A Boy Called Brook: Autumn 3 by Clara Copyright© 2022, 2024 Clara Schuman Brook finds that the majority of his classmates barely take notice of his decision to present as a girl, but there are still those who will pick on him just to feel superior. A surprise visitor shows up at work one night and creates some conflicts for Brook. He needs his dad's advice.

---

 
Author's Note: I Hope you all find some joy this Christmas! Thank you again for the comments.
I truly appreciate them. I hope that you are all well and staying healthy.
Please! Leave a review, it can be good or bad (not too harsh please!)
I am always willing to learn! ~Clara.
 
 
Autumn 3
 

As October progressed, Brooke and I were instructed to change our work uniforms for the new season. For fall, we put away our black dresses and wore white blouses, very short, black skirts, black tights and black shoes - just like the waitresses did for that season. It was a little more formal and, according to Amanda, more in keeping with the fall aesthetic they wanted for the season.

It was fine, but I have to admit that I was not a big fan of tights at first. As the season progressed and the temperatures dropped, though, I began to appreciate the snug warmth they provided.

At school, I was still loving being a sous-chef, but Brooke was getting very involved in being a part of the Homecoming Dance Committee. Apparently, homecoming had been a much bigger event at her former school and she had infected a good chunk of the school with 'homecoming dance fever.' She had elevated the typical annual dance from a kind of dressed up affair in the gym to nearly the level of a prom. Instead of a dance in the gym with a DJ, she had arranged for the dance to be at a local, public country club with a sit down meal and a band, and for everyone to come in semi-formal or formal attire. She was incredibly excited about it, which was great, and I was helping as much as I could. I worked the ticket desk with her and her friends during lunches and I helped her make banners to hang in the halls to advertise the event.

By ten days before the homecoming game, over four hundred kids were coming and we were headed to the city to go dress shopping for both of us. Brooke was easy. Everything she tried on looked amazing. She finally settled on a deep red, mermaid style dress that hugged every curve of her body and made her look like a movie star.

I had settled on a simple, pale blue dress that showed some shoulder and arms and a lot of leg and I was just headed into the changing room to change back into my own dress when a saleswomen said, "That color is beautiful on you. You know, we have a very pretty gown in that color that was ordered and never picked up. I believe it's selling at seventy nine percent off, if you'd like to try it on."

"A gown?" I asked.

"Is it something very fussy?" Brooke asked. "Brook hasn't had a lot of experience with gowns. We don't want the night to be a nightmare of dealing with..."

She stopped speaking because the saleswoman held out a pale blue gown that looked like it had been made for a fairytale princess. There was a corset-like bodice that was beaded with silvery-white beads that formed an almost feather-like pattern around the bust. It was designed to sit off the shoulder and was sleeveless, but had two sashes that would sit across each upper arm. Below the bodice, it exploded into a dream of blue tulle with beaded, lace, rose appliqués about the skirt. The bodice was as tiny and delicate as the skirt was massive and elegant.

"The bodice has a mesh corset sewn into it for support, and of course it has a built in bra. It’s one of the most beautiful gowns I’ve ever seen and it’s been sitting here, unused for a year."

"It’s gorgeous," Brooke said in a shocked whisper. "You have to try it on, babe."

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "Yeah, right. Like I could afford this."

"You said it was heavily discounted, right?" Brooke asked the saleswoman.

"Seventy nine percent off," the woman replied.

"So... how much?"

The saleswoman grinned. "One hundred and eight three dollars."

Brooke practically snatched the gown from the woman and dragged me into the dressing room. She tore the dress I was wearing off of me and spread the gown on the floor for me to step into. I did and she pulled it up and buttoned the back.

"Hold the front," she said. "I don’t know how to lace this."

She called the saleswoman in and she gave Brooke a primer on the proper way to lace and tighten the bodice. When she was done, a part of my dress felt very, very tight and the rest didn’t touch me at all.

"Step out here," the saleswoman instructed, as she guided me through the door. The skirt was so wide that I needed help to get it through the doorway.

"Oh, babe," Brooke said, shaking her head. "This is it. This is YOUR dress. Babe... you HAVE to wear this."

"Of course, you wouldn’t wear a bra with this," the saleswoman explained, running a finger along one of my bra straps.

"Yeah... about that..." I whispered to Brooke.

"Not a problem," she replied, not in a whisper.

