Dreams of 18(58)

He wants me.

Mr. Edwards wants me.

The man who hates me, the man whose life I ruined. The man I’ve had feelings for ever since I was sixteen wants me.

“He wants me?” I breathe out.

“Yeah. And the things I said to him for that. The things I put him through.”

He utters those words on a sigh, a regretful sigh.

“W-what did you say?”

“I told him he ruined my life. I told him that he betrayed me for wanting the girl I want. That I hated him. That he’s a fucking pervert for wanting a girl his son’s age. When he lost his job, I told him he deserved it. When the article came out and they called him all those names, I… I did too. I called him sick, a pedophile. Fuck…”

He pauses to draw a breath before starting up again. “He never said a word, Vi. Not once. He took it all. All my tantrums and hatred and disgust. God, I don’t even know what to say to him now. I feel so wrecked over it. We were always so close and now we haven’t seen each other in almost a year. We don’t talk. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know what to say and how to make it go away and…”

Brian says a lot of things, but I don’t hear any of them because I finally understand. I get it now. I get Mr. Edwards’s anger, his hatred, all the drinking.

His roses.

I even understand about the roses. The flowers he grew to cure his loneliness when his dad was sick.

I understand why it doesn’t feel like he hates me anymore.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate me.

If he did, he wouldn’t have asked Brian to talk to me. He wouldn’t have asked his son to stop punishing me.

No, he doesn’t hate me. He hates himself. He’s punishing himself.

Because he thinks he’s betrayed his son.

He thinks he’s betrayed his son for wanting me. He hates himself for wanting what his son wanted.

Oh God, he hates himself.

I grip the phone so tightly and press it so hard against my ear that it should be painful and maybe it is, but I don’t feel anything right now except this urge to make Brian understand.

“Brian, you need to talk to him,” I cut him off. “You need to talk to your dad. He’s not… He’s not in a good place, Bri. He’s not doing okay. He lives out here, in this cabin, all alone. He used to drink up until a week ago, did you know that?”

“What?”

“Yeah. You need to fix it. You need to tell him that you don’t hate him. You don’t even like me anymore. You need to tell him that. He’s heartbroken, Brian. God, he’s so… he’s heartbroken. He’s in pain. He hates himself. Do you realize that? How could you do that to him? He’s your father. How could you call him all those names? You’re his son. You guys were best friends. You were supposed to stand beside him when everything happened. He doesn’t deserve your condemnation. He doesn’t deserve your hatred, you got that? Promise me you’ll fix it. Promise me, Brian.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Brian responds. “You’re in love with my dad. You’ve always been.”

All the fight goes out of me at his abrupt question.

I sag under my own weight. I sag under the weight of my feelings.

All this time, I thought Mr. Edwards hated me. All this time, I thought if he poured out all his anger on me, he’d be free.

Most of all, I thought I came here just to apologize.

None of that is true, is it?

He doesn’t hate me. He’s not angry with me, either. And I didn’t come here just to apologize.

I came here because I’m not over him. I was never over him.

In fact, what I feel for him is bigger. So much bigger than I gave myself permission to even think about. It’s always been bigger.

It’s been that way since the day I saw him through the window of my bedroom.

“Yeah. I do. I love your dad, Brian. I’ve always loved him. Ever since I was sixteen.”

And he wants me.





I found out about Brian just after my father had died.

I was alone, sad, angry, all ready to leave for college in the fall when Cynthia – the girl I’d hooked up with weeks ago – called me out of the blue and told me about him.

If I was scared and feeling alone before, I was fucking terrified after that. I didn’t know how to take care of a kid. I didn’t want to take care of a kid. I’d just finished taking care of my drunk father. I didn’t want another responsibility.

I wanted to get out of this town. I wanted to forget my life and do something… different. Than what I’d been doing up until then – cleaning up after my dad and playing ball.

But then, I saw him.

As soon as Cynthia put him in my arms, he began wailing and I forgot the things I wanted. I only knew I had to take care of him.

He was my kid. I had to be whatever he needed me to be. A protector, a cook, a storyteller, a soother.

I had to be there for him, my son. My blood.

I wasn’t going to let him down.

Until I did.

Actually, it was better when I was drunk. Things didn’t have an edge. Guilt didn’t pierce me this deeply, this excruciatingly.

I’m starting my truck to get back to the cabin after a long fucking day at the camp when my phone buzzes. It’s Brian.