Chapter 46
Marco
T he room around me fades in and out of view, as I try hard to will it to stay still from my seat on the couch.
The bottle I started on earlier today is almost empty as my eyes focus in on it, its top clenched in my fist. From the side of my eye, my phone lights up with another notification, but I ignore it.
I doubt I can read whatever is on the screen anyway. I can barely focus on my living room.
It’s probably Jessica letting me know what happened in my absence today, but I don’t care. I don’t care if I pissed off partners or screwed potential business deals. None of it matters. At least right now. I’m perfectly numb, thanks to the copious amount of whiskey I’ve drank today.
I take another sip. I’m used to the burn by now as it slides down my throat.
I lean my head back against the couch and stare up at the ceiling that looks like it’s painted in watercolor pastels as the sun sets outside the large windows of my living room.
I’ve been at this for hours, ever since I left the zoo.
I groan slightly, feeling the whiskey begin to make my head throb.
“This is your fault,” I whisper up toward the sky.
I think of my father as the words slur from my lips. I know he’s not up there looking down at me. He’s probably where he belongs, and has no interest in me. Still. I laugh bitterly at the thought.
I can picture his face, his dark brown eyes that I inherited. That Josie inherited. They were always dark though, like a storm was churning within them and he was ready to lash out like lightning at any moment. That’s why I don’t see him in Josie. Her eyes are light. Kind. Happy. Hopeful.
Emotions that never reached his eyes, just like his smile never did.
His smile was more of a grimace, rare to see and even more uncomfortable than the frown that was usually plastered across his face.
The frown that told me he didn’t like me, let alone love me.
The frown that told me I would never be good enough for him.
The frown that I made the impossible mission of changing into a smile.
It didn’t matter how hard I tried, even from a young age, playing catch with my mother in the backyard, so I could get better at T-ball.
He never even came to a game, but I always hoped he would.
I played like he was there, taking it more seriously than any other four-year-old on the team.
While they were pulling at the grass, I was going after every ball, running every base so hard that my knees hurt, looking to the stands to see my mother alone cheering her heart out.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make up for his absence.
Even that young, I learned that none of what I did mattered.
That absence continued through the years, creating a black hole in me that continued to grow like a sickness spreading.
I was consumed by my emptiness, trying desperately to fill it.
It only made me try harder, thinking the next good thing I did would be the thing that would get him to notice me. He never did.
I often wonder if I had been a mistake. An accident that he wasn’t asking for, though my mother would never admit that to me.
I can’t imagine it was easy on her, raising me practically on her own, while trying to make up for a loveless father.
How she didn’t grow tired of pretending there was a chance he would show to my games or my academic ceremonies or birthday parties is beyond me.
The smile she kept on her face took more strength than most have.
It’s probably why my mother and I are so close, and why I am so protective of her.
I owe her everything I have in life. But I owe my father too.
Because without his lack of love, I never would have fought so hard to earn it, leading me to this life.
While I didn’t end up earning his love, or even his acknowledgment, I did earn my business.
My billions. Even if he was here now, he’d probably tell me I could be doing more.
I take another swig from the bottle, holding it up to see that it’s the last one. I frown at it, but something catches my eye just beyond the bottle. I suck in a gasp as my eyes focus on it. It’s not something. It’s someone.
“What the hell?” I whisper, as my father stands before me. He has that familiar frown as he leans against the wall, looking at me. He’s in the suit he was buried in. I blink a few times, trying to rid this impossibility from view. I must be drunker than I thought.
“So you got a woman knocked up…” he says, a smirk reaching his lips. The only thing close to a smile I’d ever seen from him.
“Shut up,” I say firmly, even though my words are slurred.
“And she wants nothing to do with you,” he continues with that same smirk.
I try to stand from the couch, but fall back down.
“I can see why.” He looks me up and down. “It’s no wonder she wants to take away your rights. You can barely take care of yourself.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Wrong, boy. I know you better than you know yourself.”
“Ha. Because you were around so much.”
“No. Because you are me.”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“No?”
I wish I could wipe that stupid expression from his face, but I know he’s not real. He’s not worth it either.
“From what I can see, you got someone pregnant on accident. A mistake. I know that well.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I mutter.
“But I, unlike you, didn’t want to be a father.”
“You weren’t.”
