Callum
TWENTY-SEVEN
NOW
Damien had barely been gone for five minutes when my phone rang. I hadn’t even had enough time to process that he’d been here to begin with or to bask in the afterglow of getting to wake up next to him. Not that we slept much. Mostly we talked, carefully avoiding topics like Sam.
But as he drove away, he took the bubble we were in with him and reality came crashing back down on me. I still had a life that was separate from his. I still had grieving parents who were calling me at the ass crack of dawn.
After a deep breath to fortify myself, I answered, putting the call on speaker phone. “Hello?”
Dad’s voice came through the speaker. “Cal? Son?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m here. Is everything okay?”
“Your mother and I were talking and we wanted to know when you were going to come visit.”
“I—I can’t get more time off just now.” It was probably a lie. My boss wasn’t an asshole, which in itself was a miracle. If I asked for the time off, they’d probably give it to me or let me work remotely like they’d done for Travis after he broke his leg.
This conversation needed more coffee. “Is everything okay?” I asked again, topping up my cup and adding a little more sugar.
“Your mother isn’t coping well,” Dad whispered and I wondered if Mom even knew that he was calling me. “It’s a shame you couldn’t stay longer.”
“Sorry, I had to get back. We’re down a man at work and my absence was definitely noticed.
” While that was technically true, I leaned into it and made it sound more dire than it was.
The truth was that I hadn’t felt like their house was my home.
Not in years. I’d gone from beloved son to the awkward house guest who was only around at the holidays he couldn’t get out of because his presence made everyone uncomfortable.
But that was all in my head. That’s what Dad had told me once when I tried to talk to him about it.
It was a year or so after my college graduation, and I’d come home during the summer when there was no holiday to prompt me to be there.
Just some vacation time I needed to take and the knowledge that outside of Christmas, I rarely went home.
My presence had felt like an inconvenience.
Like me being there had upset their routine in some way that wasn’t acceptable.
There were sideways looks and conversations that would stop when I entered a room.
So I’d asked Dad about it, about why everyone was acting like they didn’t want me around, and he told me not to be stupid. That of course they loved me.
That wasn’t what I’d been upset about, but he’d been so adamant about it, that it didn’t occur to me until later that I hadn’t asked if I was loved. I’d asked if I was wanted.
“I don’t know what to do for her, Cal.” Dad’s breath shook when he inhaled.
He was barely holding it together, and I felt guilty that I didn’t care more than I did.
Yes, I loved my parents, but I’d been made to feel like an outsider and an afterthought for my whole adult life.
It was hard to tear down all the walls we’d built between us.
“Get her into grief counseling. If you can’t afford it, let me know and I can help out.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and screwed my eyes shut. Too little sleep and too much stress were going to give me a killer migraine.
“She doesn’t want to go. I’ve asked her. She thinks… she thinks they’ll want her to forget about Sam. She’s not eating, Cal. And when she does, it’s the smallest amounts.”
My bed was calling my name. Screaming it.
It would be so easy to crawl back under those covers and hide from everything and everyone until life went back to normal.
I didn’t ask for this. Sam had been their emotional support child.
The golden boy. The one they wanted around.
Now because of the shittiest of circumstances, they were stuck with me.
All the air rushed out of my lungs, and I leaned on the counter, letting it bear my weight. The lack of sleep caught up with me all at once and a bone-deep exhaustion settled over me.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Dad. I mean… it sucks. Try to get her some protein shakes or meal replacement shakes or something. If she’s not eating, at least make sure she’s drinking something beneficial.”
“Where would I get those, do you think?”
Frustration surged through me, and I had to bite my tongue and pretend I was thinking while I quietly seethed.
“At a store, probably. Check the pharmacy; they carry that kind of thing I think.”
“Are they behind the counter? Do I need a prescription or anything?”
How my dad had made it this far in life was a mystery.
“No, Dad,” I tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice.
He needed my patience, not my animosity.
“But you should ask for help choosing so you get the right thing. Tell them you want a meal replacement drink. Get a couple different flavors.” I wanted this conversation to be over.
I wanted my bed and oblivion and maybe some dreams of Damien to distract me from the nightmare that was my reality.
“I’ll do that, son.”
Dad sighed and I could tell that he was just as tired as I was. I doubt he and Mom had slept well since Sam died. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how he was doing when he cleared his throat. He clearly had something else to say, so I stayed quiet and waited.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and hoarse. “Have you… the envelope Sam left you. Have you opened it?”
