Chương 2
My father was quiet.
For once, he did not have a quick response.
Then he said, “Your brother would never do this.”
There it was.
The comparison.
The old weapon.
Except this time it did not hurt the way it used to.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I hope Ethan never has to learn what I learned.”
“What’s that?”
“That being needed isn’t the same as being loved.”
The call ended three seconds later.
Not because I hung up.
Because he did.
I sat there for a while after.
Not crying.
Not angry.
Just sitting.
The strange thing about finally standing up for yourself was that nobody warned you about the empty space afterward.
For years, my life had been organized around solving problems.
Without those problems, I had to figure out who I was when nobody needed anything from me.
That evening, Leah found me in the garage.
I was sorting through boxes that had been sitting there for months.
She leaned against the doorframe.
“You know most people relax after getting married.”
I looked at the box in my hands.
“Apparently I do emotional renovations.”
She smiled slightly.
“That was almost funny.”
“Almost?”
“You’re rusty.”
I put the box down.
For the first time all day, I laughed.
A real laugh.
Small.
But real.
Leah walked over and sat beside me.
“You okay?”
I looked around the garage.
Old tools.
Christmas decorations.
A broken lamp I kept meaning to fix.
Things that belonged to a life I had built.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably the honest answer.”
“I thought I’d feel better.”
“Do you?”
I thought about my mother’s silence.
My father’s anger.
The letter.
The phone calls.
“No.”
Leah nodded.
“Good.”
I looked at her.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
She picked up a screwdriver from the shelf and turned it in her hand.
“If you felt amazing right now, I’d be worried.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not ending a business relationship.”
She looked at me.
“You’re grieving your parents being different people than you wanted them to be.”
I looked away.
That was the sentence I had been avoiding.
Not losing their money.
Not losing their approval.
Losing the hope that one day they would finally notice.
The next morning, Ethan called.
“Hey,” Ethan said when I answered.
I could hear traffic behind him and the faint sound of a car turn signal clicking.
He was probably sitting in his truck outside somewhere, waiting before going inside.
Ethan always needed a few seconds to prepare before uncomfortable conversations.
Even when we were kids, he would stand outside the principal’s office for five minutes before walking in.
“I heard about Mom and Dad,” he said.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“From who?”
“Mom.”
“That’s interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she called you before she called me.”
He ignored that.
“Jake, what are you doing?”
The question was not angry.
Not yet.
It sounded like he genuinely did not understand.
“I’m ending some things I should have ended a long time ago.”
“Like their housing?”
“Yes.”
“Dude.”
I looked out the window.
The backyard still had decorations from the wedding.
A few ribbons were hanging from the fence because the wind had pushed them into places we had not noticed.
“Ethan, they can find another place.”
“You know they can’t afford something like that.”
“That’s not my responsibility forever.”
There was a pause.
“You really believe that?”
I closed my eyes.
That was the thing about Ethan.
He could make a question sound reasonable even when the answer had been obvious for years.
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“I’m not saying what they said at the wedding was okay.”
“Did Mom tell you what she said?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I told her she shouldn’t have said it.”
I waited.
That was all.
“You told her she shouldn’t have said it.”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
My voice became quieter.
“Maybe care that it happened.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Why?”
“Because I do care.”
I almost believed him.
That was the frustrating part.
Ethan was not cruel.
He was not some cartoon version of a selfish brother who never noticed anything.
He noticed things.
He just noticed them after someone pointed them out.
“I paid for Mom and Dad’s medical bills last year,” I said.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Mom mentioned it.”
“Did she tell you I paid for Dad’s car?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Did she tell you I covered their phone bill for three years?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you I reduced their rent because they were struggling?”
“I knew they were paying less than normal.”
“But you didn’t know why.”
“No.”
I nodded even though he could not see me.
“That’s the difference.”
“What difference?”
“I was there.”
The silence on the other end lasted longer than before.
Then Ethan said, “I didn’t ask you to do those things.”
“No.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“That’s not my fault.”
The sentence was immediate.
Defensive.
Human.
I appreciated that more than a fake apology.
“No,” I said.
“It’s not.”
I heard him breathe out.
“But Jake, I’m trying to understand.”
“Okay.”
“Are you doing this because you want them to hurt?”
I looked down at the floor.
That question bothered me because part of me wanted to answer yes.
A small, ugly part.
The part that remembered every birthday where Ethan got the bigger celebration.
Every school event where my parents arrived late because they were helping him with something.
Every time I heard, “You’re the easy one.”
But hurting them was not the reason.
“I want them to finally see reality.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“Maybe.”
I heard him shift in his seat.
“Mom says you took the car.”
“I traded it in.”
“She says Dad needs it.”
“Dad said he was semi-retired.”
“He still has appointments.”
“Then he can find transportation.”
“You know that’s complicated.”
“So was paying for everything.”
Ethan did not answer.
May you like
The conversation ended without either of us fixing anything.
That was probably the most honest conversation we had ever had.
