My mom confided to me the other day over breakfast that when she and my dad married, he wasn't quite ready for marriage. Confide is a silly word to use, because this fact wasn't in the least bit new to me. I can remember myself, aged somewhere between 6 and 9, being told the very same secret as my mom sat in the kitchen at 2 am, wondering where her husband had gone (the bar) and when he would be home (various times and dates). I laugh at it now, the thought of my dad even having the time to be such a headache, but I've begun to wonder how much has really changed.
My dad's last month at home was spent neglecting my mom and building mountains for the centennial instead. Chores were left incomplete, he only took Katie driving a grand total of one time, he recruited me to pick up some of his slack and when his mood would hit a one certain point, he'd throw words around that I don't think he really meant. There was something alarming about the whole thing, an unsettled air in the house, which i realize now was an invisible bridge burning. My mom's doubting that he ever really wanted this family, and he's too busy to change his ways. Flipping through some new books in the car, I found a relationship book at the bottom of the heap, tucked away almost ashamedly, in that dust-under-the-carpet way that neglected wives seem to have perfected.
I skimmed over it (as is so much like my mother, she bought this one titled "Actually, It Really Is Your Parents' Fault" or something to that effect) in an attempt to diagnose the severity of the situation. All efforts proved fruitless (I did, however, learn that Evan's problems all stem from the lack of a mother figure in his life. See paragraph 1, line 2). She may have bought it just to find yet another flaw she could blame her mother for. She may have bought it because she's running out of options. This is the first relationship book ever to enter our household. My parents don't fight. I don't know what to think, really. A very, very small part of my kind of wishes that they would get divorced. Very small. Most of me just wishes my dad would stop working so fucking much.
I'm running out of patience, boy. Brace yourself, I could open my big mouth any second now and kill everything we've worked so hard to build up.
Or you know, convince you to take me out to supper so I can try to make you fall for me like you've made me for you.
It's hard to be this naive, this conceited, this dumb.
-Manda
I've got a sureshot way to work things out
All of this growing up has worn you down
I've got a sureshot way to kill your doubts
Find what your following and chase it down
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