17 Front Street #2
“Victoria,” Johnny’s voice had the familiar crescendo of an irate parent. “How many times have I asked you to change Zoey’s diaper?”
“Zoey, huh?” She grabbed my beard with both hands and gave it a tug. “Chill, girl, we’re not even dating.”
I wandered inside, kicking the door shut.
This wasn’t how I imagined our exchange going.
I thought there’d be shouting, maybe some thinly veiled threats, maybe even a little scuffle to establish dominance.
Instead, Johnny tapped his foot while a teenager ignored him while clicking on her phone.
If that wasn’t enough, I’m pretty sure Zoey tried to round second base with me.
“Victoria, are you listening to me?”
While his teenager ignored him, I did a half spin, taking in the living room.
The mismatched furniture suggested hand-me-downs, though it was almost impossible to see.
A half-shut pizza box sat on the chair, and the coffee table was covered in empty soda cans.
The division between clean and dirty laundry was impossible to find, and toys were scattered across the carpet.
The last time I saw him, I wanted to karate chop him in the windpipe and delight in his wheezing.
Now that I wasn’t trying to strangle him, I could spot the dark circles under his eyes.
His shirt had stains that I prayed hadn’t come from this darling sour princess. I struggled to hold onto the anger.
“Victoria. Please?”
He wore the face of my bully, but they weren’t the same person.
Whoever stood before me, I didn’t want to hit him.
I wanted to draw him a bubble bath and suggest he have a few hours for some self-care.
I didn’t know when I headed here if I’d demand an apology or if I’d offer forgiveness.
When I didn’t have the words, I relied on actions.
I held Zoey out as he had done for me. “Careful. She’s a shameless flirt.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Victoria!” I dropped the octave as I barked her name. The neighbors three doors down would have heard. She barely glanced at me before she— I snatched the phone out of her hand.
“Hey, I was talking to— You can’t—”
“Can’t I?” I made a mental note to buy Mum flowers. I dropped the phone onto the rug, my boot hovering over the glass. “What did your father just ask?”
“You—”
“So, help me…” What was I going to do? Break a teenager’s phone? It’d cost me a small fortune to replace it. She didn’t need to know that. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Fine.” She got up in a huff. When she took Zoey, her nose wrinkled. Whatever waited for her in those diapers would serve as her penance. When she vanished down the hallway, I finally picked up the phone, handing it to Johnny.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
His eyes remained fixed on the screen. I didn’t need to ask to know he was drowning. “She’s not handling her mom leaving…” His eyes shot up as if he suddenly remembered that I had all but body slammed him a couple of days ago. “Thanks.”
The confusion from his mistaking me for the babysitter had worn off, and the air between us had turned awkward. With a daughter who wouldn’t listen and another ready to slay hearts, the urge to ream him had vanished. Instead, it had been replaced with pity… no, it was softer than that. Sympathy.
“I want to bury the hatchet.”
“In my back?” The uneasy chuckle suggested he was only half-joking.
“Thought had crossed my mind.” I didn’t flash a grin. There weren’t punches being thrown, but I wasn’t going to make it as easy as a handshake. “I’m here because of Matt.”
Johnny didn’t interrupt. Smart man.
“Whatever our beef, it’s not his fault. That’s not his problem to inherit.” I wish the rest of Firefly would agree with the sentiment. Instead, it required that we carry the burden of our parents. “I can’t fault you for keeping your kid safe.”
“I—”
“Not done.”
Johnny’s jaw tightened. For a second, I spotted the same angry kid from high school. He might own a house and have a small herd of children, but the angry kid still hid somewhere in there.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I turned, so we were eye-to-eye. If we ever got into a fight, he might land a few punches, but there was no question who’d come out on top. “You be his dad. I’ll be the Scout leader. Neither of us would let anything happen to him. We on the same page?”
Johnny's shoulders dropped. The fight drained out of him as fast as it had appeared. "Yeah. Same page."
