28. Chapter 28
Julian
For the next two weeks, I volunteer at the shelter when I can.
Unfortunately, volunteering means actually working, which means I haven’t gotten to actually sit down with my family to have a serious conversation.
So, missing my family so much that it feels like I’m physically dying, I ask them to meet me after work.
Thankfully, Elowen agrees. The children sound pretty excited about it on the phone, too.
It’s not lost on me how lucky I am that they’re not older. Nine and seven are still full of life and happiness; and had Leo and Meredith been brooding teenagers with a nasty streak of grudge-holding, my presence in their life might have looked different. Meaning, they might not have forgiven me.
For two weeks, I hauled bags of cat litter and folded adoption forms. The kids watched with a mixture of pride and confusion, witnessing their corporate titan father perform menial labor.
Every time I came in, Sarah assigned me the most mind-numbing tasks with suspicious glee, clearly testing my commitment.
I’d performed each one without complaint, watching Elowen from the corner of my eye as she moved through the shelter with increasing confidence, her hair curling freely in the summer humidity.
The park comes into view, a splash of green amid the suburban streets.
It’s not one of those designer playgrounds with artificial turf and safety-certified everything; this is old-school.
It has metal slides that scorch in summer and woodchips that get everywhere.
I slow the car, scanning the parking lot for Elowen’s SUV.
There it is, parked at the far end, away from the other cars. Isolation through choice, not circumstance. I pull in three spaces away, giving them breathing room to freely swing their car doors as wide as they want.
Once I put the car into park, my hand hesitates on the door handle. I can still see them near the swings. Leo stands with a rigid posture while Meredith bounces on her toes. Between them stands Elowen in her protective stance.
They don’t see me yet, because they’re facing inward, but their body language speaks volumes.
Leo’s fingers are twisting the hem of his shirt, a self-soothing habit I used to discourage, Meredith scans the parking lot with barely contained impatience, and Elowen’s hand rests lightly on each child’s shoulder, the touch simultaneously reassuring and claiming.
This is what a family looks like without me, and the realization makes my chest ache.
I take a deep breath and step out of the car. The summer heat hits me immediately, even though I’m wearing khakis and a polo shirt. It’s my attempt at casual that still looks too corporate for a playground.
Meredith spots me first. She begins waving wildly, face breaking into a smile.
“Daddy!” The word carries across the playground, causing a few parents to glance our way.
I wave back. Elowen turns more slowly, her expression carefully neutral.
Leo’s reaction falls somewhere between his sister’s enthusiasm and his mother’s caution.
As I approach, the triangle reconfigures.
Elowen steps back slightly, giving me space to join them, but the children remain close to her sides.
“Hi,” I say when I reach them. Up close, I can see that Elowen has new freckles across her nose from time spent outside, likely at the shelter.
Leo’s hair is longer, curling slightly at the ends like his mother’s.
Meredith has a scrape on one knee and dirt under her fingernails.
I don’t notice them as a means of critique, but as a means of observation.
“I appreciate you meeting me,” I say. “I was wondering, would it be alright if I spoke with the children? Together, I mean. There are some things I’d like to say.”
Elowen’s eyes narrow slightly, assessing. I see the calculations happening behind her gaze. She’s weighing potential harm against potential healing. Finally, she nods. “That would be fine.” She steps back further, giving us space while remaining within earshot.
I look down at my children, and my throat constricts. They deserve so much better than what I’ve given them. Thinking I found a completely clean spot, I start to lower myself to one knee, but then spot a worm only a few inches away, so I adjust to sitting on my heels.
“Hi,” I say again, feeling impossibly inadequate. “There are some important things I want to tell you both.”
“Are we in trouble?” Leo asks, his voice small.
The question pierces me. How many times have I summoned them for “talks” that were really thinly veiled criticisms? How often have I pointed out their imperfections under the guise of helpful guidance?
“No,” I say firmly. “No one’s in trouble, especially not you two.”
Meredith tilts her head, studying me with her mother’s perceptiveness. “Then why do you look so serious?”
Trust Meredith to cut through pretense. “Because what I need to say is serious.”
I take a deep breath, gathering courage. The words I need are raw and pulled from a place I’ve kept carefully guarded for years. Saying them makes me feel weak, but I should have said them a long time ago.
“I wanted to apologize to both of you,” I begin, the words feeling clumsy in my mouth. “For disrupting your lives and making changes that weren’t fair to you.”
Leo’s eyes widen slightly. “It’s okay,” he says automatically.
“No, it’s not,” I counter gently. “It’s not okay that I’ve been distant, even before your mother moved out. And it’s certainly not okay that when I was giving you attention, it was to criticize you.”
“What’s criticize mean?” Meredith asks.
After I explain, Meredith’s head tilts to the other side, her expression curious rather than upset. “Mommy says nobody’s perfect, not even grown-ups.”
“Your mother is very wise,” I agree, glancing at Elowen, who is watching our interaction. “And she’s right. Grown-ups make mistakes, too, but that’s the point. Everyone makes mistakes, even grown-ups, and I should have let you two be children more.”
“You made a mistake, like forgetting to pick us up from school?” Meredith asks, referencing the time I’d missed a pickup because of an unexpected board meeting. I’d sent Jimmy from accounting instead, not understanding why Elowen was so upset when she found out.
