Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But I wouldn’t admit that to Finn. And I wouldn’t let him tell me what to do. “I want to drive. I need the time alone to think about all this.”
Finn sighed heavily. “Whatever. You do it your way, like you always have. But I cannot stress enough how important it is that you are here for that appointment. I had to call in a lot of favors to get it. And for God’s sake, be careful.”
“I will.” Evan approached on his bike and I lifted a hand in greeting, then held up one finger to let him know I’d only be another minute. He nodded and began locking up his bike.
“Are you taking the Depakote?”
“Yes.” But I wasn’t, not regularly. It made me feel dizzy and tired, and I wasn’t convinced I needed it.
“Good, you need to. Especially if you’re driving. What about the eye doctor? Did you go back?”
“Yeah. She changed my prescription.”
“Did it help with the headaches or vision issue?”
“Some.”
“Good. Please call Mom and Dad, okay? I know things aren’t easy with them, but this isn’t just about you.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Finn. In fact, this is just about me. It’s my head, my future, my decision. And I will deal with the consequences of whatever action I choose to take. Wasn’t that the whole point of Mom and Dad sending me away? So I could learn the hard lessons?”
“Christ, Dallas. Why do you have to be such a defensive asshole all the time? They tried everything they could to get through to you, to ensure you’d have a good future, and you kept fucking up. What were they supposed to do?”
Accept me for who I was, I wanted to say. Better yet, except me for who I wasn’t—you. But he would never understand.
“Nothing, Finn. Forget it. I’ll see you next week.”
Another heavy sigh from my brother. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you. And … I’m glad you reached out.”
“Yeah, well …” I looked at Evan, who jerked his head toward the door, signaling he’d go in without me. I nodded. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.” I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and went into the brewery. Spotting Evan at the bar, I made my way over and took the seat next to him. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. Your brother?” Evan was the only person I’d told about what was going on with me.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have to cut the call short.”
“I was pretty much done. There’s only so much fake concern I can take.”
“Come on, man. They’re your family. Isn’t it possible they are actually concerned about you?”
“It’s all fake with them. Or it’s just because I’m their blood relative. It’s not because they care about me. There’s a difference.”
“You don’t think it’s possible for them to come around? Maybe they didn’t get you as a kid, but—”
“Because they never made any effort to get me. They expected a certain kind of son, and I was never going to be him. So they got rid of me.”
Of course, that was a bit of a simplification. I was leaving out the parts where I failed classes on purpose, got into fights that had nothing to do with me, mouthed off when I felt like it, and pulled some pretty ridiculous pranks. But all these years later, it still made me angry that they’d attended every single one of Finn’s endless piano recitals, but they’d never once come to an art showing of mine.
It’s not a performance, Dallas. It’s just a drawing, I can see it at home. It’s not like you’d actually be doing anything while we were there.
After a while, I didn’t even invite them anymore. It’s not like they’d have appreciated it anyway. One Christmas I gave my father a sketch I’d done of his childhood home. He’d studied it critically and said, You got the windows wrong.
I shook my head. “You know what? It was better that way. I’m just different from my family. I’m sure they were happier when they didn’t have to deal with my shit anymore, and I was glad to get out of their house. There’s a reason they’re all on the East Coast and I’m in Portland.”
“I get it, man.” He shrugged. “You’re just so laid back about every other thing in life except your family. Seems like, with everything happening, this might be a good opportunity to—”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Evan held up his hands. “Okay. No problem.”
The bartender came over, and after we placed our orders, I asked Evan how his wife, who was nearly nine months pregnant, was doing. He groaned and launched into a huge diatribe against pregnancy in general and his wife in particular. Our beers arrived and I listened to Evan talk, but my mind wandered. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maren.