29 #2
Tean nodded. And some part of him that had never stopped being this man’s child made him say, “You’re not wrong.
I know that I’ve made it clear there are parts of my life that aren’t open for discussion.
But I also don’t think it’s productive to have the same arguments over and over again.
There are things that we don’t agree on.
I don’t think we’ll ever agree on some of them. ”
“But we should be able to talk about the important things.” His dad stopped. “I mean, you should feel like you can tell us.”
“I do.”
“Teancum,” his dad said with a short laugh, “you didn’t tell us you were getting married.”
The next thought came with vicious clarity: Because I knew it would hurt you.
Tean turned his head, rubbing his chin along the collar of his coat, the zipper like a piece of ice. “I should have told you.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I understand why you didn’t.”
Scipio stopped at the fence to bark at a woman on the other side of the street. Then he broke into a run, zipping back and forth along the fence like he wanted her to race him.
“My father was such an asshole,” Tean’s dad said.
Laughter erupted out of Tean—shock more than amusement, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard his father swear so casually.
“He was,” his dad said. “My goodness, Tean, he was impossible to please. He was so—so hard. About everything. He was always right. He always knew everything. And nothing I did was ever good enough. If I threw a baseball, it wasn’t fast enough, or my aim was off, or I didn’t bring my arm back the way he taught me.
If we went fishing, I didn’t tie the flies right, or I was making too much noise, or I fought them too long or not hard enough or—or anything.
It was always something. I was in high school before I figured it out.
I was always doing it wrong. And Andrew was always doing it right. ”
“That would explain why Uncle Andrew is—” Tean struggled for a polite version of what he wanted to say.
“An asshole?” his dad asked.
This time, the laugh felt like it came from somewhere deeper. “Something like that.”
“Yeah, well, in some ways, my father wasn’t wrong. I mean, look at how it all turned out. What have I got? I’m living in a rent-controlled apartment. I’m getting divorced. I’ve never had a decent job, Teancum. Not one. And look at Andrew.”
Uncle Andrew talked about buying cars at auction. Uncle Andrew had just built an addition onto his house. Uncle Andrew put his hand on your shoulder when he talked to you, and he always made it feel like he was leaning over you, and you were looking up at him.
“Uncle Andrew’s kids won’t even talk to him,” Tean said. “I don’t think anyone wants to end up like that.”
“That’s sad. That’s a very sad thing.”
Tean didn’t say anything.
“Your grandfather was a very impressive man in a lot of ways,” his dad said. “He was so smart. You get that from him. And he had an iron will.”
“If you mean being stubborn, I think I got that too.”
“I mean that he was strong. And yes, Teancum. I think you’re a remarkably strong person.”
And that part of Tean that was still a child wanted to say something, so he said, “Grandfather didn’t raise me. You did.”
A half-smile pulled at one side of his dad’s face. “Let’s be honest, Teancum. You pretty much raised yourself. Anything your mother and I did was backup.”
“That’s not true. Not by any measure.”
His dad stared out at the park. The light fell at an angle across his face.
Shadows from the branches made zebra stripes.
When he spoke again, his voice was slower, lower, and Tean wasn’t sure if maybe he wasn’t speaking to himself.
“I’m so angry at him. I don’t want to be angry at him.
I do have good memories of him, because there were happy times in our family.
But I think there was this part of me that always thought maybe, one day, things would be different. ”
And what Tean heard, in the pain of those words, was Maybe, one day, he’d love me.
Clearing his throat, his dad leaned back.
“Anyway. What I wanted to say to you was that I’m sorry for how I acted and what I said.
And I also want to apologize for anything I’ve ever done, Teancum, to make you feel like I didn’t love you.
I do love you. You’re so important to me.
I’m proud of you, and I want you to be happy.
I know there have been things I’ve done and said that hurt you, and I can’t make it so they never happened.
But I am sorry. I don’t want any of my children to grow up and feel the way I do. ”
“Okay.” But that didn’t feel like enough. He had to swallow. And then he said, “Thank you.”
His dad nodded. And then he clapped a hand on Tean’s knee and gave it a shake.
“Dad,” Tean said. But then he stopped.
His dad looked over at him. He had more gray at his temple. His face was thinner, and the skin was starting to sag.
“I’ve done a lot of reading about foster care. About the children who go through it. Because Jem—I don’t know if you knew he was in foster care.”
His dad shook his head.