“She looked so happy here,” I said. “I wonder who she thought she was marrying.”
John came up beside me. “She was beautiful, too.”
“Always.”
John’s lips twisted into a grimace. “She had no idea he was going to ruin everything for her.”
I sighed, put the picture down, and turned just in time to see our old man hobble into the living room. He wore his usual Levi jeans and a plaid shirt tucked into his old leather belt with the ranch buckle—a mustang mid-leap.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “I see you boys have come to your senses and want to talk about your inheritance.”
John and I exchanged a look.
“Dad, take a seat,” John said.
Our father sat and barked at John to pour him a glass of lemonade. My brother obliged, and we took our seats across the coffee table from the man who’d made our childhoods a living hell. He sipped his lemonade and studied us like we were strangers. We were.
He didn’t know the man I’d become. He never even knew the boy I used to be. And I certainly didn’t know him, either. At least, I didn’t know the real him. I knew his anger and his hatred because they burned inside me just the same.
John looked over at me and I nodded.
Let’s do this.
My older brother took the lead. “Dad, we’re not here to negotiate the terms of our return.”
Our father grunted. “The fuck you want, then?”
John opened his mouth to speak, but I leaned forward, holding my glass of lemonade between my knees. “We don’t want anything from you. We’re here to tell you why we’re not coming back. We’re here to be honest with you.”
His wrinkly old eyes narrowed. “You’ve gone soft, just like your mother.”
I let his words roll off my back. His opinions meant nothing to me. I didn’t respect him. I didn’t need him. “Thank God we’re like her,” I said. “She was the only good thing about this place, until you destroyed that, too.”
He rolled his eyes. “Here we go. That woman made her own choices. She ran, like a coward, because you two became too much for her to deal with. Always asking for stuff. Always needing her. Always hanging off her. Always whining for something.” He waved a dismissive hand at us. “You want to know why she left? She left because you two were sniveling little shits. She had good enough sense.”
John stiffened.
The anger I expected to feel never came, so I kept talking. “We’re not here to talk about Mom, either. I’m done avoiding you and my past. I’m here to look you in the eyes and tell you that you failed us. And you failed her, too. I have no interest in coming back to this ranch because you tainted every inch of this place for me. You were never there for us. You hurt our mother, you hurt us, and you blamed everything and everyone but yourself for the destruction you caused. You chose your girlfriends and your money over us at every turn. You tortured Mom until she withered away to almost nothing and had no choice but to leave out of survival. And you have never, ever taken accountability for any of the things you’ve done. You’re a weak man, Dad. You always have been.”
He stared incredulously at me.
John leaned back with a satisfied sound, like I’d just given voice to every dark thought he’d ever had.
Air rushed out of my lungs. That felt fucking good.
“How dare you speak to me like that in my own house?” our father said, spittle forming on his lips.
“There are no consequences you can dish out anymore,” I said simply. “We are our own men now. We’re not afraid of you. We don’t respect you. We don’t want anything to do with you. I came here to look you in the eyes and face you because I had to. I had to see what I was becoming. I’m not like you, and I never will be.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I stood. “You don’t have to understand. This isn’t about you.”
John stood, too.
“Sit your asses back down,” our old man hissed. He stumbled to his feet, his old cowboy boots clunking on the hardwood floors. “You’re the same as you always were. A spoiled, pathetic, sniveling little shit always looking for someone else to save him.”
Here it was. This was what I used to do when I was angry. I’d lash out. I’d point fingers and say cruel things to take the attention off myself. I’d villainize everyone else around me to avoid facing the truth and acknowledging that the only one to blame for my pain, my loneliness, and my emptiness was my own damn self.