Chapter 1
THIS FORSAKEN TOWN
Present Day
The Man That Came Back by Jessie Murph · Take Me Out To The Ball Game by Luke Combs · Those Eyes by Neph
Holden
I’m dying.
Those are not the words any person wants to hear about a parent, let alone a parent they thought was dead five years ago.
I’m dying.
He said it when he called a month ago to tell me he’s in renal failure, that he’s been in renal failure for months, maybe even years. I don’t know exactly, because all I kept hearing was ‘I’m dying.’
The words out of his mouth when I finally answered the fifth call from the hospital was to tell me exactly that.
I was at my best friend Liam’s house, all my friends accounted for, so I didn’t think anyone would need me.
Who else would when my entire world died five years ago at the hands of a miserable and irresponsible human being?
I never would have thought it was the dad I was told was no longer alive.
I’m dying, he echoed when I told him I wasn’t falling for another one of his games. When I told him I didn’t question he was dead when I was twelve. I told him not to call me again until he was the one buried six feet deep. So, he called when the death sentence was handed down.
I’m dying.
The two words that convinced me to give this man a second chance. Not for him, but for me. The last thing I need is a lifetime of regret after not listening to his part of the story. After not, shit, I don’t know, trying to have a relationship with him? My dad?
No, not my dad.
Dad is a label you earn. Dad is a title you fight for.
By showing up day after day and night after night, forever.
I see it in the way Liam and Oliver are with their children, in the way their parents treat them, in the way my mom gave up everything for us.
This man, who donated his sperm and abruptly disappeared from my life for three decades, doesn’t get to call himself Dad.
Especially not after he made us all think he was dead.
But still… I let out a breath, my hands white-knuckling the steering wheel as I sit outside of Baker Oaks Senior Living, where he resides, considering it all.
He’s dying.
I take a breath in and step out of my car, slamming the door closed and walking up to the building. I don’t know enough of the details; all I know is that today is Father’s Day, and he invited me over so he can catch me up on what’s going on. Or so he said.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to push the door open, but my hand freezes before I can.
Am I really going to step through the glass doors and face this man?
The man who abandoned us? Who let a twelve-year-old believe he was dead?
The man who left the woman he supposedly loved to raise two kids on her own while working two jobs?
The man who so irrevocably fucked up the way I perceived manhood for so long?
On Father’s Day?
I blink away the tears that threaten to fill my eyes and take a step back.
“Are you going in?’ a woman carrying a baby says from behind me. I flutter my eyes, searching hers for the joke or the space for hidden cameras.
“Are you going in?” she asks again; my large body is blocking the entrance.
I shake my head, and with it goes all my demons. “No, sorry. I’m leaving.”
I rush past her straight to my silver car—slamming the door closed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The only place I want to be on Father’s Day is by my mom’s grave. She was more of a father to me than whatever piece of shit is in there.
He’s dying.
The rational voice in my head screams, but I need to quiet it. I have to.
I blast whatever is playing on the radio to drown out all the noise in my head. And of fucking course, Luke Combs fills the space, singing about a ball game and begging his dad to take him back again. Suddenly, I can’t contain the tears anymore.
Thirty-six fucking years old and still crying about the dad who never showed up.
The dad who drank too much. The dad who made me feel like it was all my fault.
Maybe if I did better, if I listened, if I got good grades, he would be home.
If I stayed in my room and out of the way, maybe he wouldn’t need to drink.
The dad who never once showed up on time for dinner or an awards ceremony. The dad who was asleep for breakfast, and only knew how to drink until he wasn’t there anymore. Physically, yes, but never present.
Until he died. Or until he never did, I guess. Since he’s alive and well.
Not well, apparently, either.
I’m dying.
I drive through what seem like endless streets of this town that used to be my own, back when the house was sullenly quiet from trying not to upset the man and his best friend—the liquor.
Back when the arguments were quiet at first behind closed doors, then out in the open where anyone could see. Worse on the weekends.
Hundred proof. Cigarettes. Deep, low voices. Loud TV. The things that tainted this place I used to love.
The place she used to love.
