31. Hank
HANK
Iuse holiday-themed sweets to help me get through my Nick withdrawal.
For some reason, candy just tastes better when it’s Christmas-themed.
I like M&M’s, but I love red and green M&M’s.
The Reese’s Christmas trees are infinitely more delicious than regular-ass peanut butter cups.
(The peanut butter-to-chocolate ratio is better, too, although real ones know that the Reese’s pumpkins are the most peanut butter dense.) Oreos with red cream in the middle just hit different, and we all know it.
The days after Nick leaves town are spent staying busy however I can.
I take on extra plumbing jobs. I play hockey with my friends.
I have Brody block websites on my computer and phone where I could read more mean comments about me.
We watch Little Shop of Horrors a few more times.
Because of all the media hubbub surrounding Nick, the principal decided to postpone the musical until after Christmas break when things in Sourwood will hopefully calm down.
Fortunately, the drama teacher Mr. Calloway, so impressed with his dedication in rehearsals, agreed to change Brody’s grade on his transcript so he could send in applications before the deadline.
On Christmas Eve, I stand behind Brody as he clicks submit and rolls the dice with Stanford. A swell of pride fills my chest as I watch my son do something I never did.
“Congratulations.” I knock his elbow.
“I didn’t get in anywhere yet.”
“You’re still a winner in my book.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He shuts his computer. We head to the kitchen, where I put together a modest Christmas Eve dinner of roast chicken and potatoes.
“So when do you find out?”
“End of March.” There’s a rigidness to him. Nerves.
“Hey.” I pat his head. “Wherever you wind up, you’re going to do great. It isn’t about the school. It’s about you, and you have the goods.”
“Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about college applications ever again.” He shakes out his hands. “How are you doing about the whole Nick thing?”
“Can we change the subject again?” I shove potatoes in my mouth, although I’d rather be eating a Reese’s Christmas tree.
“Dad. I’m so sorry about everything.”
“It happens. Life knocks you down. You get back up. I mean it.” I hope that lessons like these get through to him.
“Of all the people you could’ve fallen for, you just had to fall for a prince.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“Maybe.” His crooked smile that he flashes when he gets away with something hasn’t changed since he was a toddler bolting from bathtime.
“It wasn’t meant to be.” I move chicken around my plate, but opt for the potatoes again. I’m in a carb state of mind right now.
“Why not?”
I look up from my plate when I realize that wasn’t another dose of sarcasm. “Brody, the guy’s royalty. And I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“A plumber who gorges on Christmas candy and cracks jokes. The prince and the plumber? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“You already asked that.”
“Well, I’m asking it again.” His eyebrows furrow together like a furious arrow.
“Does Mario get the princess in Super Mario Bros.?” I admire my son’s youthful optimism, but unfortunately, part of being a dad is delivering a reality check.
“Nick is…look, I’m not some diplomat or titan of industry.
I’m not a brilliant, enterprising genius like my son.
” I gesture at Brody. “Guys like me don’t wind up with crown royalty. We’re not…”
“What?” He asks, getting more heated.
“Good enough.” It’s a mini punch in the gut hearing that thought said aloud. It had to be said, though. “That’s just how it is.”
“Dad, that’s bullshit!” Brody, my even-keeled son, bangs his hands on the table in the most visible sign of anger I’ve seen from him since elementary school. I scoot back in my seat on reflex, shocked by the shift.
“Watch your…language?”
“I won’t. That’s bullshit, and I’m calling it out as bullshit! I am tired of hearing you shit all over yourself. ‘Oh, I’m just a plumber.’ ‘Oh, I didn’t go to college. I’m not a smartie.’ Dad, do you know what I wrote my application essay about?”
“Microplastics?”
“No. I wrote about the person who’s been the biggest influence on me. The person I consider the smartest man I know.” His voice wobbles. “My father.”
I’m immediately hit with a wallop of emotion that I can’t process. It sits in my throat, waiting for a cue. “What? Me? I don’t understand most of what you’re doing with your science projects. I can’t help you with your homework.”
“And most kids can’t fix a leaky faucet or redo piping. Most people can’t run their own successful business. Most parents don’t show up to every quiz bowl match, every math olympiad. They don’t run lines every night for their son’s last minute theatrical debut. Smart comes in many flavors.
“You may not understand exactly what I do, but you’re curious to learn.
You care. Which is more than I can say for Mom.
She lets me go off to do my ‘smart thing’ as she calls it, but never asks what I’m working on.
She only wants to brag to her friends about my straight-As.
I know when couples split up, the kids usually go with the mother.
I am so grateful that I get to spend half my time with you. ”
I feel my face and find that my eyes have sprung a massive leak, matching Brody’s.
He brushes his wild hair out of his eyes.
“Who gives a fuckity fuck that Nick’s a prince?
Most royals are just fucking inbred dilettantes who have zero skills.
You are good enough for Nick, for anybody.
I wish more people were like you. The world would be a better fucking place.
It’s Nick who should be wondering if he’s fucking good enough for you. ”
“You really enjoy cursing.”
“You didn’t say anything when I said bullshit, so I figured I’d keep going.”
I gaze at my son, wondering at this creation. From baby, to boy, to a fully formed man.
“Come here.” I stand up and wrap him in a hug. “How did I get so lucky?”
“You didn’t get lucky. You’re just that good of a dad.”
“I thought teenagers were supposed to hate their parents.”
“I’m taking a brief moratorium to knock some sense into you.”
I love that I have a son who uses the word moratorium in casual conversation.
“I’m gonna miss you next year,” I whisper against his curly hair.
“Promise me you will get back out there. I feel like you haven’t dated because of me.”
“I’ve wanted to be there for you. Your mother had enough romantic drama for both of us.”
“You were there for me. Now it’s your turn. Be your loud, proud bisexual self.”
I snort. Who’s the parent and who’s the child?
Brody and I sit back down to eat. I can’t stop smiling. The smartest person I know called me the smartest person he knows.
“What?” Brody asks, noticing I’m staring.
“Nothing.”
The TV playing in the background segues from the end of It’s a Wonderful Life to the local news. Our heads simultaneously whip to the screen when we hear Ardenia come out of the newscaster’s mouth.
“There’s poised to be a major shakeup in Ardenia.
Reports are coming out that the king has been diagnosed with ALS.
Prince Nicholas, heir to the throne, is reportedly planning to step back from the monarchy and renounce his rights to succession.
Prince Nicholas of Ardenia, who recently caused a stir in Sourwood… ”
Brody and I stare at each other in a state of shock.
“Dad,” he asks, “is it cool if I continue cursing?”