” I urge.

“We weren’t always happy,” he says with a shrug. “And instead of being mature about that, we looked for happiness elsewhere. When we slipped from each other, we reached for someone else to grasp.” He gives me a pointed stare. “Sound familiar?”

“A little,” I say with a wry smile that makes him laugh. I’ve already compared myself to my parents. While there wasn’t anycheatingon my end, I still haven’t been honest. “You know a lot about what I’ve done?”

“I got confirmation from your mom,” he says, and off my look adds, “We’ve been talking. Mostly about you. When we try to talk about us, it doesn’t end up so well. And don’t say that like what you’ve done is as bad as what we’ve done.”

“It’s close enough,” I argue.

“You made a mistake.”

“You did, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s as simple as that. He places his hand on my shoulder and we stop walking, waiting until he has my full attention before continuing. “But let me be clear. Despite what your mom did, you were never a mistake. For either of us. Being your father is the best decision I ever made, and I’d do it the same every time. Youaremy son, and you always will be.”

The whole time he’s talking, my chest tightens, then swells, and it’s suddenly hard to swallow, hard to see, and—fuck. Those words, the fact that my father ishere, standing in front of me, fills in more gaps. This is what I needed to know. What I needed to hear him say. I didn’t lose a father. I don’t have to compete with a kid I don’t even know yet.

Yet.

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