28. Chaz

Chapter 28

Chaz

M y therapist had suggested a lot of things in the weeks I’d been seeing her, and while I’d implemented a few recommendations, the one to confront my loved ones and share my feelings was a hard limit.

I cleared the house of Shelly’s belongings, donating everything to Consider Consignment over on the far end of Pippen Street. I painted the entirety of my house’s interior, rearranged the furniture, and even splurged on a new bed and linens since I hadn’t needed to pay a weekly tab at Frenchie’s.

While proud of myself for continued advancement in moving on by creating a new space that was solely my own—and a lot more comfortable—I couldn’t bring myself to speak to my parents.

Or Jamie.

I wanted him more than anything, loved him regardless of his betrayal of the friend we’d shared, but I wasn’t ready. Something inside me stalled out when it came to him. Perhaps I still felt I didn’t deserve happiness. Or maybe that seed of bitterness deep inside me needed to be completely rooted out before I could stomach facing him again.

Sitting alone in my living room on Christmas morning, I stared at the small tree I’d bought for myself, a sense of thankfulness snaking through my chest for the first time in months. The scent of fir filled the air, a smell Shelly had hated along with the pine needles littering the floor as the tree eventually gave up the ghost no matter how much one watered it.

I’d used multi-colored lights rather than the white she’d always insisted on for our fake fir. The branches of what I called my Charlie Brown tree were sad in their scarcity but beautiful to me because it was exactly what I’d always wanted and hadn’t been allowed during the years of my marriage.

While I had created a new beginning in my immediate surroundings, a weight still held me back, and I’d begun to hate it. Being around townsfolk again, seeing the world continue to revolve and how people found happiness in the small things made me yearn for the same.

I wanted to be free to live my life.

Today, I could take one step as my therapist had said that might make others easier in the future. Forward progress didn’t have to be in leaps and bounds.

You’ve got this.

Jamie’s motto whispered through my head, bring a sad smile to my lips and an ache in my heart.

My cell lay in my hand, screen dark, but the text from Mom still etched in my mind. An invite to Christmas dinner.

I toyed with my phone, going over in my head what my therapist had suggested in our last session. Telling my parents the truth about Shelly wouldn’t be an attempt to tarnish her reputation. I’d clearly cared about her too much to do that intentionally. Sharing everything I’d kept from them also wouldn’t be selfish because I wouldn’t use her supposed sins to make me look better than Dad saw me. Nothing would ever change his mind toward his failure of a son, but I’d emptied my house of the bad memories. It was time to clean out the closet, air the dirty laundry, and own my failings.

Attempting not to overthink as I did these days, I showered, shaved, and put on some nice clothing. Armor, perhaps, but whatever. At this point, I didn’t care if Dad frowned at my appearance or not. I made an attempt, and that was winning in my eyes, same as when I’d mailed out last month’s payment two days early.

Mom answered the door as usual, her eyes lighting up at finding me on the front stoop with snowflakes in my hair and on my eyelashes. The nostalgic scent of ham and sweet potatoes, the traditional Christmas dinner, rolled over me.

“Charles!” She threw her arms around me before I made it over the threshold.

My throat went tight, and my eyes stung, and I returned her greeting, although with slightly less enthusiasm.

“It’s so good to see you.” Mom stepped back while I shrugged out of my coat, a quick swipe of her fingertip to the corner of her eye ridding her of a tear. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

“Considering how I left last time, I didn’t expected an invite,” I explained, hanging up my coat on the rack.

Mom glanced up the hallway toward where I could hear Dad puttering around in the kitchen. “I apologize for his?—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, refusing to hear from her lips what ought to be on Dad’s. “Does he know you asked me to come over?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin in a show of backbone I’d never seen before. Her eyes even flashed with stubbornness I recognized in myself. “I told the man if he didn’t like you showing up, he was welcome to fly to Florida to spend the day with your grandparents.”

I stared. “You… what ?”

“Needless to say, he folded immediately.”

Goddamn. Mom had found her backbone. Dad had cut his own toxic father out of his life years earlier and refused to talk to the man.

A chuckle rumbled in my chest. “You finally realized who really rules this roost, huh?”

“I’ve always been aware but never felt the need to spread my wings or ruffle feathers until recently. And trust me, I’ve done so countless times since he and I were alone on Thanksgiving. I’ve failed you in too many ways to count.”

“Mom.”

She held up her hand. “I’m sorry, Charles, for not standing up for you or putting you first. You should have been my focus, not attempting to please a man who continues to live under the trauma caused by his own father.”

Dad didn’t have it easy growing up, but his past experiences weren’t an excuse for how he treated his own son. I expected Mom was intelligent enough to recognize the same.

All we could do was move forward as I’d been attempting to do.

I hugged Mom again, a little bit more tenderly and appreciative. “I forgive you.” I offered what she needed to hear, and a weight slid off my chest.

One down, one to go.

Not that I would ever forget even if I managed to somehow forgive the biggest obstacle to my self-worth beneath this roof.

Dad’s face didn’t betray jack shit when he turned around from plating the candied sweet potatoes to find me in the kitchen. “Charles.”

“Dad.” I nodded in greeting, holding my face in the same stoic mask as he did.

“Dinner is ready, so please make yourself at home,” Mom insisted, handing over the platter of spiral-cut ham with its clove and brown sugar glaze.

We had been eating the same meal this time of year since I could remember, and my mouth watered once we sat at the table in our usual seats. The chair on my right was empty, but only a small snaking sense of loss walked through my mind.

I would miss some parts of having Shelly around but wouldn’t allow grief of any sort to dictate my life any longer.

The lack of peas, however, made me smile.

“You seem happy,” Mom noted.

“No peas,” I answered honestly, and Dad actually barked a laugh.

