31 Ethan
October 2018
I stare at my phone as it rings in my hand, even though it’s an unknown number. I know exactly who it is on the other side of the call. I just can’t bring myself to answer. I take a seat on the edge of my bed and stare at the screen until the call gets sent to voicemail. I’ve accumulated over eleven new messages that I’ll never listen to over the past few months, and I constantly wonder when it’ll end.
In June, Mrs. Clark called to let me know my dad was being released from prison. She and Mr. Clark seemed to think he’d show up at their front door asking to speak to me, but after what my mom did, or didn’t do rather, I highly doubted that. A month later they called to say he was at their house, and I let them give him my number, never expecting him to call and not knowing if I would answer if he did.
Noah and Alex are traveling for work this week, and Sloane is getting drinks with Lauren, so I have the night to myself, which is a nice change of pace. I find the bong and put on Thursday night football. Every few minutes I glance over at my phone, which sits face down next to me on the leather couch, and after a few bong rips, I finally pick it up. I hesitate before clicking the first voicemail I received and bring the phone to my ear.
“Ethan it’s your, um, dad—if I can even call myself that. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, and I know you’ve been ignoring my calls, but I’d really like to talk to you. The Clarks said you’re in New York now. I never pictured you as a city boy, but then again, I don’t know the adult you. Anyway, I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Call me back if you can. Okay, well, bye.” His voice sounds different than I expected. Older, raspier. It makes me wonder what he looks like now.
Instead of chucking the phone across the room like I expected to, I listen to the next voicemail. Then the next, and the next until I reach the one he left tonight. I pace around our living room and debate what to do next. Do I call him? What could he possibly have to say?
I’m sorry I fucked up your life?
I’m sorry I stopped calling?
I’m sorry your mom never came back for you?
I hold my head in my hands and close my eyes before making my decision. I scroll through my call log until I find Graham’s name, and I hit it.
“Hey, Brady, surprised you’re not out tonight,” he answers.
“Needed a night in. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I ask, my voice lower than usual.
“Yeah, of course, what’s up? Sounds serious.”
I hesitate because the topic is one I hate to touch on. “My dad’s been calling.”
“Fuck. What about?” His response is sharp, the opposite of his usually relaxed tone.
“That’s just it, I don’t know. He says he really needs to talk to me, and I just can’t decide if I should call him back. Have your parents mentioned anything to you?”
The line goes quiet for a moment before he speaks, “They told me that he was getting out of jail a few months ago. What are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know, man.” I can feel myself start to tense up.
“If you’re asking me, I think you should call him back. I know they both really fucked you over, and it’s okay to never forgive them, but maybe talking to him will help. Maybe hearing exactly what happened or why he stopped calling will allow you to understand the situation from his side.” His advice is surprisingly insightful.
“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh.
“How are things with Sloane?” he asks.
“They’re good, I guess,” I reply.
“Uh-huh.” Graham doesn’t believe it. “Just know if you keep this shit up for much longer, you’re gonna lose her for good, and from what I can tell, you really do like and care about her. A girl like Sloane won’t wait around forever.”
“Alright, alright. Talk to you soon man.” I hang up the phone and set it on the coffee table before taking another hit.
Am I ready to unearth something that happened over ten years ago? I just want to forget it ever happened, and it feels like a phone call with my dad would do the exact opposite of that. I decide to sleep on it—I don’t need to decide right this second, so why am I acting like I do?
I text Sloane and tell her the door’s unlocked because I don’t want to sleep alone tonight, and less than fifteen minutes later, she’s curled up next to me. Sometimes I don’t realize how much I need her.