Coming here is my little way of earning Joshua’s forgiveness. He didn’t ask but I want his forgiveness.
I look out the window of his room to the garden with guests. My eyes follow the girls as they mingle with strange faces. They are happy to be here. They chatted nonstop on our way, bolted as soon as we got out of the car. I can’t say the same for me. And I dread every second until I have to face my parents.
Joshua’s hand settles on my shoulder, he offers me a glass of wine and I set it on the windowsill. He sits across from me and we watch together. We came in this morning. If the girls told my parents I am here with them, they are doing a great job of dodging me too. I smile at Joshua. Talking to him feels good. Better than therapy. I didn’t hold back anything but he hasn’t said a word since my outburst. No accusations.
“Do you forgive me?” I ask without tearing my gaze from the girls. They are dancing with a man. From their grins, they are enjoying themselves. I shoot the caregiver a text and slide my phone into my pocket.
“Yeah.”
I steal a look at him. We are both in tuxedos with our shoes shining so well I can glimpse my reflection on them. “You make it so easy.” Ava will like him. He embodies the quotes on her wall about forgiveness.
“You are already doing a good job of punishing yourself. And you are sorry. And I love you.”
And he loves me.
And my brother loves me.
I take a sip from my glass and stare at my hand. His words spread from my chest to every part of me and my heart flips. It is different from when Elna says it. I can’t explain it but a calmness settles over me. Maybe it’s the reassurance that I will always have him. Even when the world turns their backs on me. When El doesn’t want me, I will always have him. He will always love me and all my shades of fuck ups.
“I love you too,” I whisper. Joshua presses the back of his hand hand to his forehead, shock written all over him. I chuckle. “I never said it before because I didn’t think it mattered.” We weren’t taught to use words like love or show it. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know how it was supposed to feel. I forgot how brotherly love felt like. Thought you hated me.”
He pouts, I chuckle. “For a while, yes. After I found out. Couldn’t believe you would go that far. But I get it. I don’t hate you. I forgave you long ago.” Joshua looks out the window and shakes his head. “He fucked up really bad. My God. Oops?” His eyes shimmer with tears like he’s remembering everything I told him. “I hope at some point you will be able to forgive Brendan too. Not for his sake but yours.”
I nod. He makes it easy to be his brother. I wipe my palms on my knees. They get so sweaty these days. I have never been as nervous as I have this past month.
“I was angry. At you. At them.” I motion to the house. “At everybody and for a long time too.”
“They made me angry all the time but I got used to it,” he says with a shrug. “Ava helped.”
The same woman I have been missing her calls. I heave a sigh. “When did you get into therapy?”
“After El told me I would be an uncle.” I haven’t thought about her all day, it’s good progress. He smiles at me. “If I didn’t get my shit together, I would miss my chance at being an uncle. Couldn't do that. I have always wanted to be an uncle so I could love my nieces and nephews the way we were never loved.”
Joshua’s remark hits home. It hits hard. It’s the same principle guiding me. To love my girls the way I was never loved. I am not sure the kind of parent I want to be but I know the kind of parent I will never be.
“You could have your own kids,” I murmur.
“Not yet. It’s easier now because at the end of the day, I have to return them to you.” I snicker and he flashes me a grin. “Someone recommended Ava and we stayed friends after that. I check in with her sometimes and she’s always glad to help.” He pauses. “Brandon.” I look up. “Thank you for telling me.”
We don’t hug. We don’t shake hands, just sit in quiet solidarity, watching people have fun. He snickers when the lady dancing with Bren nearly trips. I laugh along, so full of content I am scared I will explode.
This is the closest I have been to someone different from El.
The rest of the evening goes on without any mishap. I don’t go down, neither does Joshua. I am putting the girls in bed when Bren taps me. They are sharing the same bed. “I like grandma.” She slides her arms around my waist and speaks into my chest. “She is pretty.” I press a kiss to her hair. “And very nice too.”
For the first time, Wyn doesn’t support her sister. She mutters, “I like grandpa. He is nicer.” I ruffle their hair. I dislike both of them but of course, I don’t say that. She pinches my cheek and giggles. “You look like him, Daddy.” I pretend not to hear that. “Can we come here for Christmas?” Her big eyes search my face for an answer. “I like it here.”
No. “You will have to ask Mummy.”
They slide back under the covers, eyes closed as they wait for their goodnight kisses. I place a kiss on their foreheads, another on their cheeks. “Love you,” I say when I am at the door, hand on the light switch.
“Love you too, Daddy,” they chorus and the room is cast into darkness.
