Eight
eight
WATCHING YOU - RODNEY ATKINS
OWEN - NOVEMBER 28, 2013
A s we leave my grandparents’ house, Callie looks relieved. I can tell she likes my family—they’ve gone out of their way to welcome her—but the sheer energy of a Sullivan gathering is enough to wear anyone out.
The short drive to my dad’s house feels heavier than it should. The last time I brought Callie here, things went south fast when my dad found out she was pregnant with a baby that wasn’t biologically mine. The judgment in his tone that day still makes my blood boil. He didn’t say anything in front of her, but Callie had noticed the change in my demeanor that day. I haven’t seen him since.
As we pull into Dad’s driveway, Callie looks calm on the outside, but I know she’s nervous. She keeps tapping her fingers on her knee.
“You ready?” I ask, trying to sound upbeat.
“As I’ll ever be,” she replies.
I hate that she’s uncomfortable, but I hope it goes well today I won’t put up with any disrespect from him again. I’m sad that Ruby is nearly a month old and this is the first time my dad will meet her.
Barrett is the first out of the car, bounding up the steps like this is the highlight of his day. I’m grateful he is oblivious to how uncomfortable Callie and I are at this point. His innocence is refreshing. Sara clings to me, her blanket dragging on the ground, while Callie carefully lifts Ruby from her car seat.
Beverly answers the door, her polished smile firmly in place. “Owen! Barrett! And this must be Ruby,” she gushes, leaning in to peek at the baby. “Come in, come in!”
The house smells like cinnamon and baked ham, Beverly’s trademark hosting combo. My dad is in the living room, decorated perfectly, a beer in hand. He stands when we walk in, giving me a curt nod before his eyes flick to Callie and Ruby.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, my voice even.
“Glad you could make it,” he says, his tone neutral. Not warm, not cold. Just... flat.
Beverly takes over the conversation, chatting with Callie about Ruby while Barrett regales them with tales of the football game he played earlier. My dad stays mostly quiet, sipping his beer and watching the room like an outsider in his own house.
It’s not long before he clears his throat. “Owen, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I glance at Callie. She nods slightly, and I follow him into his office. The air in here always feels different—stuffy, like it’s holding onto every awkward conversation we’ve ever had.
“I owe you an apology,” my dad says, his voice low. That’s the fucking understatement of the century, Pops. My dad isn’t normally one for self-reflection though so I’ll bite.
“What for?” I ask sarcastically. He ignores my tone and continues.
“For the way I acted when you brought Callie here the first time,” he says, running a hand through his graying hair. “Finding out she was pregnant, that Ruby wasn’t yours... was a lot to process. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have.”
I lean against the desk, crossing my arms. “You didn’t just process, Dad. You judged her. And me.”
He winces, nodding slowly. “You’re right. I did. And I regret it. But you haven’t been answering my calls so I couldn’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and I just... I wanted you to know I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath, letting his words settle. “I appreciate that,” I say carefully. “But it’s not me you need to make things right with.”
“I know,” he says. “I will.”
When we return to the living room, my dad makes an effort to engage more. It’s awkward and stilted, but he asks Callie about Ruby and even joins in when Barrett starts talking about his favorite football players. It’s not perfect, but it’s a step.
As the atmosphere in the room starts to shift, the front door swings open, and in strides my step-brother Luke, like he’s arriving at the Oscars. “Fear not, family!” he announces. “The fun brother is here to rescue Thanksgiving from boring small talk!”
I let out a long breath, already bracing myself. Luke doesn’t do subtle. He’s the kind of guy who always makes everything lighter, even if he does it with a sledgehammer. We became step-brothers later in life but grew up in similar circles. Once his mom married my dad, we became fast friends and I cannot imagine not having him in my life.
His girlfriend Heather follows close behind him, carrying a tote bag and a jacket like she’s used to this. “Luke, tone it down. They’ve already had their Thanksgiving excitement, don’t make them regret inviting us.”
“Regret? Impossible,” Luke replies, spotting me immediately. “Owen! My favorite brother. Come give me a hug, fool!”
“Fool? That’s rich coming from you,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your only stepbrother, asshat.”
Callie’s laugh beside me pulls my attention to her. “I see the brotherly love is in full swing,” she murmurs.
“Talking shit is his love language,” I reply, smirking. Despite today’s chaos, she still looks beautiful, even when she’s obviously running on fumes.
Luke crouches down, his grin widening as he zeroes in on Sara, who’s standing shyly at Callie’s side. Her little hand clutches Callie’s leg, and the other holds onto her blanket like it’s a lifeline.
“Hey there, little lady,” Luke says, dropping his voice to a ridiculous whisper. “You must be Sara. You know, I bet you’re the coolest one here.”
“HEY!” Barrett yells from across the room and we all laugh.
Sara blinks at him, her thumb inching toward her mouth again. She doesn’t say anything, but her wide eyes stay locked on him like she’s trying to figure out if he’s a clown or a cartoon character.
“She’s not much for strangers,” Callie explains, her voice warm as she rests a gentle hand on Sara’s curls.
I watch the way Callie shields her, the way her touch immediately softens Sara’s posture. It’s second nature for her. Protective, loving, patient—it’s just who she is. Every time I see it, it makes my heart swell.
Luke, of course, doesn’t miss a beat. “Stranger? Sara, we’re going to be best friends. Just you wait and see. Look, I even have... a magic trick!”
He reaches behind her ear with the flourish of a bad Vegas magician, pulling out a shiny coin and holding it up like it’s the Holy Grail.
“Ta-da!” he says, his tone full of exaggerated wonder.
Sara tilts her head, her thumb forgotten for the moment. Slowly, she reaches out and takes the coin with her tiny fingers, inspecting it. Then she reaches her hand over and pretends to pull the coin from behind his ear and mimics his “Ta-da!”