“And you won’t be either.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“Because you’re not good enough. Not for her. Not for anyone.”
“Shut up,” I repeat, yelling this time.
I swiftly stand up and lift the bottle clenched in my fist. I throw it at the wall where he was, and it crashes against the wall, shattering into a million little pieces that sprinkle across the ground like stars against the dark wood floor.
“Fuck,” I groan, falling back onto the couch.
I put my head in my hands, rubbing at my temples. It was a bad idea to get this drunk. So drunk to the point where I’m hallucinating and having conversations with my deceased father. Even in his imagined state, he’s still the asshole he always was.
“It’s not real,” I whisper to myself. “ He’s not real.”
I pull myself from the couch and walk unsteadily to the kitchen, avoiding the glass on the floor.
From the cabinet I pull down a glass and pour a generous serving of ice-cold water from the fridge.
I drink it down quickly, hoping it will undo the damage I’ve done to my mind and liver.
I fill another glass and walk back to the couch.
I wish I could call my mother right now.
I wish I could tell her everything, but I can’t.
It would break her heart. And I know that if I call her in this state, it would only make her worry.
I don’t want to put that on her. She’s dealt with enough in her life.
She’s dealt with enough drunken assholes.
I don’t want to be added to the list of men who have disappointed her.
Her own father was a drunk, and while he never physically harmed her or her mother or sisters, he did enough damage just in the way he carried himself while under the spell of the bottle.
I wonder if that’s why she chose my father.
They say that women marry their fathers, whether they know it or not.
To this day, I still don’t understand what she saw in him.
When I was younger, she told me stories of how they met, but I didn’t believe her.
I thought she was just trying to paint him in a better light, like she always did.
I knew she did it to protect me. She said he had been romantic, sweeping her off her feet with his charm.
They married after knowing each other for only three months.
I wonder if it was afterward when he started to show who he really was, once he had her.
I came along shortly after that, much to both their surprises.
While their marriage was quick, children hadn’t come up in conversation yet.
I see now that being a father wasn’t something he wanted, but had no choice.
My father was a wealthy man, and didn’t make my mother sign a pre-nuptial agreement, so he couldn’t leave her without risking half of everything.
My mother isn’t the kind of person who would.
She wasn’t with him for his money, but his pride told him otherwise.
His pride was also what led him to stray from my mother.
The more money he earned, the more he thought of himself.
The more he believed he deserved better.
Younger. Hotter. He started with his secretaries, leading to later nights in the office, while my mother waited up for him.
She never let his infidelity break her role as the happy mother.
I wonder how hard it must have been to keep a smile on her face when she was breaking inside.
She never told me the truth about everything, but as I got older, I was smart enough to figure it out.
Little things like my father’s brush of a thigh or eyes lingering too long where they shouldn’t stuck in my memory, until I was at an age old enough to realize what was really going on.
I hated him for it, but never confronted him, for my mother’s sake.
If she wanted to pretend, then I would too.
I wish she found love again. Real love. But she didn’t. She stayed with him until the end, and has been alone ever since. It’s probably a nice break after being married to such a heartless man for so long.
I haven’t thought much about my father until recently.
It’s like meeting my daughter makes me think of my own upbringing.
I didn’t really realize until now how much my father’s absence and cruelty had affected me until now.
He’s shaped me in ways I resent him for.
Being untrusting of people, solely focused on work, avoiding of women and love, scared of being a father.
But now I am one. It wasn’t something I asked for, much like my father’s own situation, but I refuse to be anything like him.
While becoming a father wasn’t what I pictured for myself, I am one, and I’m thankful for it.
In fact, I’m in love with it. I’m in love with my daughter.
It’s a shame my father couldn’t experience that same love.
If he had, maybe things would have been different for him. For my mother.
Things will be different for me though. Things will be different for Josie, but only if I can continue being in her life.
Then I will prove what an amazing father I can be.
I just have to prove that to Erica. I need to find a way to make her change her mind about the custody papers.
I know I don’t want to take her to court.
It would be too painful for everyone, and I would hate for Josie to resent me in the future.
I either find a way to get these custody papers withdrawn or I lose Josie forever, and Erica along with her.
The thought makes me want to open another bottle, but I don’t.
I don’t need any more uninvited ghosts from my past.