Chapter 19 Facing the Past FAILED
Facing the Past FAILED
Crew
The most surprising thing to come out of the past few weeks has to be my current plans for tonight—and that’s saying something.
What the hell is up with me?
“Dude, what’s with the fancy shit?” Vinny asks as I grab my jacket from the couch.
Shrugging it on, I respond with, “Dad wanted to have dinner with me.”
The shock conveyed onto Vinny’s face is the exact reaction I had when my father called me about it a couple of nights ago, asking to hash things out at dinner.
Growing up, that was almost always his solution: get some food and talk about it, because it’s hard to be unreasonable when eating food. He even suggested a fairly public restaurant, which I don’t exactly enjoy. Mostly because I don’t think fights can be resolved properly in public, but I digress.
“That’s it?” Vinny asks, baffled.
I nod. “That's what he said.”
“Doesn’t explain the attire.” He gestures to my outfit, a dress shirt and pants. “You’re not exactly the fancy type.”
“Fuck you, I can dress nicely.” On my own? Probably not. The only times I’ve dressed nicely, I’ve had a stylist’s help.
The best I can do is a dress shirt that I borrowed from Vinny’s closet and dress pants from the dinner I attended for my college program a couple of weeks ago. I own nice clothes, but the restaurant that I’m headed towards has a fancier dress code.
“Sure.”
I roll my eyes. “Gonna do anything while I’m out?”
“Spending the night at Ali’s place,” he answers, taking a sip from a can of ginger ale.
“Cool, have fun.”
My best friend’s eyes linger on me a little longer as I grab the small container of fish food and feed Nemo before grabbing my keys. Before I can reach for the door, Vinny’s question stops me in my tracks.
“By the way, do you know why Carly’s been acting distant?”
My feet freeze to the ground. Stuck, like the soles were glued to the wood floors because of some strategically placed super glue.
“Why are you asking me?” My hand absentmindedly runs through my hair, which took me a while to fix, but that’s the least of my worries.
He shrugs, probably not so passionate about the topic, but asking because it’s his girl’s best friend. “You hang out with her more than I do, so I thought you would know.”
I shake my head, allowing the lie to slip past like butter. “Not a clue.”
What a lie that is. I know damn well Carly’s more distant mood as of late is because of me, and how I acted. Setting boundaries isn’t my strong suit, and I wasn’t even trying with her.
Carly caught me by surprise that night. I was about to take her initial reaction—hiding in her room—as rejection until she kissed me again.
And what did I do? I freaked out and walked away.
“Well, let Ali know when you find out, because she’s a little worried about Carly.”
I nod and head out of the apartment, towards my fairly old car, and drive towards the restaurant. Because my father picked a restaurant not far from downtown, I arrive at a parking structure close by in minutes, which equates to about half an hour on a Friday evening in Los Angeles.
The drive feels too short, but maybe it’s my nerves acting up.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel in front of me, both terrified to do this and anxious to get it over with. My first instinct is to text my father, starting with an apology.
Hey, sorry, but something came up and I can’t make it. We’ll plan another time!
But never follow up.
This is fucking ridiculous! I’m not about to back down at dinner because I’m a coward. First of all, anyone who can handle stingrays and not die Steven Irwin style is not a coward (may he rest in peace).
Okay, considering the Carly situation, maybe I am a bit of a coward.
Calm down, it’s just an apology dinner with Dad. Just Dad.
Yeah, I can handle this. It’s not like Dad’s an axe murderer, anyway. Granted, he’s a surgeon, but he doesn’t have a vendetta of sorts.
I exit the car and head towards the dimly lit restaurant. Soft jazz music flows into my ears, and I already feel out of place. The ambiance is reminiscent of a club straight out of The Great Gatsby, from a movie that I remember watching at a premiere I attended long ago.
What’s even worse is that Dad’s seated at a booth on the other end of the area. As I approach, I notice another person occupying the seat to his right, with dark hair touching her shoulder, in loose waves, and sipping out of a glass of water without ice.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble under my breath.
This dinner was a setup.
I should know because he brought my fucking mother.
