Page 104 of Miss Understanding

I didn’t realize I’d murmured the words aloud until she pulled the car over into a parking lot, turning to me with tears in her eyes. “You were always enough, Liam. So was I. So was Mom. You deserve to be loved. Just as you deserve to sit back and celebrate your accomplishments instead of searching for the next thing that will—what? Somehow prove you’re enough? Will your name on the building finally accomplish that goal?”

I shook my head, knowing deep down that it wouldn’t. Everything I’d worked for, all the accolades, all the plaques, all the money, all the possessions—none of it was filling the void I’d tried tirelessly to fill over the years. I was broken. Irrevocably unrepairable.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare start thinking something is wrong with you.”

“How did you know?” Fuck, my voice was gruff with emotion.

“Because I recognize that look. And if there is something wrong with you, then there’s something wrong with me, too.”

I took her hand, hating the tears that were tracking down her face. “There isn’t a thing wrong with you. Except, perhaps, your bowling game needs work and sometimes you’re hella nosey, but other than that, you’re perfect.”

She laughed, as I’d expected. “And there isn’t a thing wrong with you, little brother. Except maybe when you’re a dick to the people you love instead of being honest with them about your demons.”

I blew out a long breath. “Damn. Tough love.”

She squeezed my hand. “The toughest because of how much I do love you. Sugarcoating things doesn’t do you any favors. And you weren’t the only one who didn’t feel enough growing up. I was also a little broken going into a relationship.”

“How did you do it? With Warren?”

“Went to counseling. Talked about a lot of shit. The resentment. The feeling that if I’d been a better kid, perhaps Dad wouldn’t have left. The feelings of missing him, yet wishing he’d never come back, then the guilt over being grateful he hadn’t. The fear of allowing someone in and letting myself be loved. The bigger fear that I’d be like Dad when it came to parenting the girls.”

“You’re nothing like him.”

She shrugged. “Not all fear is rational. But you’re right. I’m nothing like him. It helps to have an understanding husband who knows my insecurities. But the first step in working on the problem is to be open about it.”

I couldn’t imagine telling Kendall the depth of my demons. But my sister had a point. I’d avoided relationships my entire life because they were never something I could trust I’d be good at. In avoiding love, I’d avoided leaving myself vulnerable; I’d avoided getting revealed as lacking in someone else’s eyes. Instead, I’d chosen things I could control, things I could feel safe in doing. Money, possessions, titles. They were all empty goals, yet they were safe at the same time.

“Liam, the bottom line is I deserve to be loved. And so do you. Dad didn’t leave because we weren’t good enough kids. It wasn’t because Mom wasn’t a good enough wife. It was because of his alcoholism.”

“What if Kendall deserves more?”

My sister didn’t mince words. “If you won’t be the man who gives her more, then you’re right. She does deserve better. But if you’re letting her go because you’re scared, then you’ll regret it.”

She was right. I already did.

* * *

My sister’s words stayed with me the next morning when I met her and my mother at the attorney’s office in Blacksburg. I had no idea why my father had a will, nor did I know what to expect, but it never occurred to me they’d play a video. I was so surprised I could only sit rooted to the spot, even when my sister grasped my hand.

It was him. The first time I’d seen him alive since I’d been a boy. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt and tie, he was seated in a chair in what appeared to be a small conference room in this building. He was fidgeting. “Is this thing on?” he asked the camera.

My mother started weeping at the sound of his voice.

I held my breath, muscles tensed.

Then he started talking.

“Um, I’m recording this in the event something happens to me. I haven’t taken the best care of myself over the years, so the way that I see it, it’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long. Anyhow, my lawyer advised I could just write out this will, but in case I don’t have the balls—I mean courage, sorry—to face you all again, I wanted for you to at least see my face one last time and know I mean what I have to say with all my heart. First, I’m sorry. Sorry I let the bottle get the best of me. I was weak and driven by the next drop instead of focused on what mattered most. My family. I told myself if I can get one year sober, I’ll come home. I’m twenty days away.” He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Damn if I don’t have regrets. I’d run out of video if I listed them all. But believe there wasn’t a day I didn’t think of the three of you. Not a day I didn’t love you. Not a day I didn’t wish I could’ve been the husband, and father you deserved.”

He faltered for a moment, taking a breath.

My mother and sister were doing the same.

I was simply numb.

“I don’t have much to leave you. But every penny I’d like to see go to my grandchildren. Not sure I’ll get a chance to meet them, but since I screwed up with this generation, maybe the next one will remember me as more than a drunk and an abuser. At least it’s my hope. It’s what keeps me moving forward each day to add another sober one to the count. I love you all. I’m sure it’s not obvious by my actions, but know I never stopped. I only hope I’ll get a second chance to show you that. To begin to make up for all the bad times. All right. That’s it. Hopefully, it’ll be years before you have to see this.”

It was the end of the video. I simply sat there, my arms around my mother and sister, with my emotions raw and reeling. It had been easier to put the man out of my mind permanently as a drunk abuser with no chance at redemption. Now, seeing him with clear eyes, hopefulness in his voice and regret in his words, I was faced with the very real possibility I’d screwed up by not accepting his calls.