“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Sam and I weren’t close.”
“You were as kids. Thick as thieves.” The regret made his voice strained, like he had to drag the words out.
“That was a long time ago, Dad. I don’t know if I’m ready to see what’s in the envelope. It might be nothing.” It might be everything. It might make me feel something other than this weird sense of numbness that washed over me whenever I thought about him.
Of course I was sad he was gone, but it wasn’t just sadness.
There was anger too. Sam had been a selfish person.
Even when we were kids. Maybe our parents didn’t remember him that way, but I did.
I remembered the times when he’d get a gift on my birthday so he wouldn’t be upset and how on his birthday, I got told that it was Sam’s special day.
We seldom ate my favorite foods because Sam didn’t like them.
When he figured out that I really liked this local mom-and-pop restaurant that served homestyle fish and chips, he pretended that the smell of fish made him sick, and we stopped going there.
There was nothing good in that envelope, and I knew it in my bones.
No good would come of opening it. The thought of burning it struck me, but maybe I’d just ignore it for a while and see how I felt down the road.
When it came to anything to do with Sam, I’d learned that ignoring it was often the best solution.
“You’re not curious?”
I shrugged and then remembered that he couldn’t see me. “I don’t know, Dad. It doesn’t feel real yet. Do you have any idea what could be in there?”
There was a pause, and then Dad let out another sigh. Something creaked in the background. The screen door maybe. The one leading to the back yard had always squeaked and Dad’s promise to fix it eventually had never come to fruition.
“When he was sick, when it looked bad, he was told…” Dad cleared his throat. “He was told that some people wrote letters to their loved ones. To be read after they were gone. It was supposed to be cleansing or something. I forget the mental mumbo jumbo of it all.”
Right. Because anything to do with mental health was mumbo jumbo to him.
If you were sad, take a walk. If you were depressed, cheer up.
When I was a teenager, I’d loved my parents.
I thought they were great, even after I came out.
They’d been shocked and maybe they were a little weird about it at first. But they’d ended up accepting me with little fanfare, little fuss.
They didn’t throw me a party or anything, but I always thought that they tried.
But when I went to college, it was almost like they were relieved that I was gone and in the back of my mind, I wondered if it was because I was gay.
Had they tried to accept me but then found that not seeing me was easier?
Out of sight, out of mind? They wouldn’t have to deal with it if I was never around.
“So you think it’s some sort of sappy goodbye note?
” Nausea churned my stomach. I wasn’t sure I could reconcile the idea of Sam sitting down and writing me a thoughtful goodbye note of any sort.
It was more likely that I’d open it and find a piece of paper that said eat shit. And what would I tell my parents then?
“It could be anything. I just… it could be tough to read. I don’t like the idea of you dealing with that all alone.”
I bit my tongue so hard I was surprised when blood didn’t start dripping down my chin.
Just because I didn’t live close anymore didn’t mean that I was alone.
I had friends—which I’d neglected since the news of Sam’s death broke—and a support system all my own.
People who listened to me rant about how shitty going home made me feel and didn’t judge me for going back, year after year. Holiday after holiday.
“I’ll be fine,” I managed to choke out. It was a good thing my phone was on the counter, because when I stood up, my hands were shaking. Not just my hands. My whole body. It was like my fight or flight mode had been triggered and I could feel the way I wanted to throw my phone into the abyss.
“I need to go,” I told him, trying not to sigh. Dad was going through enough; he didn’t need my annoyance heaped up on top of everything else.
“You’ll keep in touch, right?” Dad asked, sounding small and sad and frail.
“I’ll keep in touch.” The words left my mouth before I could think better of it.
Maybe they were just having a come-to-Jesus moment about the fragility and brevity of life, but it was fucking unsettling to go from having parents who were okay with three phone calls and one in-person visit a year, to having parents who called and texted and wanted you to talk to them about shit.
“Okay, son. Thanks for your help. I should let you go.”
“Bye, Dad.” My hands shook when I ended the call.
Relief washed through me, and then guilt shortly after.
My parents had lost a son, and I wasn’t doing anything to try and make it better for them.
I wasn’t offering up any sort of understanding about how much they might need me now because all I could think of was how it felt like, somewhere along the way, they’d chosen Sam.
It might have been childish, but I didn’t know how to get past that feeling.
Or worse, if I even wanted to.