Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(85)

“Did she ask you to stay?”

“I meannn… like… no. But we haven’t talked about the future or anything. I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right to go. Especially when there’s opportunity here.”

“That’s kinda romantic, Bash. Impulsive. But romantic.”

“Whatever,” he said, bashful. “Call Reshma.”

“What’s the second healthy decision?”

Bash pulled up to a sitting position on the couch, his feet on the floor. Suddenly nervous, he set the Smurf on the coffee table. His hands felt unsteady, and he didn’t want to disturb the delicate, glued pieces. “I decided to talk to Dad. Well, not talk. Write him an email.”

Clio’s gasp was so sharp and loud, it was like she was sitting next to him.

“You were right. It’s not about letting him off the hook. It’s about closure before he… he’s…”

“Before he’s gone,” said Clio.

“Right.” Bash swallowed uncomfortably. No one he’d ever known had died. What would it be like for Milton to just disappear?

He already has, thought Bash. He disowned you. Don’t forget that.

“I just wanna move on,” he continued. “I have good things in my life now. But I can’t fully feel them because he’s just weighing me down. It’s like he’s the devil on my shoulder, reminding me that I ruined his life. And mine.” He paused, waiting for Clio’s response. “You there?”

“Yeah! Sorry, I was nodding,” she said breathlessly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t be yet. I haven’t written it. I don’t know where to start.”

And then Clio began listing off ideas for opening sentences. Clearly, she’d been thinking about this a lot. Nothing she said rang true, though. Her issues with Milton were different than his. She never knew him, but Bash knew him too well.

As his sister talked, he zoned out a bit. Just staring at his patched-up Smurf and racking his brain for how to say goodbye to his dying father. His first champion, his fiercest enemy. A man whose demons, whatever they were, had zero to do with Bash. But he’d made his son pay for them nevertheless.

Bash looked at the Smurf lunch box. The Smurf lunch box looked back at him. No one would’ve known he’d glued its sad, cracked body back together again. It looked like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing ever happened.

His spine went rigid. That was it. He knew exactly what to say. Hastily, he ushered Clio off the phone. And he began typing into his notes app. No thinking, no second-guessing—just spilling his immediate thoughts onto the screen.

But first, he set the timer on his phone.

Dear Dad,

I was never going to speak to you again. But Clio convinced me to, and I think she’s right. It’s probably not healthy to swallow my feelings forever. I don’t want them to turn sour inside me and make me mean. Maybe that’s what happened to you. Maybe something happened in your past that killed your kindness. I don’t know, because you never talked to me, person to person. I’ll never know now. And that’s okay.

I met a girl, and I like her so much it scares me sometimes. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Yesterday, she told me that anything less than emotional honesty is cheating. I don’t want to cheat myself. So, here’s the truth.

You were a dictator, not a dad. You pushed me till my body broke. You never asked me how I felt. And all I wanted was to please you… on the track, in interviews, at college scouting trips. I tried to be perfect so you’d love me. I failed. But I kept trying to make things perfect.

And now, I think I’m addicted to it. I deliberately throw parties at Jennifer’s house just so I can clean up afterward. The other day, somebody chipped one of Jennifer’s vases, and I went to the hardware store and learned how to make it new again. I just spent the whole day refurbishing a broken Smurf! There’s no high like fixing what’s broken. And I think it’s a metaphor, right? I do it because I couldn’t patch up what broke between us.

And I won’t try now. It’d probably take more time than you’ve got.

The only thing I regret about the “scandal” is that Jaden got hurt. I know he’ll have a good life, though. I’ll have one, too. You wasted yours despising what you don’t understand. Couldn’t be me.

I need peace. So, I forgive you, Dad. I hope that, wherever you’re going, you’ll find peace, too.

Your son,

Sebastian



He checked the timer. Five minutes and three seconds. He’d beaten the time it had taken for Milton to disown him. He’d beaten it. From that moment on, Bash stopped obsessively timing things. The “seven minutes” spell had been broken.

Before he could read over what he wrote—or change his mind—Bash emailed the letter to his dad. And he closed that chapter of his life. It was a door he’d never open again.

Waves of relief washed over him with such force, he felt faint. He flopped back onto the couch and lay there, too wrung-out to do anything but stare at the ceiling. After some unknown amount of time, he snapped back to life. Got up. Grabbed his wallet and phone. And left.

The past was behind him. Audre was his future. And he couldn’t get to her fast enough.