On top of it all, they went out and bought a house that neither of them has ever figured out how to live in and spend most of their time slamming doors and screaming at each other. Their vocabulary seems to consist of a few set phrases, including:
“Did you take your medicine?”
“Shut up.”
“I need money.”
“Fuck off.”
And his favourite, “Mind your own fucking business.”
It's not healthy. It’s not the relationship he’d envisioned when he became a single father at the tender age of twenty-something, in the middle of his studies with his whole life planned out in front of him.
It would have been fine if it had been Linnea. He could have co-parented with Linnea, the girlfriend who had kept him more than busy during high school. They would have worked it out. He could have loved Linnea, even though they had broken up and got back together too many times for him to remember. But no, he had to go and knock up some random chick on a night out, too drunk out of his head to realise he never put a condom on. It had been stupid. Reckless. Idiotic. The final nail in the coffin of his long-doomed relationship with Linnea.
Max’s mother had been great about it, honestly. She could have kept her mouth shut and given the kid away. Put him up for adoption. Let her parents raise him. She had several options, but instead she was frank and direct and told him to man up and get ready. Because she would birth this baby, and because she was nowhere near ready to be a parent, he had to be.
Apparently, the universe had decided he was ready. And a few months later, he collected his tiny mess of a son from the hospital, signing the paperwork for sole custody right next to where she had signed her parental rights away.
To be honest, the first years were easy. He had done well. Their lives were idyllic. Innocent and happy. Until things became hard. Tom doesn’t remember when it started, the subtle changes. Well, he did not even notice until it was too late. Until the relationship with his beloved amazing child had crumbled to the point where they would sit quietly and stare into the walls, not knowing where on earth to even start unravelling the mountains of unspoken words that had built a wall between the two of them.
He misses Max. Misses the relationship they once had, now lost to the innocence of childhood. Max even used to climb into bed next to him almost every night, until just after his sixteenth birthday. Until right before his first major episode that has catapulted the two of them into the abyss of adulthood. Where words have become weapons and affection is something in the past.
He can’t remember the last time he hugged his son. The last time he woke up with the mess of soft hair against his back. Because Max used to be just as tactile as Tom is, full of hugs and hands and laughter. Tom can’t even remember the last time he heard Max laugh. The last time he saw him smile.
This is not the way he’s envisioned growing old, alone. He is frightened of even bringing up the fact that the way they are living their lives is becoming unsustainable.
He still loves him, to the point of insanity. He screams and shouts and calls him names, regretting it immediately, and throws himself at the locked door between them, apologising profusely, as Max retreats even further into the silence he seems to prefer these days.
Still, Tom is doing the little bits. He’s doing the only thing he can do right now, which is just being there. Swishing another stash of guilt money into his son's account. Buying fancy convenience food that seem to mysteriously disappear from
their mess of a fridge, leaving dirty dishes and cups growing bacteria in the sink.
TOM: Do you want to go to IKEA after the meeting tonight? I was thinking we could just throw everything that is festering in the damn sink into the bin. Just replace it with new stuff. I can’t be bothered to clean it up - Dad.
There probably won’t be an answer to the text. He knows Max too well, he will just dismiss Tom’s pathetic attempt at communicating. His complete failure at humouring the kid.
MAX: Pathetic Dad.
MAX: A) you don’t need to sign every text with Dad. I know it’s you texting me.
MAX: B) Just stating the obvious, you will be hopping mad when you find out how many subjects I am failing. Just giving you a fair warning. We won’t be going anywhere together soon, since you will probably kill me before we even get to the train. I am not sleeping at home tonight. Tough.
Tom just smiles. At least it’s something.
TOM: Yes, you are. I am still your father and as such, I can demand your presence. For fuck’s sake Max, just hang out with me for a change.
There we go. He is already losing his shit. Pressing send before he can rein himself and his filter-less mouth in. Or his texting finger. Whatever.
MAX: And subject myself to your snarky lectures on how I am completely messing up my future prospects? No thanks.
Touché.
TOM: Can we at least be civil? Please? Talk to me. What subjects are you failing? I promise I won’t be mad.
But Tom will lose his shit. He usually does, especially since Max knows how to push all his buttons. Every fucking one.
MAX: Biology, Maths and Drama. Fine?
For fuck’s sake. At least he is trying. He takes a deep breath before letting his fingers tap across the screen.
TOM: You love Drama. It’s what you wanted to get into? Why you chose Östra Real over Rudbeck’s Senior School? How can you be failing Drama? Not having a go but I thought you liked it?
He is trying. Honestly. And failing miserably. Tom lets a sigh escape from his lungs. He shouldn’t have sent that. He knows better than to argue.
MAX: Drama is full of wankers.
Deep breath.
TOM: It’s not the end of the world. I’m sure you have options to sort this out. I am here to help, remember? Let me help. Please.
There is no reply. He types out a few sentences, deleting them straight away. There is nothing he can say that won’t make this worse. Whatever he says, it won’t make a difference.
TOM: I will meet you at 5 by the main entrance. I love you.
He smiles. He can almost see Max’s reaction in front of him, rolling his eyes in disgust over those words
. They never say them anymore and it breaks his heart more than it should.
MAX
I know I should at least try, but to be honest, I can’t see the point. I can’t see the point of finishing school, however much everyone seems to think that it should be the obvious thing to do. It’s not like I am ever going to become something worthwhile. Because I won’t. That’s pretty obvious.
I’ve never been good at studying. Never been bright and intelligent enough. I’m the one who fails all the tests and who forgets to study for the exams. I’m that dude who when he tries to do his homework gets all confused and hands in the wrong fucking assignment. It’s just a mess. Everything is always a mess.
The only thing I used to really like about school was Drama. I mean that. I used to love it, and apparently, I was good at it, finding that place in my head where I could let go. Simon, the Drama nerd of a teacher, said I was good too. That I was really good. He kept saying I had comic timing and that my face could express a million emotions. He said it was a gift. I have no idea what the dude has been smoking.
It’s not like the world has gifted me anything good. I mean, even my own mother didn’t want me. She signed away her parental rights even before my umbilical cord was cut. And yeah, that always makes a great excuse to wallow in self-pity.