"Oh, are we a little self-conscious about our size?" the saleswoman asked in a voice that sounded more like a sympathetic kindergarten teacher than person talking to a nineteen year old.

"A little," Brooke smiled back at her, also behaving as if I was a child.

"Well, don’t worry, dear," the saleswoman said. There’s lots of solutions. The dress’ corset will give you some cleavage, but you can increase your size with a little foam in the bottom of the dress’ bra cups, or even an adhesive bra."

"An adhesive bra?" I asked, shocked to hear that term.

"Yes," she said, surprised that I had never heard of the item. "They are individual cups made of a firmer material. You glue them on here," she ran her fingers along the outside of my padded-bra-breasts, "and then attach the claps between the two cups and it lifts and presses your breasts together creating cleavage. It’s a little trick for girls to know and boys to marvel at."

As I tried to process this devious way of creating alluring breasts, Brooke asked, "Do you like the dress, babe?"

"Can I see it in the mirror?" I asked, and I think that it was the first time that Brooke realized I hadn’t actually seen myself. So, she led me to the three panel mirror and let me see myself in the dress.

Or rather, the dress with me within it – because the dress was much bigger and much more impressive than I was. Man... well, that was probably not the correct word to express my surprise. ‘Boy’ didn’t do it any better. Regardless – without wearing any special makeup or having my hair done, the dress still made me look like a princess. I looked at the beautiful garment in the mirror and gasped, "Wow," I whispered as I ran my hands along the beaded lace on the bodice, then down onto the wide tulle skirt. "Wow," I whispered, again.

"I agree," Brooke grinned over my shoulder. "So? Is this the dress?"

"This is definitely the dress that will give my dad a heart attack, that’s for sure," I said, shaking my head.

Brooke shrugged. "He seems to be getting with the program recently. I think he’ll like it."

I swayed and felt the weight of the skirt move. "Yeah, well... this is a lot to lay on him, but... it is very pretty."

"Pretty?" The saleswoman sounded shocked. "Elegant, maybe, or regal, or... gorgeous, but just pretty? Hardly."

She was being pompous and it made me giggle. I asked Brooke, "What do you think?"

"I think you’d be crazy to wear anything else to homecoming. This dress looks like it was made for you."

I sighed. "I’ll need shoes and one of those bras, I guess..."

Brooke’s smile widened when she realized I was going to wear that frothy, soft, delicate, feminine confection to homecoming. "You are going to be the prettiest boy at homecoming," she whispered into my ear and giggled.

"That is probably true," I smirked.

Obviously, we bought the dress and, since I got it so cheaply, we also picked up a nice pair of satin pumps to match. We left those at the store, though, to be dyed to match the dress and to be picked up in two days. Who knew that shoes could be dyed to match your clothes!? I’d never heard of that before.

All of a sudden, I was excited about homecoming, too.

A few days later, in Mr Casey’s English class, we were working in groups of five students each and I ended up in a group with Alex Winter. We’d done a good job of avoiding each other, and I’m sure that Mr Casey had no idea that we’d had an altercation – let alone what had happened between our fathers – so I tried my best to not appear uncomfortable.

The purpose of the groups was for each group to focus on one aspect of the story we’d just read. The leader of our group was a girl I didn’t know well named Gwen. She had dark skin and naturally tightly curled hair that she kept cut very short, which seemed appropriate for someone who was in the welding tract at the school.

"Alright, let’s look at the motives of Atticus Finch," Gwen said, focusing on the matter at hand. "Is he just doing what’s right or is this some sort of a ‘white savior’ thing? That ‘white man’s burden’ thing, I think they called it," she said. Then she looked at the kid to her left. "Fred-O"

Fred Ortiz was a quiet boy who was a gifted woodworker, but not the best student. "Geez, Gwen, I don’t know," he shrugged, embarrassed. "I mean, Atticus is fighting, like, the whole town. He must believe he’s fighting for what’s right, right? I mean, look at how..."

While Fred had been talking, Alex had been ‘whispering’ loudly to the girl next to her, but now her volume had risen to the point that it was becoming impossible for us to hear the soft spoken Fred Ortiz speak.

"... and there he was, walking around in his pretty little dress with his dyke-y girlfriend, proud as can be, parading through the mall in front of everyone, carrying a garment bag with a homecoming dress in it. I mean, God, what a dickless little faggot, right? I bet he’s got a bigger pussy that she does."

