Chương 5
“I don’t either.”
The honesty seemed to unsettle him.
He expected me to have answers.
Maybe because for eighteen years, I had always found them.
But I was done being the person who repaired every broken thing he left behind.
That afternoon, Ethan came home carrying a paper bag from a coffee shop.
He placed it on the counter.
“You want one?”
I smiled slightly.
“You bought me coffee?”
He shrugged.
“I was already there.”
That was Ethan’s version of affection.
Small.
Careful.
Never announced.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then he noticed Marcus sitting at the table.
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Ethan became more guarded.
Marcus stood.
“I was hoping we could talk.”
Ethan looked at me.
I stepped back.
Not because I wanted to leave him alone.
Because this was something Marcus had to do himself.
“I’ll be in the other room.”
Ethan nodded.
Marcus pulled out the chair.
“Can I sit?”
Ethan looked at it.
Then sat down.
Marcus remained standing for a moment before taking the seat across from him.
The distance between them was only a few feet.
But it felt like eighteen years.
“I watched your speech again last night.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
“I figured you did.”
Marcus swallowed.
“I wanted to be angry.”
Ethan looked up.
“Okay.”
The answer seemed to throw Marcus off.
“I wanted to tell myself you were being unfair.”
“And?”
Marcus looked at his hands.
“And I couldn’t.”
Silence.
“I kept thinking about all the times I had reasons.”
Ethan stared at the table.
“I had reasons too.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
“No.”
Ethan looked at him.
“You don’t.”
Marcus stayed quiet.
“My reason was that I stopped expecting anything from you.”
The words were not cruel.
That made them worse.
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
“I don’t know how to fix that.”
Ethan looked away.
“Maybe you can’t.”
The sentence stayed between them.
Outside, a neighbor’s lawn mower started.
A dog barked somewhere down the street.
Someone laughed in a backyard.
Normal life continued.
Marcus looked older sitting there.
Not because of his age.
Because for the first time, he was sitting with a consequence he could not explain away.
“I want to try,” he said.
Ethan did not respond.
“I know that might not mean anything.”
“No.”
Ethan’s voice was quiet.
“It doesn’t.”
Marcus nodded.
“I understand.”
Another silence followed.
Then Ethan asked, “Why him?”
Marcus looked confused.
“Who?”
“Leo.”
The question seemed to physically affect him.
“I told myself it was because he needed me.”
Ethan waited.
Marcus looked down.
“But maybe I liked being needed.”
That answer surprised both of them.
Ethan leaned back slightly.
Marcus continued.
“With Leo, I could be the person who saved the day.”
His voice lowered.
“With you, I already had a family.”
The room became still.
“And I took that for granted.”
Ethan looked toward the window.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he quietly replied, “That’s the first time you’ve actually sounded like my dad.”
Marcus looked at him.
But Ethan did not smile.
He did not forgive him.
Not yet.
Still, he stayed in the chair.
And for the first time in years, Marcus stayed too.
But staying in that chair was not the same as staying in Ethan’s life.
I knew that.
Ethan knew that.
Even Marcus seemed to know it.
The hardest part about rebuilding something broken was accepting that the person who caused the damage often wanted the repair to happen faster than the person who had been hurt.
For Marcus, this conversation felt like a beginning.
For Ethan, it was only the first time his father had finally stopped talking long enough to hear him.
The following weeks were uncomfortable.
Not dramatic.
Not filled with shouting.
Just uncomfortable in the way real change usually was.
Marcus started trying.
And trying, I learned, could be complicated.
He would ask Ethan questions.
Then he would interrupt with explanations.
He would apologize.
Then he would add reasons.
He was not lying.
That was what made it difficult.
Marcus truly believed he was being honest.
He just did not understand that honesty without accountability was another form of self-protection.
One evening, Ethan came into the kitchen while I was washing dishes.
“Dad asked if I wanted to go to dinner.”
I dried my hands.
“That’s good.”
Ethan leaned against the counter.
“I said maybe.”
I nodded.
“Do you want to go?”
He looked at the floor.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was more honest than anything he had said about Marcus before.
“You don’t have to decide because you think you owe him something.”
“I know.”
He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
I looked at him.
“You’re not supposed to do anything.”
He looked up.
“You’re his son.”
The words were simple.
But I watched them affect him.
Because for years Ethan had carried a responsibility that never belonged to him.
He thought he had to make peace with his father.
He thought he had to be understanding.
He thought being hurt made him unfair.
“You’re allowed to be angry,” I said.
“I am.”
“I know.”
He nodded slowly.
“But sometimes I feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“For not missing him.”
That sentence broke my heart in a way I could not explain.
Because I knew exactly what he meant.
He was not saying he hated Marcus.
He was saying the absence had become normal.
And sometimes normal was harder to mourn than loss.
“I think part of me waited so long,” Ethan said, “that when he finally showed up, I didn’t know where to put all the feelings.”
I turned off the water.
“That makes sense.”
He gave a small smile.
“You always say things make sense.”
“Because usually they do.”
“That’s annoying.”
I laughed quietly.
It was the first time in days that our house felt almost normal.
Not healed.
Not fixed.
May you like
Just alive.
A few days later, Marcus took Ethan to dinner.
