Chapter 15
Kaden
I pull into my parents’ driveway, stopping in front of their two-storey suburban home, the same house I’ve lived in since childhood.
It’s been several months since I last visited.
The last time had been Christmas, when Lucia and I told them we were expecting.
It was the first time there hadn’t been any drama at the family table.
To say my relationship with my parents hasn’t been the greatest would be a complete understatement, it’s been strained and slightly dysfunctional at most, but we’ve always managed to stay cordial.
My mother, Susan, is the type who likes to present herself as a loving, overprotective parent, when in reality she’s just a miserable, bitter old drunk whose main purpose in life is to torment my father.
My father, Troy, on the other hand, is far more reserved, preferring to keep to himself and speaking only when absolutely necessary, or when he’s had far too many beers.
He was never abusive or neglectful—he was a hard worker who provided for our family the best way he could, but he wasn’t much of a role model either.
I grew up watching my parents argue constantly, so often that the neighbours would call the cops because the fights were so loud and aggressive it sounded like they were on the verge of killing each other.
They never did anything romantic—no flowers, no anniversary dates, no gifts or even physical affection.
They lived more like rivals than an actual married couple.
My mother was the worst. She found great pleasure in belittling my dad in front of family and friends every chance she got, making him out to be a lousy, useless husband and father.
And when the arguments got so bad, the whole household would be so on edge that my brother and I would often leave early just to escape the tension.
My dad would disappear for long stretches of the day, while my mother isolated herself in her bedroom or in the living room, drowning her pain in alcohol, even if the relief was temporary.
To this day, I still don’t understand why they remain together.
My brother, Dylan and I aren’t children anymore.
There’s nothing tying them down to this place.
Sometimes I wish they’d just divorce and find happiness elsewhere, because it hurts to watch them slowly waste away and lose themselves in a marriage that’s always been empty and loveless.
I climb out of the car, grabbing my phone and keys, and lock the door behind me. As I reach the front door, I knock twice before the door swings open. My mother stands at the threshold, still in her nightrobe at one in the afternoon, looking small, frail, and exhausted.
She’s always been a beautiful woman, with her blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and petite figure.
She was the youngest daughter of my father’s boss, my late grandfather, Carl.
And her parents were devout Christians, who were strongly against having children out of wedlock.
So when they discovered she was pregnant with me, they practically forced my parents to marry as soon as they could.
“Kaden! What a surprise,” she rasps, her voice rough and strained, probably from all the drinking and smoking.
“Hey, Ma. Thought I’d pop by for a visit. Dad home?”
She groans, like she always does at the mere mention of my father. “He’s somewhere in the house… who knows? Come in, and shut the door behind you, will ya?” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
I step inside, making sure to lock the door, and follow my mother into the living room. She settles in her usual armchair, some TV game show playing in the background. I sit on the couch opposite her, my eyes searching the room for my dad, but I can neither see or hear him.
He’s probably out in the shed, like always.
“How’s my boy?” she asks as she takes a loud sip from her coffee mug.
“I’m fine. Still eating. Still sleeping. Still working. Still breathing.”
“Good. I’m happy to hear that.”
“And how are you and Dad?”
“Oh, the usual. My arthritis won’t stop flaring up, and I think your father’s starting to lose his mind.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“He keeps wanting us to leave the house and go for walks together. Says we should start being more active and healthier now that we’re getting older.”
“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing?”
“Are you kidding? Since when has he ever cared about my health and wellbeing?”
“Mum, that’s not true. Otherwise, he probably would’ve killed you by now.”
She huffs. “As if that man can commit a crime. He’s the biggest coward I’ve ever met.”
“For fuck’s sake—that’s my dad you’re talking about. Would it really hurt to show a little kindness towards your husband every now and then?”
She rolls her eyes and huffs again, like a stubborn, immature child. “I’m still married to him, aren’t I? Isn’t that kindness enough?”
“You know what? Just forget about it.”
My mother and I have never been the kind to share warm, easy conversations. Everything between us has always felt a little forced, occasionally awkward, and sometimes edged with tension, nothing that ever came naturally between a mother and her child.
It was even worse when I was married to Skylar. Not only was she openly rude to her, but her need to meddle in our relationship was just downright exhausting. I can’t even blame my ex-wife for not wanting to being around her. Susan Grant is the perfect definition of a monster-in-law.
“Anyway, have you heard from your brother lately?”
“No. I rarely hear from him these days.”
“It’s that new girlfriend of his—Lana… Lara… or something. Ever since she came into the picture, I’ve hardly seen or heard from him.”
Here we go again—another unfortunate woman caught in my mother’s wrath, for reasons none of us will ever know.
She disliked Skylar from the moment I introduced them to each other.
And it used to always bother me. Skylar is the easiest person in the world to get along with.
Everyone loved her. My mother’s distaste was completely unjustified.
It’s one of the many things I regret after the divorce: knowing how cruel my mother could be towards her at times, and doing nothing to stop it. It only proved what a pathetic husband I was, and how much better off she is without me.
“It’s got nothing to do with Lana, Ma. If you actually bothered to get to know her, you’d see she’s a genuinely nice person. So ease up on her, will you?”
“And you know this how? You thought that whore, Lucia, was genuinely nice, and look how that ended.”
Wow! Did she really just go there?
