Chapter 35. Liam
Two weeks after the tournament, the smoke is the first thing that's weird, because it's not cigarette smoke.
It's fucking barbecue smoke.
It was supposed to be cold but sometimes fall gives us days like this. It's sunny, and the weather is exactly right, not too cold and not too hot, because the heat would probably destroy my mood.
There are tables everywhere in the courtyard, even on the old soccer field. There are condiment stations with real pickles. There are red plastic cups stacked in pyramids.
People are arriving all the time.
A grandmother arrives with a huge casserole dish, flanked by two women and a man who might be a very tired priest. At least, he's dressed like one, which is very fucking weird, but this is Aspire, so you never know.
They hug a boy called Fred, surrounding him, touching his face, his arms, the backs of his hands, as if checking if he's alive.
He's lanky and has brown hair, a face full of freckles.
The boy stands rigid in the center of their attention, his eyes blinking too fast, and then the grandmother says something and his face just comes apart, and she catches him.
I look away.
It's the first Family Day at Aspire. Griff told us he always wanted to organize something similar, but the budget was never enough.
This year, though, they got a huge donation.
I remember Harry's dad and what he had to pay to get those boys transferred, and I wonder if that's where the money came from.
Across the yard, a woman in a yellow sundress holds her son's face between her hands and stares at him like she's memorizing him. The boy's called Rabbit, but his real name is Juan. He's called Rabbit because he has two big ears.
A man in work boots and a stiff new jacket stands three feet from Santana, who won't look at him, both of them staring at the space between their shoes.
There are children.
Toddlers and elementary-schoolers, running around, chasing each other, and they might not have any clue where they are.
And I hope, for their sake, they never find out how to end up here.
Jack screams when he sees his mother, Berenice, and his sister, maybe in her mid-twenties, with the same warm eyes as Jack and a toddler boy perched on her hip, the child's fist wrapped around a strand of her hair.
She has red hair. She's covered in tattoos, way more than Jack.
Jack barrels into her like he's trying to tackle her to the ground, full force, both arms around her, and the boy between them squeals and hugs Jack too.
They hold on.
She's saying something into his shoulder.
Then he holds his mom for a long time.
She pulls back and holds him at arm's length. Then she grabs his arm and pulls him aside, toward the edge of the yard where the big oak throws its shadow, her mouth moving fast now, his sister and nephew following.
The toddler bounces on his sister's hip.
I'm happy for him.
I want to be clear about that.
But I'm also so damn jealous.
I've never been this jealous before in my entire life.
Then my heart almost stops.
My father is standing at the door.
He looks wrong.
Not bad-wrong. Just different from the last time I saw him in person.
He's wearing a military-green button-down shirt, the collar creased, and the shirt is too big for him, hanging off his shoulders. His hands are in his pockets. His hair is combed, what's left of it. His jaw is clean-shaven.
He's still chubby around the stomach, but he looks good.
He looks, honestly, happy. I don't know if I've ever thought that about him before.
I don't move. My eyes get too blurry. He sees me.
His eyes do the thing mine just did. His face falls, and then the biggest smile appears on his lips.
I stand up. I'm trying to cross the yard in a way that's not absolutely ridiculous, but I can't. My whole system is screaming.
I stop in front of him, and he hugs me, and I hug him back very tightly. We were never really one of those families that hugged each other and said I love you, but I think that should change. He smells like soap. Just fucking soap. Not whiskey, not wine. He pulls back and looks at me.
His eyes are clear. Brown, unlike mine.
I got my mom's eyes.
"You look good," he says. His voice is rough. "Healthy."
"Hell yeah, I am," I say, laughing, and the best part is that it's not awkward at all.
It feels like I saw him an hour ago.
"Come on! They'll eat all the burgers before us."
We go to the food line and get two burgers, corn, and a scoop of potato salad that Lu made from a recipe that involves enough mayonnaise to violate several health codes.
"So, your counselor says you're cooking now," he says, chewing. "They got you in the kitchen?"
"Yeah. There's this woman, Lu. She's Haitian. She yells at me in Creole when I mess up."
He laughs, covering his mouth with one hand while he's still chewing.
"You always liked the kitchen," he says. "Even when you were little. You'd stand on that stool and stir whatever was on the stove. Didn't matter what it was."
I don't remember this.
Or I do, but the memory is buried under the others.
I tell him about the kitchen, about the classes, about the structure, and MMA.
"At the tournament, they knocked me around so badly I had bruises for two weeks," I tell him, and we both laugh.
We finish the burgers and wash them down with Sprite. It's ridiculous how much better the food is when families are here, but I'm not complaining.
"Marianne sends her love," he says, a little cautiously, like he's not sure how I'll take it. "She wanted to come, but she thought it should be just us today."
I think about the phone call, the vegetable garden, the half hour I stood in that phone room waiting.
I look at him.
"She sounds good for you," I say.
And I mean it.
He looks at me for a second, surprised, then nods.
"She is," he says. "She really is."
That's when I see Griff coming toward us.
He's doing his rounds, visiting all the families. He's wearing a navy-blue polo shirt, and it makes him look like a cool dad instead of the strict, scary military counselor.
Next to him is a young man I've never seen before. He's tall, probably in his early twenties, with the same squared shoulders as Griff and close-cropped hair, though his is dark brown instead of gray.
He's wearing jeans and a navy sweater that looks expensive.