"Hey!" Gwen snapped, sharply, at Alex. "Do have anything to say about the story, Alex?"

"Oh, I’ve got plenty to say," Alex looked at me and sneered, "and I could tell you a heck of a story."

Gwen shook her head. "Knock it off, Alex. Fred-O, I get what you’re saying. Thanks. Brook, what do you have to say?"

I was about to speak, but Alex jumped in and once again spoke to her neighbor, "Oh, I’m sure that he’d have a lot to say if he’d just get his girlfriend’s cock out of his mouth. Actually, I heard that he’s sucking the cock of that Spanish kid who’s running the kitchen with him when they take inventory in the walk-in refrigerator."

I saw red before my eyes and I was about to attack that obnoxious jerk, but Fred Ortiz, who I barely knew, put his arm around my shoulders and held me in my chair, close to him. "Don’t." He whispered. "If you let her get to you, you’ll get suspended and miss homecoming. Talk to Mr Casey."

"What the fuck is wrong with you Alex?" Gwen asked while Fred-O was talking to me. "Why can’t you mind your own fucking business and just do the classwork like the rest of us."

"Because I’m distracted by the fact that there’s a boy parading his pansy ass around in dresses and panties instead of behaving like a fucking man," Alex spat, looking at me with contempt.

"Oh, lord," Bill, the fifth member of our circle said, shaking his head. "Knock it off, Alex. We all know you’re just jealous because Brook is prettier than you are."

That made Gwen snicker, but it ignited Alex’s fury. "What the fuck did you say to me, you fucking asshole? You have the hots for him, don’t you? You’re as big a faggot as he is. Aren’t you?"

"And just what is all of this about?" Mr Casey asked as he arrived, obviously concerned by the tone and crassness of the language.

Alex sat back, crossed her arms and legs and looked away from everyone.

"Well?" Mr Casey asked.

"Well, Mr Casey," Gwen said, with a very mature sound to her voice, "the fact is that Alex is being very rude to another member of our group and I’m not sure how productive we can be with her in our circle."

"Is that so?" Mr Casey asked. "Alex, go join Marie’s group, please, and behave yourself or I’ll send you to the office. The rest of you... Atticus Finch – motivations – please."

"Yes, sir," we all mumbled, as Alex grabbed her purse and made a show of moving to another group.

"Jeannie?" Gwen asked the girl who’d been sitting next to Alex.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to leave too?"

"Me? What did I do?" Jeannie asked, shocked to be accused of something. "I didn’t say a word."

"You didn’t tell Alex to knock it off like you should have," Gwen said.

Jeannie looked at the rest of the group and suddenly looked very sheepish. "Oh." Then she looked at me. "Sorry, Brook. I guess I should have, huh? You know I have no problem with you dressing up, right?"

"I’m not dressing up, Jeannie," I said. "I’m just being me."

"Yeah," she nodded. "That’s what I mean. I have no problem with it. Honest."

"Ok." I nodded.

"Alright then," Gwen nodded. "Back to the story. Jeannie? What do you think about Atticus’ motives?"

I didn’t hear a lot of what was being said. I just kept thinking that there was still like another thirty weeks of school to go and that meant another thirty weeks of Alex Winter in my life. That was a lot. I needed to be able to deal with her and her cronies – and the people like Jeannie who just let her be a bully without questioning her.

I was shocked when I came home one day and found my father with a laptop computer opened on the dining room table. He almost seemed embarrassed when I asked if he’d bought it for any particular reason.

"Actually, yeah," said, blushing a bit. "I’m taking an online class. The firm will pay for me to take classes to work in the law field and I thought I might give paralegal classes a try. Who knows. Maybe I’ll be a better student this time. God knows I couldn’t be any worse." He laughed at the last part.

"That’s awesome, dad!" I said, giving him a hug. "Are you starting in the winter semester?"

"I am starting the live classes then, yeah, but I’m taking this online class to prepare for it. I have to read the provided articles and answer questions. If I end up with a score of eighty-five or higher, I pass. Any lower and I can take it again."

"Wow, dad," said standing beside him, "I am really impressed. Look at the two of us. We’re entirely different people than we were last spring."

He nodded. "Yeah. It is amazing. Now, if you don’t mind, I should probably try to answer these questions before I forget everything that I read. This is the first night. I’m not sure how good a student I actually am."

I kissed his head. "You’ll do great. If I can help at all, just let me know." I rubbed his back and headed to my room to change, prouder of my dad than I’d ever been.