But he messed that up too.
And five years ago he, what? Wanted to make amends? After she was gone?
No. Too late.
I’m dying.
No. No. No.
I drive aimlessly, letting the songs about fathers, dads, sons, and daughters fill the space until I can’t take it anymore and turn it off. Just my labored breathing filling the space between the metal, the leather, and the AC.
Ground yourself in something you can see.
People.
People with a pep in their step on the sidewalk.
Fathers holding their children’s hands, swinging some, hugging others.
Generations and generations of people walking down the street.
Things I will never have. Things I hate, I can’t even dream for myself because I fear that will be me too. A shitty ass husband and dad.
Just like him.
I refuse.
His curse, which started with his grandpa and then followed down a generational path of destruction, ends with him. I won’t tempt fate. I won’t do it.
I shake my head. I thought I was done with the self-hating when it comes to him, but I guess I have more healing to do. Can’t wait to talk to my therapist about this.
Where even am I?
I take a second to compose myself and look around. Somehow, I parked right in front of a place called The Blooming Wine. Looks like a winery and flower shop?
I scoff.
How fitting.
Wine for him. Flowers for her.
Exactly how my parents were: one in search of something stronger, the other always searching for something beautiful.
Just like me right now.
Except, I don’t drink. The something stronger has to be something else. A workout? A scream fest? Going for a run? Anything.
My breath leaks out the moment I see her.
She’s so happy, smiling ear to ear, talking to customers wearing floral overalls, her sunset hair cascading around her face.
Such a contrast to what I’m feeling right now.
She’s floating in a space of happiness while I’m here, contemplating how my life, the one I worked so hard to heal, started turning into the same shitshow as before.
She’s standing in the middle of the shop, and now that I look closely, there are books too. Books she seems to be ringing up with that smile I want to replicate for myself.
How does one take one of those smiles to keep?
How do I find some of that joy?
He’s dying.
Fuck all of this, and fuck him too.
I’m getting flowers in honor of her. I’m getting flowers for her and Liz, my baby sister. He doesn’t get to mess up my whole Sunday.
I walk in. From outside, it looked happy and peaceful; inside, it’s more like organized chaos.
The room is buzzing with people wandering around, asking questions, some patrons using the ladder to get to higher shelves, children running around giggling and knocking over books.
And a woman is managing it all like a boss.
By the register where she stands, there’s a small bar, with two high top stools and bottles of wine but also coffee. I’ll take it.
I grab a seat and look for a menu, but the only one is for wine. If fate was a thing, then today, it is not on my side.
“Give me a second. I’ll be right with you,” the beautiful girl says, not looking at me but continuing to ring up the customer in front of her, making small talk.
Liam:
you okay?
The text comes through, but I turn my phone off and slide it in my pocket. Liam should be spending this day celebrating his dad and kids, but he’s worrying about me instead, like the good friend he is. But no, I’m not okay. I’m also not burdening him with my demons.
“Welcome to The Blooming Wine. Do you know what you’re getting?
” Her sweet voice snaps me into reality, and everything comes back crashing into place.
The solemn music playing in the background, the children laughing in the corner, the book-covered walls, and the scent of coffee—it’s all surrounding this girl with the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.
The color is hard to name, somewhere in between green and blue.
Not bright blue like the sky, not deep green, more like aquamarine.
The green overalls with tiny flowers that contour her body complement her almost copper hair and highlight the freckles tracing a map across her face.
Her shoulders and chest have been kissed by them too.
A sprinkle of freckles over her perfect skin, surrounding a necklace with a silver pendant I can’t make out because it hides behind the edge of her top, right between her breasts. And now I’m staring.
I clear my throat. “Sorry. It’s my first time here. Do you only have a wine menu?”
“No worries. We have others,” she says with a subtle smile, as crimson paints her full cheeks, confirming she saw me ogling her. “Let me grab them for you.” She walks out of the small space in front of the counter but turns back to me. “Coffee, flowers, or both?”
“What?”
“The menus. Do you want the coffee or the flower menus?”
“Um, both, please.”
She smiles softly and walks to the back.