50. Eli
Eli
Ipull into the country club parking lot ten minutes early, but I already see that my brothers are here. Of course they are. Jay paces beside his truck with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, jaw tight. Zeke’s leaning against the hood, arms crossed, like he’s gearing up for war.
As much as we didn’t want to meet with our father this morning, we wanted to just as badly. We needed to make sure he understands we meant what we said and to find out why he’s sitting idly by while Julia treats Selena the way she does.
Selena wanted to come with me, but I insisted she stay home.
Even had Sam come over to be with her and make sure she didn’t try to come on her own.
The conversation we’re going to be having with our dad would only upset her.
And truth be told, I can’t bear the thought of her sitting through another meal where her mother’s name is spoken.
“About time,” Jay mutters as I approach.
I huff out a humorless laugh. “I’m early.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been here long enough to work myself into a rage.” he adds as Zeke steps over beside me.
“Let’s get this over with. We’ve worked all night and I’m ready to go home and be with my baby momma,” Zeke announces as he heads toward the door.
I can’t lie, I'd rather be home with her than here, about to have this conversation. Because it could very well be the end of my relationship with my father. And that thought guts me.
We head inside together. Each of us hates it’s come to this.
The country club is all polished wood, white tablecloths, and low murmurs. The kind of place where people pretend family problems don’t exist because the coffee is expensive and the omelets come folded perfectly.
And we most definitely don’t belong here.
Zeke and Jay are still in their uniforms and I’m in jeans and a shirt.
We just hope the hostess doesn’t enforce the dress code with us.
Surprisingly they don’t. Or maybe it’s the fact my brothers are still in uniform that’s the reason why.
I wonder if the workers scurried to the back to ensure everything was in order, afraid one of them was the fire inspector checking to see if everything is up to code.
We tell her who we’re meeting and she leads us over to Dad. He’s already seated at a corner table overlooking the golf course. When he sees us approaching he stands, smiling nervously, his shoulders slightly hunched.
He must know exactly what we want to talk to him about. We didn’t give him the specifics. As far as he knows, it’s the rescheduled brunch we never got to because of the fire. But with how the last dinner went down, I’m sure he has an idea.
For a second, I see the man who raised us. The man who taught us how to throw a baseball, how to change a tire, how to apologize when we were wrong. Then I remember Selena crying after we left dinner. I even caught her a few days later when she thought she was alone, sobbing over it.
The smile that was slowly spreading across my face dissipates.
“Morning, boys,” Dad greets us.
Boys. It should piss me off that he calls us that even though we’re adults, but it doesn’t.
“Dad,” I greet him back as my brothers and I take a seat at the table. Our father sits back down and waves a waiter over.
The man takes his time pouring each of us a cup of coffee, telling us the special of the day. None of us are listening. We’re not really here for the food. But we each tell him what we’re eating and wait for him to leave.
Dad clears his throat. “I’m glad you wanted to meet.”
I let out a sharp breath. “We didn’t want to meet for brunch, Dad. We wanted to meet because this can’t keep happening.”
Yep, we’re getting straight to the point and not pussyfooting around.
Dad drops his eyes to his coffee, his fingers gripping the handle delicately. “I know things have been tense.”
“Tense?” Jay repeats. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
Zeke just shakes his head. “Dad, tense is not the word.”
Dad looks at me then, as if I’m supposed to help him. As if I’ll agree with him and get my brothers to understand what he’s saying because I usually do. But not today. I agree with them. There’s no other way of seeing how Julia treats Selena. How my dad allows it and sits idly by not saying a word.
“We’re here because of Julia,” I say. “Because of the way she talks to Selena. Because of the house. Because every family event turns into an opportunity to belittle our girlfriend. The mother of our children.”
Dad exhales heavily. “I know how she talks to Selena isn’t good.”
Zeke slams both hands on the table so hard the silverware jumps. Conversations around us stop. Heads turn. Somewhere across the room, a woman gasps. But he doesn’t fucking care. None of us do.
“Are you serious?” Zeke growls low, his voice vibrating with fury. “That’s how you’re going to phrase it? ‘Isn’t good’?”
Dad’s eyes flare wide, his jaw slackens, and the color drains from his face. He stares at Zeke as if he can’t believe how he just spoke to him. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, as he starts to speak . “E—”
“No. If that’s how this conversation is going, with you condoning her behavior, I’m out.” Zeke announces boldly, pushing his chair back.
“Same for me,” Jay says immediately, already standing.
“Don’t,” Dad says quickly. His voice cracks just enough to make all three of us pause. “Please. Sit down. Let’s talk.”
Zeke hesitates. Jay looks at me. I don’t know what expression is on my face, but whatever they see makes them stop and they sit back down.
Dad runs a hand over his face. For the first time, he looks old.
“I can’t help that I love her,” he says quietly. “And it’s so strong that I was foolish. I overlooked her behavior. She’s not that way with me. She’s different. Soft, kind, caring.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Dad continues speaking, overlooking my laugh. “I’ve been trying to get her to sell or give the house to Selena. It should be hers.”
“But she didn’t,” I cut in. The words come out harsher than I intend.
Dad looks at me. “No. She didn’t.”