“That’s uncalled for, Mum. No need to be a spiteful bitch.”
She scoffs at my remark. “I’m honest, Kaden. There’s a difference.”
“No, Mother, that’s not honesty. That’s you being a snob and a narcissistic bitch. You’ve never made the slightest effort to get to know any of the women Dylan or I have dated. And I wish I’d called you out every time you bad-mouthed Skylar.”
“Oh, please. That woman always thought she was too good for you.”
“In what way did she ever give you that impression?”
My mother is speechless for a moment, clearly unable to think of a single reason.
The truth is, Skylar never once acted like she was too good for me.
If it weren’t for her, I’d never have reached the level of success I did in my career.
But more importantly, I would’ve never gotten myself out of trouble and settled down.
She improved my life in countless ways, and yet, I still managed to fuck it all up.
“Can’t think of a single thing, can you?” I chuckle, the sound cutting and cold.
She huffs and shrugs dismissively. “Whatever. Did you just come here to lecture me about how I treated your ex-wife?
“No, actually. I thought it would be nice to catch up with you, but clearly, you’re in one of your moods again.”
“My mood is fine. It’s everyone else that’s the problem.”
“Okay, Susan. If you think so.”
“So, what happened to that whore?”
“Can you not say that, please.”
“That’s exactly what that woman is. I’m just stating facts.
She had some fucking nerve lying to you and deceiving you.
Not only did she screw around with another man while she was with you, but she also knew there was a chance that baby wasn’t yours and still let you believe it was.
What kind of woman does that? A fucking whore—that’s who. ”
“Look, it’s over now. What’s done is done, and there’s nothing I can do to change the outcome. She’s disappeared somewhere now, so it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever see her, or Ari, again.”
“It makes me think you were better off staying married to Skylar than ever getting involved with that bitch.”
And there it is. I was wondering when she’d finally admit to her mistakes. It only took Lucia’s betrayal for my mother to realise that Skylar had always been the better choice for me. It’s too late now, Ma!
“Funny how you say that now, after everything that’s happened. Where was this mindset when we were still together? Don’t worry, I’m not going to lecture you. Skylar has already moved on. In fact, she’s engaged to be married.”
“What? Are you serious? You only just got divorced, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but she’d been dating this guy for over a year.”
“Oh, so they practically couldn’t wait for her to divorce you so they could marry. That bitch!”
“Hey! Let’s not forget the real reason she divorced me and is marrying another man. This all started because of me. So if you want someone to blame, blame the person in front of you!”
I don’t realise I’m yelling until my father walks into the room, looking slightly alarmed, his hands still smeared with a dirty rag.
“What on earth is all this yelling about?”
“You better not be getting grease inside the house again,” my mother spits, completely ignoring his question.
“Sorry, Dad. That was just me.”
“I thought I heard your voice. It’s good to see you, Kaden. Everything’s well?”
“Yeah. Everything’s good. Were you just in the shed?”
“I was. I’m still working on the Jag.”
Restoring classic cars is one of my dad’s few passions, and something I loved watching him do as a kid.
It’s a skill we both share—bringing things back to life or building them from scratch.
Right now, he’s working on his 1986 Jaguar XJSC, which he bought at an auction and for which my mother later gave him hell for, claiming he was wasting money on ‘useless junk.’
These days, he spends more time in the shed than he does inside the house. He built it as a workshop for his and his friends’ cars, but I suspect it served more as an escape from my mother whenever he couldn’t bear being around her.
“When do we get to take it out for a spin?” I ask.
He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m just waiting on a few more parts. Hopefully, it’ll be finished and out on the road before my birthday next month.”
“Well, I call shotgun!”
He lets out another low cackle and shoves the dirty rag into the pocket of his greasy jeans. He makes no move to join us on the couch—probably to avoid another tantrum from my mother if he gets grease or oil on the furniture.
“What brings you here today?”
“Thought I’d spend the afternoon catching up with you and Ma, seeing it’s been a while since I last visited.”
“That’s nice. Why don’t you stay for dinner? I can run to the supermarket, grab some burgers and beers, and whip out the old barbie.”
“Do you even remember how to use that old thing, seeing you hardly lift a finger around here?” my mother says with a sneer.
“That sounds good,” I reply, deliberately ignoring my mother’s jab. “Though, I might pass off on the beers if that’s okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about your sobriety. I’m proud of you, by the way.”
“Thanks. I’m going over two months now.”
“Good for you, mate! I’m really happy for you,” he says, pride shining in his voice. The wide smile spreading across his cheeks tells me he genuinely means it.
“I honestly thought you would’ve caved by now,” my mother says.
“Fuck’s sake, Susan. Do you ever just think before you speak?” my dad snaps.
“You know I’m not wired that way.”
“Yeah, I’m also starting to think you’re a few wires short.”
“You mother—”
I quickly shoot up on my feet. “Okay, that’s enough you two. Mum, just turn around and watch your stupid TV show. Dad, I think I’ll go with you. Just in case you need some extra help carrying everything.”
“Thanks, son. You’re a good kid.”
And before my mother can utter another snarky word, my dad and I rush out the door as if our lives depend on it.
If I’m going to survive a barbecue with my parents tonight, I’ll need to grab some Advil first. Because whenever you’re seated across from Susan Grant, a pounding headache is practically guaranteed before the night is over.