“Can we wait a little bit?” he asks.
“Sure.”
While he waits, he fidgets with everything. The air vents, his seat belt, the music on his Bluetooth. Ten minutes pass while I patiently give him the time to work up whatever courage he’s in need of that will help him open the door.
I look at the house, taking my attention off Josh for a while. There’s an old white Ford in the driveway, which is probably why Josh hasn’t worked up the courage to walk across the street and knock on his door yet. It’s an indicator that someone is probably home.
I haven’t tried to talk him out of this because I know what it’s like to want to know your father. He’s going to live in this fantasy until he’s able to confront his reality. As a kid, I had the highest hopes for family, too, but after years of being disappointed, I realized that just because you’re born into a group of people, that doesn’t make them your family.
“Should I just go knock?” Josh finally asks. He’s scared, and to be honest, I’m not feeling the bravest right now, either. I went through a lot with Tim. I’m not looking forward to seeing him again, and I am absolutely dreading the potential outcome of this meeting.
I don’t think this is the best place for Josh, and I’m in no position to tell him he can’t reconnect with his father. But my biggest fear is that he’s going to choose to stay here. That Tim is going to be like my mother and welcome Josh with open arms, simply because he knows it’s the one thing I don’t want to happen.
“I can go with you if you want,” I say, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I’ll have to stand in front of that man and pretend I don’t want to punch him for the sake of my little brother.
Josh doesn’t move for a while. I’m staring at my phone, attempting to appear patient as he works up courage, but I want to throw the car in drive and get him out of here.
I eventually feel Josh’s finger briefly graze an old scar on my arm, so I look over at him. He’s staring at my arm, taking in the faded scars that remain from the shit I endured living with Sutton and Tim. Josh has never asked me about the scars, though.
“Did Tim do that to you?”
I clench my arm and nod. “Yeah, but it was a long time ago. How he treats a son might be completely different from how he treated a stepson.”
“That shouldn’t matter, right? If he treated you like that, why should he get another chance with me?”
It’s the first time Josh has come close to admitting his father isn’t a hero.
I don’t want to be the person he blames in the future for not having a relationship with his dad, but I want to tell him he’s right. His father shouldn’t get another chance. He left and never looked back. There’s no excuse good enough to walk away from your son.
There’s this toxic belief that family should stick together simply because they’re family. But the best thing I ever did for myself was walk away from them. It scares me to think of where I might be had I not done that. It scares me to think of where Josh might end up if he doesn’t do that.
Josh looks past me, toward the house. His eyes grow a little wider, prompting me to turn and look.
Tim is outside, making his way from the front door to his truck. Josh and I watch in mutually stunned silence.
He looks fragile—older and smaller. Or maybe that’s because I’m no longer a kid.
He’s swigging from the last of a beer can when he opens the front door to his truck. He tosses the empty can into the bed and then leans inside his cab in search of something.
“I don’t know what to do,” Josh whispers. He seems all of the twelve years old that he is right now. It kind of breaks my heart to see him so nervous. Josh’s eyes are pleading for truth when he looks back at me, like he needs me to guide him in this moment.
I’ve never said a bad word about Tim to Josh, but knowing I’m not being completely honest with him about my feelings feels like I’m doing a disservice to him as a brother. Maybe my silence on the matter is more damaging than my truth would be.
I sigh and set my phone down, giving this moment my full attention. Not that it didn’t have my full attention before, but I was trying to give Josh space. It doesn’t seem like he wants it, though. He wants brutal honesty, and what else is an older brother good for if not for that?
“I don’t know my dad,” I admit. “I know his name, but that’s about it. Sutton said he left when I was young, probably about the same age you were when Tim left. It used to bother me, not knowing my father. I used to worry about him. I imagined there was something awful that was keeping him away, like he was locked up in a prison somewhere on a wrongful conviction. I used to come up with these wild scenarios that would excuse how he could know I existed but not be in my life. Because what kind of man could have a son and not want to know him?”