Beautiful Boy(54)

"I can see you're in a better place now than you were six months ago  when you left. Whatever she's doing, whatever you're doing, it's  working. Don't give up. And if she's letting go, listen to her. Believe  in her reason, because I'm sure it wasn't an easy choice for her to  make. I know I didn't want you moving so far away, but you'd gotten to a  point where I couldn't do anything else for you. The therapists  couldn't do any more than what they'd already done. You've been given  the tools, and I think maybe it's time you learn to walk on your own."         

     



 

I wanted to ask what she meant, but my dad began his speech. It was just  like him to interrupt my mom while we were in the middle of a deep  discussion. But I couldn't do anything about it except sit back and  listen as he made himself sound amazing while blowing smoke up  everyone's asses.

"Before I begin, I would like to thank my amazing family for being here  and supporting me. My wife, Donna, has been by my side cheering me on  ever since the first day I met her. And I wouldn't have been able to  have half the successes I've been granted without her." He winked in her  direction, and I could practically feel my mother swoon next to me.

My relationship with my father might've been strained, but he and my mom  had a solid foundation, and I only wished I could have the same thing  one day.

"My son, Nolan, who's sitting beside my beautiful wife, has overcome a  lot in his life. And him being here means the world to me, showing his  support, much like he has his entire life."

I became torn between my emotions. On one hand, hearing him say  something like that about me tugged at my heartstrings. It wasn't often I  earned a compliment from him. But on the other hand, I couldn't help  the nagging voice in my head telling me he'd said it because he's in  front of a roomful of people, and it was more out of necessity than  love.

Then he continued.

"I'm sure most of you know, though some may have forgotten, Nolan fought  for our country in the War on Terror. He was deployed to Afghanistan  and then to Iraq, in which he came home a wounded war hero after losing  his leg in an IED explosion."

My face burned hot with the amount of rage coursing through my veins. My  hands shook in my lap and my leg began to bounce beneath the table. The  ringing in my ears-which I'm sure was from a spike in blood  pressure-almost drowned out the audible gasp from my mother beside me.

"But he never let that get him down. He came home, fought hard to get  back up, and now he owns and operates a very successful security  company. Even at home, he serves and protects the citizens in his  community, and I couldn't be more proud of him."

I stopped listening. I couldn't handle any more of his outright  fabrications. He'd somehow twisted my entire life to suit him, to make  him look better.

Such a fucking politician thing to do.

It had only been days ago when he sat me down and belittled my job,  calling me nothing but an administrator, yet now he paints it as this  important job. Serve and protect the citizens of my community? I catch  thieves and shoplifters at retail stores. The same job he'd recently  tried to convince me to leave because of its unimportance.

What about all the times I'd overheard him talk to my mom about my  recovery? He never hid his irritation from me over the fact I hadn't  bounced back as fast as he'd like. So why stand up there and say he's  proud of how hard I fought to regain my life again?

I hadn't regained shit in his eyes.

My life was in shambles, yet he made me out to be some pillar of the community. Some upstanding guy who overcame adversity.

Not to mention, what right did he have to speak openly about my personal  tragedies? Who was he to air my story to a roomful of strangers?

I wanted to get up and walk out, but my mother's hand on my arm kept me  in my seat. Her glistening eyes prevented my backlash from escaping.  Sympathy was written all over her face, and I could tell she had nothing  to do with his speech.

"Let me handle it," she whispered, and I couldn't do anything other than  offer a slight and strained nod. "At least wait for him to finish  before leaving."

"Why do you care?" My words gritted out through clenched teeth, sounding hoarse and angry even to my own ears.

"Because if you interrupt him, it'll only bring the storm to your front  door. If you want to walk away, I'll support you. But I don't think you  should go before speaking your mind. You deserve to get this off your  chest instead of taking it home with you."

"You know I can't talk to him here."

"Talking to him doesn't have to be an argument, Nolan. You can calmly  express yourself away from prying ears in a mature fashion, and then  leave."

I thought about it, but once again, panic struck me deep. I'd longed to  escape my father so many times. Growing up, I couldn't wait to get out  of his grasp, out from under his control, but it didn't happen the way  I'd planned. And in the end, I found myself back under his roof, back at  his feet. And when I finally found the courage to leave again, to truly  get away, I'd inadvertently lost my relationship with my mother in the  process.         

     



 

"He doesn't deserve to be in my life, but I don't want to cut you out,  too. If I tell him-even calmly or in a mature fashion-it won't be kind,  and it will more than likely sever my ties with him. So how do I do that  without losing you?"

She ignored the tear falling to her chin and grabbed my hand. "I don't  think you have to cut ties with your father. He's the type of man who  needs to be stood up to. If you don't assert yourself, he will blindly  walk all over you. He's in politics-it's how they operate. Standing up  to him won't push him away; it'll more than likely bring him closer,  make him understand and respect you more. But you can't go off like a  loose cannon."

I sat at the table with my hand in my mom's and waited for his speech to  conclude. I didn't bother listening to the rest of it. Instead, I  stared at the condensation rolling off my glass of water and  contemplated what I'd say to my father. I had so many years of anger  built up, but my mom was right. I couldn't come at him looking for a  fight. So I took advantage of the time and organized my thoughts.

Finally, his speech ended. But then he made his rounds, shaking hands  and making small talk with the guests. I didn't want to keep waiting  around, and eventually I grew tired of it. I knew I needed to talk to  him, and I also understood this was his night, but the longer I stayed,  the worse I felt, and I knew I had to leave before my carefully planned  words went up in smoke.

I kissed my mom's cheek and ignored the sadness in her eyes before  heading toward the front. Luckily, I was the only one out there aside  from the valet, so I didn't have to wait in line to get my car.

After the attendant left to pull my car around, I heard heavy stomping  on the concrete behind me. "What do you think you're doing walking out  like this? Do you have any idea how that looks?"

I turned around, catching the ruddy color on my father's cheeks. I  didn't even need to see his expression. His tone made it abundantly  clear just how pissed off he was.

I took a deep breath, needing something to calm me before my own anger  rose to the surface. "Dinner is over. Your speech is over. I didn't see  any reason to stick around longer. I have a two-hour drive home and work  tomorrow."

"One night … it's all I asked of you. One night to support me. To show  your support for me. And what do you do? You keep to yourself most of  the night, refuse to speak at dinner, and now I have to leave my own  party to chase you down because you decided to leave without saying  anything to me."

I took a step closer to him, squaring my shoulders. We were the same  height, but my build was bigger than his, and this was the first time  I'd ever positioned myself this way in front of him to notice. But I had  to admit … it felt damn good.

"I have supported you my entire life," I said, keeping my tone even yet  low. I made sure my words were carefully spoken so they could not be  misconstrued as an argument. "I do not need to be here to support you."

He rolled his eyes, but before he could respond, I spoke again, making  sure my brisk tone conveyed I would not be walked over. Not this time.  Not ever again.

"And don't tell me you only asked for one night. You know as well as I  do this was just the first of many nights-you've already eluded more  would follow. But I'll go ahead and tell you now so there won't be any  confusion later … this is the last time. I won't be attending any future  events."

He narrowed his eyes on me as the vein in his temple bulged with  pressure. "After everything I've done for you … this is how you repay me? I  need you at my side, to show a unified front, and you're refusing to do  so?"

"All you've done for me?" I wanted to say so much more, point out just  how much he'd "done for me," but I kept it in. I knew if I let my anger  out, there would be no controlling the full extent of my rage.