"Good." I headed for the door.
"Wait."
I stopped, hand on the doorknob.
"Back in school." Johnny's voice came out rough. "I was a shit to you."
There it was. Not an apology, but an acknowledgment hanging in the air between us.
I'd imagined this moment a thousand times.
Johnny admitted what he'd done, and I had the power.
To decide whether to forgive him or tell him exactly how much he'd destroyed.
How many years of therapy? How many relationships have I sabotaged because I couldn't let anyone get close?
How I'd abandoned my own father just to escape this godforsaken town?
But standing in his disaster of a living room, watching exhaustion pull at every line of his face, the words didn't come.
"Matt's a good kid," I said. "You're doing okay."
I walked out before he could respond.
The afternoon sun hit me as I crossed the gravel driveway.
I climbed into the truck and pulled the door shut.
The leather seat was warm. Down the street, someone was mowing their lawn.
I could hear the steady drone of the engine and smell fresh-cut grass through the open window.
I sat there, hands on the steering wheel, waiting for it to hit.
The rage.
The vindication.
The satisfaction of finally making Johnny admit what he'd done.
Nothing came.
I waited, replaying the conversation in my head. I was a shit to you. That's what I'd been waiting for. Twenty years of anger, and he'd finally said it. So where was the catharsis?
My chest felt... lighter. That couldn't be right?
I tried to access the familiar fury. Thought about the lockers. The cafeteria. The way Jon Bishop's laughter would echo down the hallway. The hundreds of small cruelties that added up to me planning my escape before I'd even graduated.
It felt distant. Like a story someone had told me about someone else.
My phone buzzed.
Nick: Everything okay?
I'd come here ready for war. I'd pinned Johnny against the wall on Mum's porch.
I'd spent two days convinced he'd pulled Matt as revenge, as some twisted power play to remind me I didn't belong.
But he'd just been protecting his kid. I'd been so ready to make it about me, I hadn't even considered I had misunderstood.
Charlie: Yeah. Heading home soon.
I pulled Pops's compass from my pocket, flipping it open. The needle spun before settling. My thumb traced the worn brass.
Johnny hadn't apologized. Not really. He'd acknowledged what had happened. Five words that didn't come close to covering years of torment… and that was it. No groveling. No tears. No moment where he begged for forgiveness, and I got to decide whether he deserved it. Somehow, that was enough.
No. Not enough. It would never be enough. I didn't need it anymore.
The thought settled in my chest. I sat with it, turning it over like the compass in my palm.
For twenty years, I waited for an apology that would never come.
I needed someone to tell me I'd been justified in leaving, and cutting off everyone, including the two people who'd never stopped loving me.
I'd made Johnny's decision about me. About high school.
About the bully and the victim and all the ways I'd let the past define every choice I'd made since.
But it hadn't been about me at all. It had been about Matt, a scared kid, and a dad trying not to screw up. Just like Pops had tried with me. My throat tightened. I closed the compass and set it on the dashboard.
The relief was still there, underneath the confusion. If I let go of the anger, what did that mean? That Johnny was forgiven? That Firefly got away with it? That all those years of pain were for nothing?
I didn't know.
But my chest didn't hurt as much. I didn't know what to do with that.
I turned the key. The truck rumbled to life.
Johnny could keep being a dad. Keep drowning in laundry, and divorce papers, and teenagers who wouldn't listen.
We didn't need to be friends. We didn't need some healing moment where we hugged it out and pretended high school never happened.
We needed to stop living there.
I pulled out of the driveway. The sun painted Firefly in shades of orange, the mountains dark against the sky.
For twenty years, I'd looked at this town and seen only the worst of it. The bullies. The gossip. The suffocating smallness that made me feel like I couldn't breathe. I still saw that. But sitting there in Johnny's driveway, something had shifted.
I didn't know what it meant yet. But for the first time since coming back, I thought maybe I could figure it out.