The waiter arrives with our food at the worst possible moment, setting plates down carefully while pretending not to fill the obvious tension at the table. None of us touch our meals.
Dad waits until the waiter leaves before speaking again.
“I honestly didn’t know she had sold it until a few days before the dinner,” he says. “I swear to you, I know how important that house and those memories are to Selena. The same as if it were the house the three of you grew up in with your mother.”
The mention of Mom hits like a punch. For a moment, none of us speak. Because he’s right. Dad gave us the first choice on our childhood home after Mom died. He’d offered it to us before anyone else. We could have kept it.
But we didn’t.
The memories were too heavy. Every room held her presence. Every hallway echoed with the absence of her laugh. The hardest part was knowing she died there. Walking through that house felt like walking through grief.
So we said no. And Dad understood. It was why he couldn’t continue to live there.
“The main reason we fought for this firehouse,” Zeke says, “was because you were living here. We wanted to be closer to you.”
That lands hard. I see it in Dad’s face. We never told him that he was the reason we worked so hard to be together here.
For all our anger, for all the frustration burning through this conversation, that part is still true.
We chose this place because we wanted our father near us.
We wanted Sunday dinners, birthday parties, kids running through the halls while Dad complained about the noise and secretly loved every second of it.
We wanted family.
“We meant what we said, Dad,” Jay continues, voice steady now. “We won’t subject Selena or our children to her abuse.”
Zeke nods in agreement. “The same goes for you if you want to see them. Or us.”
Dad flinches. Almost as if he didn’t believe our words that night were true.
“We love her and we won’t watch her cry because of Julia or you, again.” I tell him,
My chest tightens. Because seeing her cry killed me. Killed us. Especially when it was because of a woman who should love her unconditionally.
“I don’t know why she hates me so much,” she’d whispered to us.
And I didn't have an answer. I still don’t.
Dad’s shoulders slump. Just enough that I know he understands exactly how badly he’s messed up.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know. I’m trying to get her to get some therapy. I think her husband’s illness and death really affected her and her relationship with Selena.”
I open my mouth, ready to argue that grief doesn’t excuse cruelty, that loss doesn’t give someone permission to wound their own child. But Dad holds up a hand.
“I know it wasn’t perfect before,” he says. “But it was better. Or else Selena wouldn’t still have tolerated her.”
That stops me. Because he’s right about that.
Selena tried. She told us through tears.
Confided in us how she made excuses for her mother’s behavoir, how she swallowed the hurt and endured the cruel words.
Selena accepted every bit of criticism her mother threw at her and never walked away.
Any other person in the same position would.
She had tolerated it because she wanted a mother.
Because some part of her kept hoping that Julia would change. But she hasn’t.
Dad’s voice softens. “Just know I love you three. And I am so happy you’ve found love.
Just like I have. And I’m going to try and work on Julia,” Dad pauses for a moment, making sure we are all still listening to him.
“To repair the tension between them so that we can all be around each other. I won’t miss out on my grandchildren. ”
I look at my father and see fear there. Real fear.
Not fear of confrontation, but fear of losing us.
Of losing Sunday mornings with sticky little hands reaching for him.
Of missing birthday parties and soccer games and Christmas mornings because we drew a line he couldn’t cross.
For the first time since this conversation started, my anger shifts.
It doesn’t disappear. It settles into something heavier. Something sadder.
“Dad,” I say quietly, “we’re not trying to punish you by preventing you from seeing the babies. But Selena and them are our family. And we will protect them, The same way you have with us.”
He looks at me then closes his eyes briefly.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Zeke asks, not cruelly this time. Just tired.
Dad opens his eyes. “I do. I just… I didn’t realize how bad it had become.”
I believe him. That’s the hardest part. I believe he didn’t realize it because, like he said, Julia isn’t cruel to him. Because she shows him softness and kindness and care. Because love has made him blind. Love can do that. It can make you overlook what everyone else sees clearly.
I hate that I understand it.
“What do you need from me?” Dad asks.
The question is simple, but it feels enormous.
“We need you to believe us,” I say. “When we tell you what’s happening. We need you to stop minimizing it.”
Dad nods slowly.
“And we need boundaries,” Jay adds. “We need to know that you’re not letting her talk bad about Selena and our children. We need you to know that she will not be allowed around our family until she changes.”
Dad swallows hard. “Okay.”
The word is quiet, but it’s there.
Okay.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until it settles in my chest.
We sit in silence for a moment.
Then Dad looks at me. “How is Selena?”
I think about this morning before I left. Selena curled up on the couch with Sam, trying to smile when I kissed her goodbye. Trying not to ask how this conversation would go because she was afraid of the answer.
“She’s hurt,” I say honestly. “But she’s trying.”
Dad nods, eyes shining slightly. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
I don’t promise that I will. Because an apology from me isn’t enough. It has to come from him. It has to come from action.
The brunch ends with Dad understanding how we feel, our boundaries and what’s expected if he wants to continue being in our life. As we stand to leave, Dad reaches for Zeke’s shoulder, hugging him briefly before doing the same to Jay and myself.
For a second, he holds on too tightly to me, “I love you,” he says against my shoulder.
“I know,” I answer.
And I do know.
That’s what makes this so painful. But love isn’t enough if it keeps asking the wrong people to endure pain.