Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
T ROY
Dinner with my girls at Giuseppe’s was fun, and I loved every minute of it. This last hour in the shop with Oliver, though, was something I didn’t understand how much I was missing. I also miss this wood shop in general and working with my hands to create something.
Oliver is our most reserved child. He’s quiet but not quite shy. He’s... introspective. Still, he’s even less talkative today than usual, not saying much at all.
I peek up at him every couple of seconds to check on his progress as he sands the wood like I showed him, intensely focused on his task. He wants to make a pen and business card holder for Shannon so she can keep them on her desk at work.
Me? I’ve started a project as well. A simple box to start. We’ll see where it goes.
“Dad?” Oliver asks, his voice tenuous. He doesn’t look up from his piece.
“Yeah, bud?” I continue to work on my project, and he continues to sand.
“How come you don’t have a dad? What happened to him?”
My chest tightens, knowing this is probably stemming from his insecurities about the divorce. I clear my throat and look up from my work.
“Well, I do have a dad. We don’t see each other anymore.”
“Why? D-did he move away? Did he leave?” Oliver’s voice is hushed now, and anxiety drips from his words.
I place the piece of wood I’m holding down on my bench and fully turn toward my son.
“C’mon, Owlie. Let’s put our projects away for this week and get some hot chocolate at the diner. We can have some guy talk. I’ll tell you about my father then. Does that sound good?”
Oliver nods, and I shoot off a quick text to Shannon to let her know where we’re going. Fifteen minutes later, we’re sitting in a booth at Pat’s Diner, two hot cocoas and some brownies to go with them on order.
“So, let’s talk about my father. I think you’re old enough now to hear about him, don’t you?”
Oliver nods, but his hands are clasped so tightly together on the table that his knuckles are white. His breathing is shallower compared to normal, and I hate that he’s worried about this conversation. Still, the best way to handle it is to deal with it head-on.
“I don’t see my father anymore because he did leave. He didn’t move away, but he didn’t come around either. My dad left because he didn’t want to have a wife, and he didn’t want to be a dad. But I love being a dad more than anything in the world. So, even though I’m not living at the house, I’m not going away.”
“You love it even more than being a firefighter?” Oliver’s eyes are wide like saucers, and his hands are a little less tense.
“Yep. Way more than being a firefighter. If someone told me I had to pick between being a dad to you and your brother and sisters or being a firefighter, I’d always choose being your dad.”
Flo, the server who I swear has been here since Pat’s opened, drops off our brownies and hot chocolate. I thank her, and she quickly gives us our privacy again.
“Did you not want to be mom’s husband anymore? Is that why you left?”
Well, shit. How do I answer this without throwing the blame on Shannon?
I take a moment and take a slow sip of my hot cocoa to buy me a few precious seconds to gather my thoughts.
“That’s harder to explain, bud. It’s not that your mom and I don’t care about each other, but sometimes things with grown-ups get... complicated. It will make more sense when you get older, but I want to promise you a few things, okay?”
“Okay,” Oliver whispers. His eyes are fixed on me.
“So, first, remember I love you and your brother and sisters more than anything. I’ll always be your dad, and I’m not moving away or leaving you.” I watch him for a second, and he nods. A sniffle escapes him, but he manages to hold back the tears I see building behind his eyes. “The other thing I want you to know is that even though you might be worried about Mom, she’s okay. You don’t have to try to do things to take care of her or the house. She’s handling it okay, and if she needs help, your grandpa, uncles, and even I will help her. You worry about being a kid.” A fat tear runs down his cheek, and he swipes it away. “The last thing is I promise you’re safe at home. Mom makes sure the doors are locked every night, and no one will hurt you or our family. You don’t have to worry about protecting everyone. That’s not your job yet. When you grow up and have a family, that can be your job if you want it, but it’s not yours right now. Your only job is to love your siblings and the rest of your family, do well in school, and have some fun. Okay?”
He nods.
“There’s one more, the most important. You need to tell me or your mom when you’re worried or stressed about something.”
He pauses, but he’s visibly more relaxed. “Kay,” he answers.
“Oh wait... There is a job I forgot,” I tell him. His eyes widen, and I smile. I reach across the booth and ruffle his hair. “You still have to keep cleaning up Scrappy’s poop from the yard.”
A smile breaks across his face, but then he feigns a grimace. “It’s so gross now. It’s getting mushy from the snow when it melts...”
I’m happy my boy is smiling again and that some of the tension I’ve seen him carrying seems lessened. We spend the next twenty minutes eating our brownies and finishing our hot chocolate before we leave and I drive him home.
When I drop him off at the house, I walk him to the front door to see that he gets in okay. It’s late enough that the other kids will be in bed, so I don’t plan on going in.
I unlock the door for him and promise him I’ll lock it from the outside as soon as he gets inside. He nods, hugs me, and turns to walk inside but then freezes in place. He slowly turns around and looks at me.
“I can tell you anything that’s bothering me or worrying me, right?” His face is too serious for being ten years old.
“Absolutely anything. I promise I can take it.” I wink at him.
“I worry about you by yourself at your house. It... it makes me really sad that you don’t have a bed. Everyone should have a bed.”
I somehow fumble my way through a reply and then, when he’s safely inside, I text Shannon he’s home and rush to my car. I throw my head back on the headrest once inside the vehicle. It takes me several minutes to calm my breathing.
Ten-year-old boys’ biggest worries should be about who’ll win their next soccer game or how they’ll do on their math test, not about whether their parent has a bed to sleep on or not.
I despise that everything happening between Shannon and me has so strongly affected our kids. Even more, I hate that my failures as a husband put us all here.