Working in the kitchen at school had become a real joy for me. Henry and I were becoming a really tight team. We worked off of each other’s strengths and, for the most part, we seemed to have a pretty happy kitchen staff. The thing was, though, Alex began spreading this rumor about Henry and me doing things – sexual things – in the coolers and stuff and, of course, the rumors got back to the principal, and guess who he believed. Me? No. Henry? No. Our kitchen staff? No. Mrs Simpson? No. Alex and her friends? Of course.

"I know it’s all just nonsense," Mrs Simpson said to both of us one morning, "but Mr Kemp spoke to me about it, so I have no choice but to talk to you two about it. You understand that I need to be careful, right? So... so do you. Any appearance of impropriety and it could be all of our butts in sling. Are we all on the same page?"

"Yes, chef," we both replied.

"Good," she nodded. "Then both of you get your butts in there and get to work."

"Yes, chef," we said and headed back into the kitchen.

Before we got in with the rest of our classmates, I stopped and said, "Look, Henry... I’m sorry about all of this."

He blinked at me. "Why? You didn’t do anything."

"Well... I did start living this way, so... I guess that made it possible for Alex to stir all of this up. I never meant for this to splash all over you."

He chuckled. "Don’t be stupid. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. Alex Winter and her friends are jerks. They don’t scare me."

I nodded. "Yeah, but... I’m still sorry about how..."

"Hey, Brook," Henry stopped me. "Look. You’re my friend. Alex Winter is an ass-hat. No apologies are necessary. End of story. Ok?"

Huh... yeah... he was my friend, wasn’t he? I actually had real friends! "Ok, Henry. Thanks."

He winked at me. "Let’s get to work."

We worked really hard in the kitchen everyday and I think we both were very proud of the work we did. Our team all seemed proud, too. If there was one thing I’d learned from working at The Wireworks, it was that if you felt like a part of a team then you were happy when your team succeeded.

Speaking of working at The Wireworks, the night before homecoming, Brooke and I were working and it was an unusually busy night, even for a Friday. Brooke was working the reception desk and I was seating customers for the first half of the evening and we planned to switch later so that we each shared the running around.

I was returning to the reception desk from seating a couple when I saw Mr Davies wave as he headed into the bar. I waved back and continued on my way, but Mr Davies gave me an odd smile and seemed to watch me as I passed. That’s was weird.

When I reached the reception desk, Brooke was speaking to a customer and looked uncharacteristically flustered. When I stepped behind the desk, Brooke looked concerned.

"Oh, so here she is," the customer said and I smiled and looked up to make eye contact with her.

"Good evening," I said. Then I looked at Brooke. "How many?"

"Umm," Brooke muttered and looked from me to the customer.

I followed her gaze and I immediately knew that something was amiss. I knew this woman, but... I didn’t.

"Oh, come on," the customer said, "don’t tell me you don’t recognize your own mother, Brook."

"I... I..." I sputtered.

"Umm..." Brooke interrupted. "Maybe you should take a break, babe. It’s kind of busy. Lots of people around."

I looked at the people waiting behind my mother. "Umm... no... no... Look... Mrs Chapin..."

"Ahern," my mother interrupted me. "You can call me Bev, actually. That is, if mom is uncomfortable at first."

I felt a strange mixture of fascination and anger sweep across me. "Ok... Look... Ms Ahern... it is very busy and I am working, so... if you don’t mind... would you like to be seated, or would you like to leave?"

Now, I was pretty young when my mother left, but I don’t remember her being quite as smug as she was that night. When she heard my statement, a very superior grin crept across her face and her eyelids closed about halfway as she surveyed the people in the waiting area with cold, ugly contempt.

"I’ll tell you what, ‘son,’" she said to me. "I’ll go have dinner and some drinks in the bar where I’ll be for the rest of the night. So, when you get a break, or when you end your shift... come see me. I’m not leaving."

When she turned to leave, she eyed the couple behind her, both of whom were a bit overweight, with such contempt that I could tell it made them uncomfortable, so I needed to make it up to them.

"Hi, good evening," I smiled at them. "I apologize for that woman. I think she’s been drinking. How can I help you this evening?"

I was able to get my evening back on track, but the specter of my long lost mother was ever present. I couldn’t help but glance into the bar every time I passed and there she was. Usually with Mr Davies, but frequently chatting with some of our other regulars. A few times I even heard her telling people that she was my mother. I don’t know if she mentioned that I was her son or not, but I definitely heard her comparing my looks to her – and that was something that I couldn’t help but doing, as well.

