Page 35 of Under One Roof

I understand addiction is a disease, but at some point, you have to take responsibility for your life. Roman has been wallowing in self-pity for over a decade now. Enough is enough.

What makes it worse is Ian blames himself for the way Roman’s life has turned out, but it’s not his fault. He’s done everything he could to help, even paying for multiple stints in rehab. Roman just doesn’t seem to want to fix his life.

I don’t have time or patience for him, but Ian has a soft spot for our little brother. Always has, and now the little shit isn’t even coming to his birthday party. For all of Ian’s bluster, he wears his heart on his sleeve, which leaves him vulnerable to people like Roman who’re happy to take advantage of his kindness.

And it pisses me off.

Because Roman has to take some personal responsibility and get his shit together. Ian deserves better than silence. We all deserve better.

To my utter amazement, Roman responds.

Roman

I will, and it’s not that I don’t want to go to the party. It’s that I can’t.

What do you have going on that’s so important?

Roman

It’s not for a text conversation. Sorry, man. I’m trying.

Roman

I swear.

I close my eyes and rub at the back of my neck, trying to roll out the knots of tension, but it feels like they’ve been there my whole life. The stress I carry in my muscles won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, so I stand, intent on heading upstairs, when notes of music drift up to the kitchen. I stop to listen.

After the helpful advice Andi gave me last week, I spent hours thinking about it. Thinking about how I was letting my kids down, and with how she seems to be bonding with them, I took her words seriously. I never thought my children would want to spend time with me. After all, I never spent much time with my own dad. The good memories I have of him can be counted on one hand. The rest are of him drinking and throwing temper tantrums before he left for good, leaving Mom to take care of the four of us on her own.

I’ve been raising my kids the best way I know how. Possibly a little too militaristically. Since that conversation with Andi, I learned Grace and Logan really did want to hang out with me. It was actually quite simple, though I’d been nervous to ask them about it. More nervous than they would ever believe I could be.

But since then, there’s been a seismic shift. My kids are smiling more. They’re laughing. Hell, I’m laughing. And we’re playing together. I’ve loosened the reins on having such a tight schedule for them and tried to relax more around the house, inviting them on a run with me, which turned out to be a long walk where I got to know my children, and they me. Grace informed me that Andi has been teaching her how to play the guitar for the talent show, while Logan and I have played basketball together every day I’m home, even if for only a few minutes like today because it was all we could fit in.

It’s been… Well, it’s been amazing. All because Andi had the audacity to tell me the truth. I’ll never be able to repay her.

With the kids asleep, I quietly make my way to the basement door and lean my ear against it, listening to Andi playing. I don’t recognize the song, but I do recognize her voice, quiet as it is. She told me she was a songwriter, but I don’t know why it never occurred to me that she sings too. Maybe because I’ve been so wrapped up in my physical attraction to her that I couldn’t imagine her level of talent.

Curious, I silently open the door and sneak down a few steps, enough that I spot her sitting on the floor, her back to me. She’s wearing my zip-up again, and it never fails to hit me hard. That she has a piece of me with her.Onher.

I sink down to sit on a step, sure to stay quiet so I can enjoy the show, the way she rocks back and forth, the neck of the guitar sticking out on her left side, her head bobbing along. I wish I could see her face, know if she is smiling or has her eyes closed. I imagine both.

I assume this is her first love, playing music, and I don’t know shit about it, but she’s good. She sings about broken dreams and heartache, and though her voice cracks on a high note, it’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. I suspect anything she played would be the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.

She finishes singing then strums a few chords. I don’t move, wanting to hear more, and Cat joins me, nudging at my leg for a pet. I try to shake him off, but he continues, and I glare at him to leave me alone. I’m busy. When he continues to paw at me like he doesn’t get enough attention, I silently call him an asshole yet give in, petting him, which earns a purr.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a big deal, I wouldn’t mind, but in the quiet of the basement, he might as well be screeching. Andi swings around, startled.

So much for stealth mode.

I lift my hand. “I, uh…heard you upstairs and came down to listen.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was so loud. I won’t play at night anymore.”

“No.” I stand quickly and practically jump down the rest of the steps to get to her. “It’s okay. Please, play whenever you want.”

“It’s a little late for you to be awake,” she notes, and I like that she’s learned my schedule. Although, I guess she had no other choice with how I wanted her to do her job, run the house like I would. But that’s changed now.

I shrug. “I was texting with my brother.”

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