Page 29 of Almost Paradise

It doesn’t seem natural to pretend that your dead spouse never died, but I‘ve never lost a wife.

“We need to keep our eyes on her. Langley is no help.” I eye my brother who is already on his way to being drunk. It’s like if he drinks enough, he’ll forget our dad is gone.

A few minutes later, we’re all seated at the dining room table. I push my food around my plate and wonder what Carter is eating for dinner. I wonder if Nia’s cooking has improved or if her mother still brings her prepared meals every few days.

“So, what did you order this dinner for, big brother?” Langley says while he sips on his third drink since I got here. I’ve only been here fifteen minutes.

“Yes, what is it, honey?” Mom asks. “We can use some good news in this family.” I eye Hannah. That’s the closest she’s ever come to admitting Dad is dead.

“Yes, please enlighten everyone,” Scarlett adds. She scoffs before she sips her drink.

“Oh, sounds juicy,” Langley says. His blue eyes dart from me to Scarlett. “I think this is the first time I’ve noticed any friction between you. You two are always as exciting as steamed broccoli.” He sits up as if he’s waiting for a show to start.

“I have news.”

Scarlett sniffles and wipes her eyes with her napkin. Langley puts down his drink and leans closer.

“I’ll get right to the point. I have a son.” The room goes deathly quiet. Hannah’s fork stops halfway to her mouth. My mom’s mouth opens but no words come out.

“What did you just say?” Hannah asks.

“I have a son. He’s three. I found out about him a few weeks ago. His name is Carter.”

I look at my mother for any signs of deception, and I see none. She’s not biting her thumbnail like she does whenever she’s trying to be deceptive. Dad told me about that tell years ago over beers. Right now, she’s looking at me, and her eyes and mouth are wide with shock, but I do see something in her gaze. It’s joy.

Scarlett gets up from the table and runs out of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. She opens the front door and slams it behind her.

No one speaks. I pull out my phone and find a picture of Carter. It’s one of him waving at the camera. Langley snatches the phone from me first. His brows nearly shoot to the ceiling.

“This gets better and better.” He passes the phone to Hannah, who smiles warmly at the picture.

“He looks just like you and Lang, Drake. He’s adorable. When can we meet him?” That’s my non-judgmental sister. She always sees the glass half full.

She hands my mother the phone, and I hold my breath for her reaction. She might be easy to read, but since Dad died, she’s become erratic. She started unraveling the instant he was diagnosed.

“I’m a grandmother,” she whispers as she looks down at my phone. She puts a hand to her chest. “Your father will be so pleased.”

“Mom, Dad’s dead,” I remind her.

Her head whips around as if Dad’s death is news to her. She drops the phone on the table, jumps out of her seat, and runs out of the room. I hear her sobbing all the way up the stairs.

Langley leans back in his seat and picks up his water for once. “You really know how to clear a room, bro,” he says with a humorless laugh. When I don’t take the bait, he says, “So, the perfect son has done something imperfect. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He lifts his water glass to me in mock salute. “And a black son too.” He chuckles. “I didn’t ever see that coming.” He lets out a long whistle.

I’m out of my chair in under a second. I catch Langley off guard, grabbing him by the collar while I tilt his chair back. His water glass spills into his lap, and the glass falls to the floor and shatters.

“Drake!” Hannah yells. She’s beside me in an instant, doing her best to pull my hand away.

Langley doesn’t put up a fight. In fact, he starts to laugh. “The poster child has become unhinged.”

Disgusted with him, I shove him off the chair, but away from the broken glass. He falls on the floor like a ragdoll. Hannah helps him up, but he continues to laugh like a deranged maniac. He stands but stumbles back a couple of steps before gaining his balance.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” I say to him.

That makes him laugh harder. “I’mthe asshole after you assaulted me? Your fiancée ran out of here and you don’t give a fuck. You barely looked up as she ran out of here sobbing. You chased Mom away because you think your way of grieving is the only way. Who does it harm for her to still cling on to our dad?”

“Because he’s dead and she’s pretending like he’s not. That’s not normal,” I tell him.

“Who does it hurt? Leave her alone and let her grieve in a way that makes sense to her. Focus on the mess you’ve made of your life,” he taunts.

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