I jerked my head toward him, and he coughed, wiping his smile away as though ashamed by his outburst. “You hate them too?” I asked him.

He glanced at Mom—and nodded.

“Clifford!” Mom exclaimed, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because you love them, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Dad said, his cheeks a shade of pink I’d never seen before.

“Well.” Mom huffed and slid a slice of ham onto her plate before handing the platter to me. “Perhaps a little more honesty in this household might be a good idea from here on out.”

Agreed, one-hundred percent.

“You’ve been speaking your mind for weeks on end, woman,” Dad said but with softness in his tone rather than chiding. “It’s been…refreshing in ways I never would have expected.”

“On that note,” I said, taking three slices of ham because I was hungry for a good meal, goddamnit, “I’ve been seeing a therapist since October, and I’ve learned more than I expected. Need to share a lot too.” I handed the platter to Dad, whose lips returned to their usual thin line. “Getting help isn’t weakness, Dad. It’s being responsible and taking care of yourself when things around you are beyond your control. She’s shown me how to put my…well, shit, into perspective.”

Mom didn’t chide my language, nor did Dad argue my statement.

We finished plating our food and began to eat while I decided how to best state the truth I’d been living since marrying Shelly.

“Would you rather wait for this discussion until after dinner?” Mom asked, but I got the sense she offered out of sensitivity toward me rather than demanding I keep the peace until we finished. She probably wanted me to fill my stomach before walking out again if that was where the conversation ended up.

Seeing as how we didn’t have anything else worth discussing until this was out in the open, I shook my head. Might as well get shit laid out on the table now so I could enjoy apple pie and coffee afterward.

Hopefully.

“Shelly was having an affair.”

Dad’s fork clattered to his plate, and he gave me his full attention, brow furrowed and gaze searching.

I refused to feel the blame I expected he thought to push onto me and continued before he could open his mouth. “She was pregnant with another man’s child and planned to divorce me.”

“Charles.” Mom’s voice broke.

“Our relationship was on the rocks for years. My inability to give her the family she wanted, the fights, my staying away from the house to escape—” I cut myself off, refusing to put Shelly down. “I failed her in many areas of our marriage. Definitely wasn’t the best husband, that’s for damn sure.”

Both of my parents stared at me, Dad’s face struggling to remain stoic, Mom teary-eyed and lips trembling.

“I’m not pulling shit out of my closet to make her look like the bad guy but being honest so you know how I’m feeling. If you care.”

“Of course we do,” Mom insisted quickly.

Dad swallowed hard, dropping his focus to his plate and slowly picking back up his flatware. He cut into his ham but studied the bite on his fork before speaking. “It takes true grit to admit we’ve let our loved ones down.”

I waited to reply since his tone and careful word choice hinted he wasn’t done.

He chewed his ham, his eyes downward. “Perhaps I haven’t been the best of fathers. I’m sure I haven’t lived up to my own potential or your expectation in that regard.”

You think?

I held in my snort and shoved a bite of sweet potatoes into my mouth, letting him stew in whatever emotions he had going on in his chest in that moment.

“Clifford?” Mom prompted him to continue, and he heaved a heavy sigh.

“I am sorry, Charles.” He finally met my gaze, the regret and pain in his eyes unexpected, hurtful, and healing all at the same time. “For speaking when I ought to have kept quiet. For not using my words to build you up rather than tear you down.”

Unable to swallow or find my voice, I nodded.

Dad’s lips thinned for a moment as he moved green beans around on his plate, brow still furrowed deeply as he worked through his thoughts. “You know my father was an absolute bastard.”

Surprised by his language, I snuck a glance at Mom to find her watching Dad with encouragement and pride on her face.

“But my childhood is no excuse for my treatment of you,” Dad continued.

“You’re right.” I didn’t mind stating that fact for the first time in my life, but I didn’t allow my hurt to lace my tone.

His lips twisted as though attempting a smile. “Perhaps someday you will be able to do what I’ve never been able to—forgive your father for letting you down at every turn.”

My damned throat went tight again, eyes stinging.

“Well!” Mom said with breathless excitement or perhaps an overwhelming overflow of other emotions. “I believe I like this new means of communication.”

“It’s healthy,” I agreed with a rasped voice, glancing at Dad again. “It brings healing.”

He nodded agreement, his eyes a little wet too.

I filled my lungs, girding my loins for the next topic of discussion since this one had gone well. “While we’re on a roll,” I said, fingers crossed, “I’m pansexual. That means I like men, women, people—whatever and whoever. A person’s physical makeup doesn’t matter to me. I find everyone on the gender spectrum attractive.”

Both parents blinked as though baffled by my announcement.

“What I’m saying is that if and when I bring someone home again they might not be female.”

Dad nodded acknowledgement first, surprising the hell out of me. “Auntie Dottie’s daughter is non-binary. Uncle Aubrey’s son is transitioning and prefers to be called Erica instead of Eric now.”

Look at Dad showing off his proper terminology.

A grin stretched my lips, one I hadn’t experienced in far too long. Felt good as fuck.

I shouldn’t have been surprised with how he constantly attempted to educate himself by reading books from the library and watching the news. Either the man had a learning kink or he never managed to measure up to his own father’s standards and still strove to become a better man.

I hated that I could totally empathize, but I’d been dealt this hand, and I wasn’t going to fold as I’d considered doing back in September.

Onward had become my new motto, one I could appreciate after having been depressed for far too long.

“So neither of you will care who I choose to date when the time comes?” I focused on Mom since she hadn’t reacted in any way other than to go quiet.

“We just want you happy,” Mom whispered, glancing at Dad as though seeking his agreement.

“She speaks the truth, son.”

Well, fuck.

I shoveled another bite of sweet potatoes into my mouth to keep from blubbering and let the tears roll down my cheeks.

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