I looked a little like my dad – just a little – and my dad only kept two pictures of my mother in the house. One of my mom and me on the beach at a pond and one of my mom holding me in her hospital bed a few minutes after I was born. In one picture she was squinting into the sun and in the other she was red and sweaty from having just giving birth, so the pictures aren’t what you’d call ‘flattering’ pictures of her.

I was just a kid when she left us, so I wasn’t really old enough to make a real decision about her beauty.

But now that I saw her in person, there was no denying that she was a good looking woman and that I really did look an awful lot like her. I don’t mean for that to sound egotistical or anything. I just mean that when Brooke and I were having breakfast with Mr Davies and Ms Caulfield that morning and Ms Caulfield said I looked just like my mother, she was right. I really did.

As our eleven o’clock closing time was approaching, Mr Davies came by the reception area where Brooke and I were removing that evening’s ‘specials’ inserts from the menus, as he always did, to say his usual good nights to Brooke and me, but this night he had a pretty self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Well, ladies," he grinned, "another night in the books, huh?" Those were his usual departing words, but on this night he stopped and waited a moment before he said. "So... did I surprise you, or what?"

"Yeah, you surprised me, alright," I huffed.

That seemed to throw him off a bit. "Wait a minute. Are you upset that your mom is here to see you?"

I glanced at him, but went back to pulling out the menu inserts.

"Oh, come on," he laughed. "She’s your mom. Every girl wants a relationship with her mom, right?"

I stopped and looked at this man who’d been pretty nice to Brooke and me over the last couple of months. "Mr Davies... I don’t even know that woman and... I work here. This is NOT the appropriate place for her to have confronted me and..." I looked around, "... she must have told you by now... I am not a girl... and even if I was, she’s no more my MOM than anyone else in this building. As a matter of fact, she’s worse. She left me. No one else here ever did that. Why should I care that she’s here at all?"

"Because I came back," a voice came from behind me. I turned and saw my estranged mother standing there, not looking at all upset by what I’d said. "Like the prodigal son, I came back, Brook, and I hoped that we might be able to start over. Tell you my side of the story. And for the record, I left your father, not you."

I sighed. "Well, the result was the same, wasn’t it?"

"Is everything ok here?" Amanda said, arriving at the reception area just as a part of doing her rounds.

I looked at my mother, praying she’d just leave, but instead, she extended her hand to Amanda and said, "Everything is just fine, dear. I understand that this is your restaurant."

"Yes," Amanda smiled. "My father and I run it."

"It’s charming," my mother schmoozed, "just charming."

"Well, thank you," Amanda nodded.

"And I am so happy that my son, Brook, has been able to become a part of your company. He seems so happy here."

I could have killed her right there and then.

"Your son? Brook is YOUR son? Oh, my goodness! Well, how nice to meet you... Mrs Chapin, is it?"

My mother let out a pained grunt. "Umm, no, dear. Ms Ahern. Bev, please."

"Well, Bev," Amanda put her arm around me, "we just adore Brook here at The Wireworks. She is doing a wonderful job."

"Yes. I’m sure he is," my mother oozed.

"Umm," I interrupted, "I’m sorry that my mother came to speak to me here, Amanda. It won’t happen again."

"Oh, don’t be silly," Amanda laughed. "It’s no big deal. Anytime, Bev."

"Actually... mom..." I looked at the stranger who had given birth to me, "maybe we could meet somewhere... ELSE. Ok? Maybe someplace where I don’t work."

I think Amanda realized at that point that I was uncomfortable with this situation.

"Sure," mother dearest smirked. "How about I take you and your ‘friend’ to breakfast tomorrow morning and we get all caught up?"

"Umm, that’s not the best day," Brooke pointed out. "Tomorrow is homecoming and we have hair and makeup appointments starting at eleven thirty."

"Oh, well, let’s say eight thirty, then. At The Town Line Restaurant. Sound good? Should I pick you up at your daddy’s house?"

Honest God, the way she said ‘your daddy’s house’ cut through me like a red hot knife. The last thing I wanted was for dad to have to deal with her.

"No... I’ll meet you at The Town Line," I agreed, seeing no other options.