"Mr. Marsal, it's good to have you here," Griff says, extending his hand to my dad.
My dad stands up quickly, wiping his hand on his napkin before shaking Griff's.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you for having me today."
I've never heard my dad call anyone "sir" before.
It's weird.
Griff puts his hand on the young man's shoulder.
"This is my son, Michael."
Michael smiles and shakes my dad's hand, then mine.
"Nice to meet you both," Michael says. His voice is deeper than I expected. "Dad's told me a lot about the program here."
I can't stop staring at them standing side by side.
It's like seeing Griff in two different timelines, what he was and what he is.
I never pictured Griff as someone's father. In my head, he materialized fully formed at Aspire, but he takes Sundays off to spend time with his son, so it makes sense.
"Liam's been doing very well in our program. He's very disciplined. Always does his tasks, shows up to class, works very hard," Griff tells my dad.
I feel my face get hot.
Disciplined is not a word anyone's ever used to describe me before.
"That's wonderful. I'm extremely proud of him," my dad says.
"Do you guys want to kill me?" I ask, my face burning.
The three of them laugh.
Michael shifts his weight slightly.
"Dad, we should let them get back to their visit."
Griff nods. "Of course. Enjoy the barbecue. I'll be around."
They move on to the next family, and I watch them go. Michael leans in and says something that makes Griff laugh.
"He seems like a good man," my dad says, following my gaze.
"He is." I pause, not sure how to explain Griff. "He's fair. Tough but fair."
My dad nods like he understands, though I know he doesn't.
How could he?
Griff exists in a universe my dad has never had to navigate.
"I'm sorry," he says, finally looking at me. "I'm so damn sorry, Liam."
"It's not your fault. I'm here because of my own actions," I say.
Even I'm surprised by the words coming out of my mouth. Look at me, taking damn accountability.
He shakes his head.
"I could have been a better father. I'm saving up. For when you come home."
When, not if.
The word hits me hard.
So ridiculously fucking hard.
When you come home.
"Thanks, Dad. Let's just enjoy the day. Not think about bad stuff," I tell him, smiling, trying with all my might not to cry. "Besides, I like it here. I have friends! You gotta meet everybody."
"I'd like that," he says.
I scan the crowd and spot Jack with his family under the big oak. They're talking animatedly, Jack's hands moving the way they do when he's excited about something.
His sister keeps bouncing the toddler on her hip, readjusting him whenever he grabs at her earring.
"Come on," I say to my dad. "I want you to meet my friend Jack."
We walk across the yard, navigating around a group of kids playing tag and a counselor trying to organize a volleyball game.
As we get closer, I can hear Jack's voice rising with excitement.
"…and then the equipment will all be new, and we can start planning events…!"
"Liam!"
Jack spots me and waves frantically.
"Dude, come here! My sister saved the shop!"
I approach with my dad following behind me. Jack's smile is as wide as usual.
"This is my dad, Thomas," I say, gesturing behind me. "Dad, this is Jack."
"Nice to meet you, sir," Jack says, suddenly formal in a way that makes me want to laugh.
He extends his hand, and my dad shakes it.
"And this is Jack's mom, Berenice," I continue, nodding toward the woman standing beside him. She's shorter than Jack, with the same warm brown eyes.
She's wearing jeans and a blouse that looks like she ironed it especially for today.
"Call me Be," she says, shaking my dad's hand. "Jack talks about Liam all the time."
Jack's sister steps forward, shifting the toddler to her other hip.
"I'm Maggie," she says. "And this little monster is Theo."
Theo buries his face in his mother's neck, suddenly shy, but peeks out at us with one eye.
"He's usually not this quiet," Jack says, reaching over to ruffle the kid's hair. "Usually he's running around screaming about dinosaurs."
"Dinosaurs are cool," my dad says seriously to Theo, who peeks out a little more. "Which one's your favorite?"
"T-Rex," Theo whispers, then immediately hides his face again.
"Good choice," my dad says with a nod.
It's strange seeing him interact with a little kid, being gentle and interested. It's like watching a version of my father I never got to see.
"So, what's this about saving a shop?" I ask, turning to Jack and Maggie.
Jack's face lights up again.
"Tell him, Mags!"
Maggie shifts Theo higher on her hip.
"We found a business partner. Someone to invest in the tattoo shop. New equipment, renovations, the works."
"That's amazing," I say, and I mean it. Jack's been worried sick about the shop closing.
"It's going to be better than before," Berenice adds, reaching over to squeeze Jack's shoulder. "And this one is going to have his own station when he comes home."
"My own station," Jack repeats, like he can't quite believe it. "With my designs on the wall and everything."
"You deserve it," Maggie says. "Your work is good. Really good."
Jack blushes and looks down at his feet, but I can see how much the praise means to him. Theo starts squirming in Maggie's arms, and she sets him down.
He immediately grabs Jack's hand.
"Run," he demands.
"You want to run around?" Jack asks, crouching down to Theo's level.
Theo nods enthusiastically.
"We'll be right back," Jack tells us, letting Theo pull him toward the playground.
"He's so good with him," Berenice says, watching them go. "Always has been."
"Jack's a good kid," I say, which sounds weird because it makes me sound like an adult.
Which I guess I am.
"Come on, Dad, let's go find Ethan," I tell him. "See you all later," I say to the others, and they wave us off.