“Worse,” I admit. “Like forgetting what’s really important.”
Leo’s watching me with an intensity that belies his nine years. “Are you and Mommy getting a divorce?” he asks directly.
The question hangs between us, and I hate it.
Instincts scream to say, “No. Please God, no.” But unfortunately, it’s not a decision I can make unilaterally.
There’s a high probability that Elowen and I are divorcing.
Still, I look at Elowen, unsure how much she’s shared with them and how she feels about divorce.
We haven’t discussed it, nor have I wanted to because I’ve been too afraid of the answer.
Turning to Elowen, I catch the confliction on her features.
After a moment, she steps forward and leans down to answer our son.
“That’s a tricky question, buddy. There’s a lot of memories and emotions between your father and I, so it’s not an easy ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ What I can promise you though, is that whatever happens between your father and I, it has nothing to do with how much we both love you and Meredith. ”
Meredith’s small face suddenly turns serious as she turns to me. “Will we still see you? Like at the shelter?”
The question nearly undoes me. Have I been so absent that my own daughter worries I might disappear from her life completely?
“Of course,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “I’ll always be your dad. Nothing will ever change that. And yes, I’ll keep coming to the shelter.”
“Could you come to my karate lessons, too? Sarah says karate is good for self-defense,” she stumbles slightly over the word but powers through, “so I was hoping to take it.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” I say, meaning it. The image of tiny, fierce Meredith learning to channel her boundless energy into disciplined movement feels perfect for her.
But I’m not done apologizing. There’s something equally as important to bring up. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about. It’s about the way I’ve treated your mother,” I begin, the words heavy in my mouth. “And about some things I said that were hurtful and wrong.”
Leo’s expression shutters slightly. He’s old enough to sense the tension even when Elowen and I thought we were hiding it. “You made Mom cry,” he says quietly.
Devastated to hear this, I squeeze my eyes closed.
As stupid as it is, I’ve only recently reconciled with myself how much I’ve hurt my wife.
For so long, I believed she was overreacting, and I didn’t really comprehend how much my behavior affected our children.
Hearing it stated so plainly makes the knowledge inescapable.
My son knew about his mother crying, and it was entirely because of me.
“I did,” I acknowledge, my voice rough. “And I’m more sorry for that than I can possibly express.”
Meredith looks between us, confusion clouding her features. “Why did you make Mommy cry? Did you say something mean?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I said things that were very mean and very wrong. Things about how your mother looks and acts that weren’t true or fair.”
Elowen has gone very still behind the children, her expression carefully controlled.
“What kind of things?” Leo asks, his natural curiosity overcoming his caution.
I choose my words with care. “I criticized the way your mother looks sometimes. Her hair. Her nose. The same nose you both have.”
Two small hands move simultaneously to small, upturned noses. Leo touches his with careful fingers. Beside him, Meredith mimics the shape with a dramatic flair, her movements wide and expressive. Their eyes meet in silent communication, a moment of shared understanding that excludes me completely.
“Mommy says our noses are special,” Meredith declares, chin lifting defensively. “She says they’re like Grandma Ellen’s, and that’s why they’re perfect.”
“They are perfect,” I agree quickly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was wrong to ever suggest otherwise. Completely wrong.”
Leo studies me with those too-perceptive eyes. “Then why did you say it wasn’t?”
The question cuts to the heart of everything. Why did I criticize the very features that make my children who they are? Why did I try to reshape Elowen into someone she wasn’t? The answers are complex and uncomfortable, as they are rooted in my own insecurities and my need for control.
“I thought I knew what was best,” I say finally. “I thought that being successful meant looking a certain way, acting a certain way. Sometimes adults are stupid and stuck in their ways.”
“You don’t like things messy,” Meredith says. “Is that stupid?”
“No, because I can’t help that and it’s not going to change.
The difference is that I have no right to force my thoughts onto other people, or judge or criticize them for who they are or who they want to be.
The point is, I’m going to try to be more patient with myself and others.
It might take some practice, though. Old habits are hard to break. ”
We’ve reached a tentative peace, it seems. The children have accepted my apology, or at least, they’re willing to consider it. It’s not reconciliation, not by a long shot, but it’s a beginning. A simple “I’m sorry” isn’t good enough, nor are a few shifts at the shelter. I have years to make up for.
After the kids run off, Elowen and I are left standing. We walk to the park bench and sit. Kids all over are screaming as they play, but I’m focused on one more apology.
“I’ve spent the last decade viewing our life together as an extension of myself,” I say, my voice barely carrying over the distant shrieks of playing children. “I never gave you a choice in how you even dressed, because I viewed you as if you were literally me.”
“That makes me sad, Julian.” She’s not looking at me; she’s watching Leo as he swings. “The pressure you put on all three of us was suffocating. I can’t imagine what that means for the amount of pressure you put on yourself.”
I pause, thinking about it. Anything less than perfection is not acceptable. I suppose that is a lot of pressure. There’s no ‘good enough’ in my world.
Giving her honesty, I say, “You know, I’ve never thought about it, but I still don’t want it to take away from you.”
“I appreciate it. Really, I do. I’ve seen changes in you, or at least, in how you treat people. I’m proud of you.”
“If I could take the past back, I would.”
“I know, Julian. But you can’t, and here we are.” She finally turns and looks at me. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears I hope are from the wind.
Please be from the wind.