I start in the direction of my room but pause. My parents’ room is the other way. The study too. They used to spend their evenings there. When we were younger, I used to think of our family as pieces of a chess board. Mother was the queen and it was her job to protect the king, no matter the costs. The man can’t do anything without her anyway. I think that’s why I hate chess. It’s a stupid, meaningless game.
I stand in front of their study for a minute. If they are not inside, I will walk right back to my room and out of this place first thing in the morning. My fist connects to the door. A muffled voice says, “Come in.”
They are seated at the long table positioned by the floor-to- ceiling window, playing cards. They glance at me. If they are surprised to see me, they don’t show it.
“Brandon,” Mother says. I shut the door behind me.
“Mother.”
“Come.” She motions to a single sofa by the fireside. “Have a seat.” Her face lights up with a smile as if we are old friends catching up. She’s good at playing nice, a professional. “We are so happy to see you.”
“Are you now?” Sarcasm coats my tone, I settle down and cross my legs. We sit in silence. Mother clasps her hands. Father is just Father, looking everywhere but me. Bloody coward. My eyes locate the portrait hanging on the wall, a customised picture of them from a well-wisher. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Father says.
Seconds blend into minutes, I stand. This was futile.
“Your girls are lovely. They look better in person.” And they will not be seeing them again if I have my way. “Thanks for bringing them. Thanks for coming.”
“Cut the crap, Mother.” She annoys me the most with her attitude. She can shove her thanks up her ass. My hands rest on my hips, I narrow my eyes. “We all know I don’t want to be here.” Her lips press into a thin line, I scoff when Father places his hand over hers. How can they have a perfect marriage when mine is in shambles? I deserve that happiness. “It’s good to see some things never change.”
“You have not changed,” she cuts in sharply. Her eyes light up with an unnamed emotion. “Still so angry.” How dare she? “So upset with the world.”
“You made me this way!”
Her eyes clash with mine, her face takes on that calm, that composure. The Queen is here.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I scream. Her composure cracks, Father’s hand slips from hers. I don’t need to elaborate. They know. “What kind of parents are you, huh? You are awful human beings. Horrible. And if you think for one moment, you will be seeing my girls again, you are sorely mistaken.”
My chest heaves, I stop to catch my breath. They always make me mad. They infuriate me. Mother with her calmness and Father with his compliance. Perfect pair of fuck ups. Mad King and the Ice Queen.
They don’t speak. I don’t know why I wait for them to defend themselves. But I stand there like a fucking statue. My inner child wants closure, to understand. Maybe, just maybe, in the future, I might be able to think of them without so much anger.
“That’s it?” I run my hand through my hair. “You are not going to say anything? You didn’t say anything then and you won't say anything now?” I nod, swiping a hand over my face. “Your integrity is worth more than your kids.” I snatch a figurine from the low stool beside my seat and hurl it above their heads. They flinch. I double over with mirthless laughter. Good to see they still know fear. “Forget it. Coming to see you was a mistake. You two are so fucked Jesus would turn his back on you.” I shudder with disgust. “I will always turn my back on you.”
Father’s eyes darken. It is Mother who placates him by giving his hand a squeeze. I smirk. I am getting somewhere. He doesn’t speak. I remain in the middle of the study, hands on my head as I try to process whatve the fuck is going on right now.
These are the people I call my parents. God, why?
I stalk to the door and open it. I am done.
“Brandon dear, we know you tampered with your brother’s car,” Mother says. Blood rushes to my ears, my hands fall to my side. I knew it. “We know he was also blackmailing you. What do you want us to say?”
With my back to them, I shut the door. My heart is pounding so hard at this new piece of information. “You tell me, you are the master of knowing it all.”
“I’m almost seventy, your dad is a little above that. We are old. What can we say to change what has happened?”
It doesn’t have to change anything before they say something. My apology did not bring back Brendan but Joshua needed to hear it. His forgiveness will not bring Brendan back to life but I needed to earn it.
Stepping on the broken pieces of the figurine embedded in the rug, I say, “A lot of things. You can start by saying you are sorry.” I stretch a finger to them. “That you wish you were better parents. A better mother. A better father. That you didn’t pit us against each other. That you wish you never called him a dullard or compared him to me on the days I came back home with better grades.” My eyes almost water, I inhale sharply to calm myself. They continue staring at me like morons. “That for one moment in your miserable fucking lives, you were there for us when we needed our parents.”
A heavier silence settles on us. I release my breath. Mother is crying. Father is trembling. I am shaking.
“We are sorry,” Father says. His contrite gaze matches my stony one. “It doesn’t matter how many times we apologise or how bad we feel, the past is in the past. It won’t change.” My jaw ticks. I look away from him to the rug. “But we are sorry. We should have been there when you needed us.”
I don’t feel anything at his apology. There is no relief. Nothing. “Okay,” I tell them. “Okay.”