Page 121 of Revelry
“Extreme exposure therapy,” I gasped, trying to hold back the emotion.
He didn’t react to my words, instead he stepped to one side. “Please, come in.”
My eyes flicked behind him, over the threshold and I saw a nice, tidy home. Family pictures lined the wall, pictures that didn’t include me or my mom, and bitterness twisted my gut.
Suddenly, I didn’t remember that sad, lonely boy looking for love. I remembered the anger and hurt that had driven me for years afterwards. The torture I’d been putting myself through trying to achieve perfection so one day he would come back.
Planning my mother’s funeral all alone. Going through life all alone, thinking that’s what was best.
I could feel my emotion turning into white, hot rage but before it spilled out, Gertrude stroked my arm.
“We’d love to,” she answered, pushing past him, knocking him back because for some reason this damn woman couldn’t just movearoundsomeone. She tugged me with her, like she knew exactly where my thoughts were heading and that I needed to be dragged inside before I raged and set back my recovery even further.
Or hell, didn’t recover at all.
How I’d gotten the courage to come here today, I’ll never know, but it definitely had something to do with the tiny, powerful woman I was smitten with. She’d shown me over and over again what it took to be strong.
My father closed the door and then gestured for us to follow him into the kitchen. The dark, cherrywood cabinets were offset by white marble style counter tops littered with cookbooks, a state-of-the-art coffee machine, air fryer and wooden chopping boards. A large circular wooden dining table and four chairs sat in the middle with a powder blue tablecloth covering the top.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, turning to us, his eyes darting over me quickly. “Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?”
“Gin?” Gertrude offered.
My father laughed, the sound deep and rumbling, and similar to mine when I ventured to do it. Which I’d only done more now I was around Gertrude.
“Water?” I rasped, my throat dry.
I watched my father go through the mechanics of fetching a glass and filling it from the faucet, droplets running down the sides, pooling at the base and marring the table. He didn’t notice, continuing to chatter away to Gertrude who kept shooting me comforting looks. But my impulses screamed to wipe it and make it perfect and clean, then everything would be okay and that’s when it hit me, and my words tumbled out.
“You ruined everything.”
My words broke through the stilted conversation, and a hush descended the room. My eyes swung to his and a thousand apologies screamed at me, but I hardened my heart. I had shit to get off my chest.
“For years I worked tirelessly to be as perfect as possible, shedding my own weaknesses because I couldn’t comprehend why you would leave us. That way, if I could show you how perfect I was, you would come back and love us again. Except you didn’t. I drove myself tomadnessperfecting myself.” I jerked up from the chair to pace, my fingers continually clicking, creating a beat, an even beat that soothed me as much as it irked me. “Mama blamed me. Said it was all my fault. God, I drove myself to ruin running over every interaction in my mind and wondering how I could have been better.”
“Tate,” he began but my sharp stare cut him off.
“I wanted to gain your love so badly but where were you? You didn’t even want to know me. Your own son. Youronlyson or so I’d thought,” I chuckled darkly.
He hung his head. “Please, let me explain?”
“If I’d been better, would he love me? If I’d been smarter? If I’d been more helpful? After Mama killed herself, I shut myselfoff from anyone ever again. I grew even more controlling and particular. I stifled my emotions and cut off anyone who could get close to me.” I looked at Gertrude, her eyes shining at me, her damn bottom lip wobbling and it shattered me. “I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“But you know what she taught me.” I pointed at Gertrude. “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t unlovable. My imperfections were perfect, they were the reason she cared for me. I realized the problem was you. Andfuckthat was so freeing. Finally, I felt free and full of life. Except here we are, I still can’t move on, can’t heal or grow. I need to, because I can’t continue like this now I’ve found something worth living for. And I sure as hell won’t put my trauma on my child. So here I am, hoping like hell something will come from this so my life can finally begin.”
My chest heaved with my words and emotion, and yet the weight lifted from my shoulders. He hadn’t said a word and I already felt a million times better than before I walked in here. I felt like I’d gotten it off my chest. My clicking fingers stopped, they still itched and twitched to move but I felt like it was more from habit than impulse.
My father stood up, his expression world weary and exhausted. He reached out to me then dropped his hand, shaking his head.
“I have no words to make you feel better. I can only offer an explanation which is that I simply fell in love. Wouldn’t you do anything for love?”
I scoffed and then my eyes met Gertrude’s. I probably would. Except abandon my child.
“I was a weak man. I was too young and didn’t know how to cope with an unwell wife. It’s my only excuse; it’s just the way I felt. I didn’t know what to do with her, I was drowning in her depression and toxicity. Then I met another woman, someone who understood and we fell in love. We were only together onetime but it was enough, she became pregnant. I was devastated at first. But what did I do? I couldn’t abandon her the same way I couldn’t abandon you.”
“But you did!” I shouted, all of us jolting.
His eyes pleaded with me. “I know. And I have no excuse for it. I was young and naïve and thought everything would work out. I figured space between me and your mom would help. I tried to come back and see you but she made me promise…”
