“Are you going to be okay?” The nurse asks while picking up her things.
I pull out my wallet and give her all the cash that I have with me. They don’t get paid enough for what they do. At least, this should help her in some way.
“Thank you for staying with him during his last days.”
“Money doesn’t absolve you from not being here,” she says. “No one deserves to die the way he did.”
The money isn’t a way to ask for absolution, just an extra payment for everything she does. I don’t care what she thinks about me. Still, I say, “I tried to make it on time. Not because he deserves better, but because even he should’ve had someone to hold his hand during those last minutes.”
She looks at me, trying to understand how I can seem so callous. But what she doesn’t know is that there’s always another side to the story. My brothers and I loved our father; he’s the one who couldn’t love us back.
Once she leaves, I’m left in a big, cold, empty house that looks pristine, and yet, it feels cold and haunted. His bedroom is at the top of the penthouse as I predicted. It has a big four poster bed, and on the nightstand there’s a picture of him with the seven of us. Beacon, the baby, is just a toddler. There’s also a copy of the one photograph that I have in my office. It’s the one Mom took of the two of us when I was a kid.
It’s of just the two of us, while we were visiting Baker’s Creek. He’s teaching me how to fish by the lake. It’s one of the few memories I have of him. He looks so much like me. Actually, I look so much like him at that age. The guy might’ve died alone, but once, he had a wife—a family. I’m as successful as he was, and all my life I’ve fought to be nothing like him. That’s taken me nowhere. I’m really not that different than him, am I?
The pang in my chest has nothing to do with the man in the picture, but the fact that, if I die right now, there’ll just be a nurse shutting down the machines and unhooking me before they haul me away. There’s no one who would care about me, except my mother, of course, but she has a life in another country.
My mind automatically brings up the memories of Blaire. I can’t get her out of my mind. It was long ago, but it feels like everything happened just yesterday. That’s a fucking loss I will never recover from. I crave her, but the best way to quench the thirst is with alcohol. I go back to the library, hoping Dad continued storing his scotch in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Henry and I used to find it there all the time when we were teenagers. Sure enough, I find it. A brand new Macallan. I don’t bother to find a glass.
I just open it, lift it, and say, “For you, old man. May you find some peace after destroying so many lives.” Then I take a long swallow.
Not sure how much time passes, but when I realize that I’ve drank half the bottle, I’m also aware that I forgot to eat, and I’m drunk. Inebriated, yet I still don’t feel sad about the loss of William. All I can think of is the anger and the resentment that’s been eating away at me for all these years.
I’m a fucking wreck.
Is it just me? Maybe my brothers are happily married, or at least have a relationship with someone who, in a way, might fulfill their lives.
Me … I can’t even have a fucking relationship.
“And whose fault is that, asshole? You had it all and threw it away!”
After two perfect years with the most fantastic woman in the world, I just told her it was over.
“Coward,” I yell, and my voice continues to echo around the penthouse. “You were a fucking coward.”
Yet, the first chance she had she married my fucking brother. She couldn’t wait for me.
“Did you ask her to wait?” I continue talking … more like yelling to myself. “You just left her there, crying, after you told her it was over.”
But how could I stay? What if she left me? My father taught me that nothing is permanent, and no one ever stays. Keeping people at arm’s length has always been easier. That way, they can’t abandon you; they can’t fucking hurt you.
Yet, here I am.
Alone.
I remember that book, Walden by Thoreau, where he went to the woods because he wanted to live with a fucking purpose. Yet, he realized he isolated himself and never really lived.
That’s me, isolating myself from everyone because I am terrified that, at some point, everyone is going to leave me or hurt me.
Years later, my life is inconsequential. It’s now when I’m older that I realized it is people who make it worth it. What was the point of avoiding emotional entanglements and evading the messiness that relationships bring? Sure, no one ever disappointed me, but I disappointed myself.
“Look at you, asshole. You’re a fucking mess.”
I’m fucking envious of my brothers who I’m sure get together at least once a year. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who has pushed everyone away.
Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Fix your life. Face your fears.”
What if I look for Blaire and I show her…?
Nothing. I’m such a contradiction. I can’t just show up at her door and say, Here I am. Love me. I bet she’s married, with children, and living the life she always planned. I couldn’t mess up a good thing. All I want is for her to be happy, and I wouldn’t dare to jeopardize her life, just because I am a fucking failure.
How am I supposed to live without her?
After twelve years, I’ve never even tried to forget her. I still love her with all my heart.
What we had was eternal love, wasn’t it? Perhaps we were too young to feel so strongly for each other. Nobody could understand us and what we had.
We existed for each other. I still exist for her.
If only there’s such a thing as second chances.
Three
Hayes
My parents met in college. Mom was studying pre-med and Dad was working toward his master’s degree in business. They dated for a couple of years and married right after she graduated. It was a small ceremony in Baker’s Creek, followed by a religious wedding and a huge party in Mexico City with Mom’s relatives.
That year, she was accepted at Johns Hopkins, and they moved to Maryland. Well, Mom moved to Maryland, and Dad commuted to New York City. She was busy with med school, and Dad spent weekdays in New York City where he worked with my grandfather at Aldridge Enterprises.
Needless to say, that’s where he met his first mistress—Debra Merkel. The heiress to Merkel Hotels and Spas. That’s also when he fathered Henry, who happens to be a year older than me. It’s no surprise my big brother resents me.
He’s the first born. How is it possible that I got to have a dad, and he didn’t?
What he doesn’t understand is that I barely saw our father. He was too busy closing deals, traveling, settling into a different city, and fathering more children.
Henry and I have a complicated relationship. When he’s not being an asshole, we get along pretty well. Unfortunately, he thrives on being a fucking prick.
I open the door to Henry’s office, and his deep forest green eyes, just like mine, stare at me. We both look a lot like my father: tall, chestnut brown hair, straight nose, and well built. It’s not like looking at the mirror since I have olive skin, but everyone could guess that we’re related.