Biting the inside of my cheek to calm down, I slide into the booth, across from my parents. If I’m going to get through a dinner with these two, then I might as well have the table to act as a makeshift divider.
Facing my mother of my own volition wasn’t supposed to happen until after I’ve earned my master's, but life has other plans for me.
I give my father a questioning glance, and he sips his water.
“You two need to hash this shit out,” he demands, pointing at both of us. “I am so fucking tired of being in the middle of a silent argument that has lasted for years!”
Mother and I both glance at my father in surprise. Tony Shentu never swears, not even when he’s mad.
“Maybe we should settle this for once,” Mother hums in agreement. The tone in her voice comes off as harsh and vile. “An apology is well deserved here.”
I wait for her to make the first move, to utter two words I’ve wanted to hear leave her mouth since I turned eighteen. She doesn’t say a word, and her intense gaze directed at me can only mean…
I blink, baffled by the words that came out of her mouth. “For what? Why would I have to apologize?”
“You know why.” She doesn’t clarify any further, but it’s not like she has to. There she sits, all prim and proper, dressed in a navy blue blouse and beige pants. Expecting me to apologize for what happened only a month ago.
There is Teresa Shentu, with the fucking audacity to have me apologize for something I didn’t even do.
I never thought of myself as short-tempered. But the way my parents stare at me makes my blood boil. I’m not apologizing for my mother’s reckless actions, or why she thought to insult the people I bring into my life—God forbid I do exactly what she did.
All I did was tell her how she had no place in judging what I did with my life, and somehow, I’m in the wrong.
“That’s not a good reason,” I respond calmly.
“Maybe if you weren’t stalking my friends and me, then we wouldn’t be in this position right now.
Did that ever occur to you? You waltz into a diner, insult my…
” I’m about to say girlfriend, but then I remember how I completely neglected that conversation.
I don’t even know what Carly and I are anymore.
I clear my throat. “My friend, and you didn’t think I would see it? You weren’t trying to be subtle.”
My father’s shocked face conveys his lack of awareness about what happened that night, and he turns to his wife in complete surprise. Her face doesn’t change one bit.
“Most of the diners didn’t notice, but you made a scene of it.”
“Oh, cut the theatrics. There was no scene,” I snort, crossing both arms over my chest and rolling my eyes. “First of all, I’m not like most people. I’m your son.” As much as I hate to say those words right to her face, I can't deny it.
I’m still the boy who grew up with her elaborate yet perfectly hidden disguises and followed suit.
I’m still the boy who knew every tic and every twitch.
She is half of the person I became, and half of the reason I quit acting.
I didn’t choose my parents, but I can choose whether or not to keep them in my life.
“You can stay delusional all you want,” I continue. “But I’m done with that part of my life. I’m happy with where I am and who I’m with. If you can’t accept that, then I think we’re done here.”
I place my napkin on the table and stand up.
“Crew—” My father tries to say, but I cut him off.
“Sorry, Dad. I can’t do this.” And I mean it. This is a two-way street, and if my mother cannot move forward, then I don’t see a reason to continue a relationship with her.
Once I exit the restaurant, I hear footsteps behind me. “Please.”
I turn around to find my dad standing right in front of me. “I have to move forward, and she doesn’t see that. She still can’t, so who knows when?”
He seems resigned to that. “I’m sorry, Crew. I’m just tired of choosing.”
“Dad,” I say to him softly. “I’ve never once asked you to choose. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way, but whatever is going on between Mother and me has nothing to do with you.”
My father’s sighs are a little too loud for comfort. “You two have been halves of my world. I don’t want that to be torn apart.”
The way I see it, our family’s been torn apart for the past four years. Dad saw it with his own eyes for the very first time.
“What a family we are, right?” I joke sadly.
His frown doesn’t find my attempt at a joke funny whatsoever. “I’m sorry, Crew,” he repeats.
I nod. “Me too.”
He turns around and walks back inside the restaurant, leaving me standing without a purpose.
Those two, as sad as it is, have been the only family I knew.
And right now, I’m watching that family fall apart by the second.