“You’re a natural magician!” Luke exclaims giving her a high five.
Sara’s grip tightens on the coin. It’s small, but it’s something. She doesn’t run away, doesn’t bury her face in Callie’s leg like she usually does with new people. Maybe Luke’s over-the-top antics actually work sometimes.
Callie chuckles, adjusting Ruby in her arms. “I think you’ve won her over, but don’t push your luck.”
“Noted,” Luke says, standing up and turning his attention to Ruby. “And this little one, she’s adorable. Definitely takes after her mom.”
“Obviously,” Callie replies.
Luke winks at her, then gestures to me. “Owen, you’re punching above your weight class, my friend.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say.
Heather steps in, clearly ready to rein Luke in. “Alright, you’ve had your moment. Let’s not overwhelm everyone. Go make yourself useful and grab the rest of the stuff from the car.”
Luke groans but obeys, shooting me a mock look of betrayal as he heads back outside. Heather turns to Callie and me, her smile apologetic. “Sorry about him. He thinks he’s charming.”
Callie laughs. “It’s fine. He’s... entertaining.”
“Exhausting is the word you’re looking for,” I mutter, earning another laugh from Callie as Heather shakes her head.
Sara tugs on Callie’s leggings, holding up the coin with a questioning look like she’s not sure if she should have given it back to Luke.
“It’s yours, sweet girl,” Callie says and Sara smiles as she puts the coin in her pocket.
The house hums with conversation, the low buzz of voices punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. I realize I haven’t seen Barrett in a few minutes.Callie is rocking Ruby on the couch talking with Beverly. Sara stacks blocks on the floor with unwavering focus. I scan the room and the hall beyond, but I don’t see him.
“Where’s Barrett?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
Callie looks up at me, her face calm, reassuring. “He said something about wanting to see the tools in the garage. Your dad is with him.”
Of course. Tools. I should’ve guessed. My dad’s garage is a treasure trove, and Barrett loves to play like he’s fixing things. I sigh, pushing up from my chair. “I’ll check on them.”
The garage door creaks as I open it, and the smell hits me first—a mix of old wood, oil, and metal. It’s a smell I know well, one that reminds me of long afternoons spent in garages and workshops, watching my dad fix whatever was broken, often in frustrated silence. Barrett stands by my dad’s old workbench, holding a wrench that’s comically large in his small hands.
“Barrett,” I say, my tone somewhere between amused and exasperated. “What are you up to, buddy?”
He spins around, his face lighting up when he sees me. There’s no guilt in his expression, just excitement. “I’m fixing stuff! Like you do, Dad!”
I stop in my tracks, my heart doing a weird little flip at his words. It takes me a second to answer. “You’re fixing stuff, huh?”
“Yeah!” he says, clutching the wrench tighter like it’s some kind of trophy. “Grandpa said I could look at his tools, so I thought I’d practice. I wanna be just like you!”
His words hit me hard. I feel a mix of pride and disbelief. He wants to be like me? The thought is equal parts flattering and terrifying. What does he see in me that makes him want to follow my path? Does he know how much I second-guess myself, how often I feel like I’m barely holding it together? I crouch down to his level, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You wanna be like me?”
He nods enthusiastically, his face so earnest it’s like looking at a mirror of my own childhood self, back when I still thought my dad hung the moon. “You fix things, and you’re strong, and you help people. That’s what I wanna do.”
For a moment, all I can do is look at him. My throat feels tight, and I swallow hard, trying to shake off the sudden rush of emotion. “You know, buddy, it’s not always easy work. It can get dirty and tough.”
“That’s okay,” he says immediately and with conviction. “I don’t mind getting dirty. Playing in the dirt is fun!”
I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see my dad standing in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the light from the kitchen. He’s holding a beer, as usual, but there’s something softer in his expression, something I can’t quite place.
“You’ve got yourself a good kid there, Owen,” he says, his voice gruff. “He’s got the right attitude.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My dad doesn’t hand out compliments often. When he does, they’re usually reserved for accomplishments he considers tangible, work promotions, financial stability, practical stuff. This feels different, almost personal.
Barrett’s eyes widen, and he looks at my dad like he’s just been knighted. “Grandpa, do you think I could be a steamfitter like my dad?”
Henry steps into the garage, setting his beer down on the workbench. He kneels beside Barrett, his expression surprisingly warm. “If you work hard and listen to your dad, you could be anything you want. But being a steamfitter? That’s honest work. And I think you’d be great at it.”
Barrett beams, his small chest puffing out with pride. He turns back to me, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Did you hear that, Dad? Grandpa thinks I’d be great!”
I smile, ruffling his hair. “I heard. And I agree.”
Barrett peppers my dad with questions about the tools, what they’re for, how they work, as I lean back against the workbench, letting the moment settle around me. The garage feels different now, less like a room weighed down by old memories and more like the foundation of something new. My dad interacts with Barrett with a patience I don’t recall from my own childhood, his responses measured and calm.
A flicker of connection stirs between us, faint but unmistakable. Maybe he’s beginning to understand what it means to show up, to be present in the ways that matter. Building something solid isn’t just about the tools in his hands; it’s about the bonds we create, the effort we put into shaping the relationships that need the most care.
Barrett’s laugh pulls me from my thoughts, and I watch as he carefully sets the wrench back on the bench, following my dad’s instructions. He bounds back toward the living room, calling for Callie to see “all the stuff” Grandpa showed him. I stay behind for a moment with my dad, his expression unreadable.
“He’s got your heart,” he says quietly, and then he picks up his beer and heads back inside.
I stand there alone in the quiet garage, my chest tight. He’s got my heart, huh? I hope so. I hope he’s got all the best parts of me. I hope I can teach him what it means to be strong for the people who matter most.