“That actually makes sense,” Laser says softly. “Like getting rid of a tumor or something. Get the poison out and then you’ll feel free.”
I nod. “Exactly. Would you want to go next, Laser? Since this is resonating with you?”
He clears his throat and runs a massive hand through his short-cropped hair. “Sure. Um, this is my grandmother. I’m angry with her for kicking my mom and me out on the streets and for never lifting a finger to help her daughter. I’m pissed that she brags about me to her friends like she had something to do with my success, when I never would have been able to play hockey if my stepdad hadn’t paid for it after he and Mom got married.” His volume drops and his voice tightens as he adds, “But most of all I’m mad that she taught me how shitty people can be when I was so little. I would have liked the chance to grow up like a normal kid instead of being so fucking jaded straight out of the gate.”
Heads nod around the circle, his words clearly hitting home for a lot of us. I feel the same way. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t aware of the fact that I was a burden to my dad, an unwanted second girl child when he would have been happier with just Derrick.
“But I don’t want to carry that rock around in my gut anymore,” he says, standing up straighter. “So, Gram, I’m sorry. Please forgive me and…” He glances up. “I forgot the rest.”
“Thank you, I love you, goodbye,” I whisper.
“Thank you, I love you, goodbye,” he echoes, dropping his picture into the pit, too. As it catches fire, he lets out a shaky laugh before lifting his gaze to the group with a wide grin. “Wow. That felt good, fam. Like…really good. Seriously, that’s some kind of magic.”
“And it’s something you can repeat, over and over,” I add. “If you find those old feelings coming back up and you need a reminder of how good it feels to let go.” I scan the faces around the fire. “Who wants to go next?”
Sassy Sven lifts an arm. “Me. I’m so done with my ex.”
One by one, the players say their piece and toss their art into the flames until only Kyle and Ian are left.
Kyle is still standing there with his jaw clenched and his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, his body language practically shouting that he’s not ready for this, so I’m not surprised when Ian offers to go next.
“This is a guy from my old neighborhood where I grew up,” he says, holding up his drawing of my dad. “He was hard on some friends of mine, especially his daughter. She was this sweet, magical little kid. Super smart and talented and just…cool, you know? One of those younger siblings you don’t mind hanging out with you and your friends.”
He gets murmured responses from Braxton and Laser, but Sassy Sven is watching him with narrowed eyes that he shifts my way after a beat or two.
Say what you want about Sassy, but he’s no dummy.
Ian isn’t so much as glancing my direction, but Sven is already hot on this trail. I should probably try to redirect in some way but I’m too curious to hear what Ian will say next.
I’ve always known he liked me well enough, but I never knew he felt this way, that he thought I was “magical.” It’s a special thing to hear, especially considering I’ve always found him pretty magical, too. From the day we first met, when he gave me his colored pencils—a gift that felt like the answer to a prayer to a shattered little girl who had no idea why her dad was so mad all the time—I’ve suspected he might be part guardian angel.
“Anyway, that was my first experience with someone who was just plain mean to his kid sometimes, and it hit me pretty hard. One time, after he locked the little girl out of the house for hours on a cold day because he was pissed about some stupid thing, I asked my mom if we should report him to Child Protective Services. But she said no. That the little girl would probably end up somewhere even worse, and that if she stayed put, at least I could help watch out for her.”
He stretches his neck to one side and then the other, his gaze still fixed on the firepit. “But I’ve always wondered if that was the right call, especially after I got drafted out of the minors a couple years after graduation and moved to the city. She was only twelve and all alone in that house with him. Every time my friend and I stopped by to visit, she seemed quieter than the last time, like she was retreating into herself and…” He shrugs tightly. “That made me feel like shit. And it definitely got in my head. Every time I so much as think of this guy, I get pissed off and frustrated by how little control I have over most things in life.”
“But seems like the little girl turned out fine,” Sven says, with more compassion than I expected from him. “All’s well that ends well.”
I sniff discreetly and blink away the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes.
I want to tell Ian that I did turn out fine, that I am fine, but hearing someone else’s perspective on my dad suddenly puts all the stress of growing up in that house in a different perspective. I’ve always told myself that it wasn’t really that bad—Dad didn’t beat me, I never went to bed hungry, and he eventually got his drinking under control—but maybe it was worse than I’ve wanted to admit.
If I knew a little girl who got shut out of her house on a freezing cold day because she forgot to lock the door on her way to school that morning, would I still think it was just a family squabble?
No, I wouldn’t. I would want to save that little girl, to wrap her up in a big snuggly blanket, take her home with me, and make sure she never had to walk on eggshells to stay safe ever again.
That was my childhood—trying to stay safe and fly under the radar. Forget being loved or listened to or understood. That was for other kids, people like Ian and Jess, who both had warm, wonderful parents, and Cameron, whose single mom was devoted to helping her boy grow up strong and happy. Even Harlow’s shouty dad and overbearing mother always bossed her around from a place of love.
And maybe that’s why I’ve never gotten serious with anyone.
It’s not just my body that I’ve been holding back. It’s my heart, too. I’ve never fallen for one of the guys I’ve dated. I’ve never let myself because…
Well, because I guess secretly, I’ve always assumed that no one would love me back. My own mother and father didn’t, so why would a romantic partner?
The realization makes me feel like I’m drowning on dry land.
After years of therapy, I thought I had myself figured out but…guess not.
I fight to pull in a breath, but my lungs are locked, frozen, and my heart feels like it’s about to burst.
I’m getting perilously close to losing my shit and my therapist street cred when Ian says, “But this guy doesn’t get to live rent-free in my head anymore. I can be there for my friends without wasting another second on his drama. So…I’m sorry that I didn’t do what felt right all those years ago. Please forgive me. Thank you, I love you,” he says before dropping the drawing into the pit.
I watch the edges catch fire and the flames quickly spread to consume my father’s face and I feel…better.
Not only is the worst of this experience finally over, but I can’t help but notice Ian’s modifications to the mantra, that his apology seemed intended for me and that he didn’t say goodbye.