"Excellent," she smiled. She came over to the reception desk and gave my cheek a peck that barely made contact with me before she turned to leave. "Till tomorrow, honey." Then she turned and looked at Brooke. "And you, too, dear. And what was your name, again?"

"It’s Brooke," Brooke said, sounding a bit exhausted by my mother’s pretentious behavior.

"Really!?" She had to have been told Brooke’s name by Mr Davies. We knew that. "Well, isn’t that a coincidence. I will see you both in the morning, then. Ta!"

When she’d left, Amanda said, "I gather that this was a bit of a surprise, then? This visit from your mother?"

I nodded. "She left us a long time ago. I didn’t expect to ever see her again and I certainly never expected her to come here. I’m so sorry."

"Hey, not your fault," she said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Tell you what. You two call it a night and head home. I’ll finish this up here."

"But it’s only ten forty," I said.

"It’s fine," she smiled. "Get some rest and have a great time tomorrow night. As for tomorrow morning..." she took a deep breath and let it out. "... family can really suck sometimes, Brook, but... who knows... give her a shot. Maybe she’ll be ok. If she’s a pill, just leave and focus on homecoming. Ok?"

I nodded. "Ok."

"Are you going to tell your dad about your mom?" Brooke asked me as we were headed home.

"My mom?" I laughed. "You have a ‘mom,’" I pointed out. "I have a ‘mother.’ Someone who birthed me. She’s not my mom. But... yeah... I think I should tell my dad. I don’t want him to think that I’m doing something behind his back."

When Brooke pulled her Jeep into her driveway, I noticed that our house was dark.

"I think my dad is probably at your house," I said.

"Probably," Brooke said.

We got out and walked to the house. "Let’s hope we don’t catch them doing something they shouldn’t be doing," she laughed.

We opened the door and found them in the great room watching the end of an old movie on TV. The closing credits were just starting as we entered.

"Hey, you two are home early," Mrs Kerr smiled.

"Yeah, Amanda let us go a little early because of something that happened at the restaurant tonight," I said.

My dad looked concerned. "Really? What happened? You guys didn’t get fired, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," I said and shook my head. "Umm, dad... I think... maybe... I need to talk to you... alone... for a little bit."

"Oh," he said, concerned and a little confused. He bent and kissed Mrs Kerr goodnight, then we headed home.

"So?" he asked when we were outside.

I took a deep breath and got ready. The last thing I wanted was to upset dad right now. He’d come a long, long way recently. He’d gotten a better job, taking classes, dressing better, seeing a therapist, staying sober... For the first time that I could remember, dad had hope for a better future. The last thing I wanted to do was slap him in the face with his past.

"So, I had a visitor at work tonight..." I said.

"A visitor?" Dad said, then it seemed to dawn on him who the visitor must have been. "Oh... your mother?"

I nodded.

"And?"

"Well," I said, "I didn’t really speak to her, much. The thing is, though... she wants Brooke and me to have breakfast with her tomorrow morning. I think that, if I don’t show up, she’s going to be persistent and keep showing up at work. Maybe even here."

We reached our steps and dad took my hand and sat me down next to him. Now, it was his turn to take a deep breath. "Look, Brook... honey... if you want to see your mother, that’s fine. It won’t upset me. Maybe getting to know her is the right thing to do."

"But I don’t think I really want to, dad," I said. "She says she wants me to hear her side of the story. You know... why she left us."

Dad let out a strange, frustrated laugh. "To tell you the truth, I’d like to hear that, too."

He looked at me and looked older and sadder than I’d ever seen. "I suppose that, after what I did this summer and then that thing with Jake Winter, you probably think the worst, don’t you? Like... maybe I beat her or something. Right?"

I shrugged. It had crossed my mind.

"I didn’t," he said flatly, then he looked at the ground, looking ashamed to be bringing it up again. "In fact, I didn’t even drink all that much when she was around. A beer or two once or twice a week, but that’s all. I never laid a hand on her, Chef. I swear. I think... I think the reason I might have beaten you up so badly was... because I was really, really drunk and I thought I was losing you the way I lost her. I was scared and I was a coward and it was a cowardly thing to do. I feel terrible about it everyday."

He looked at me, again. "Chef... if you want to get to know your mom, it’s fine with me. I understand."

I shook my head. "She’s just my mother, dad. Not my mom. It’s just that she’s... so... persistent... like I said. And I know that you still have a bit of a thing for her, so..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," dad said. "Why on earth would you think that I have ‘a thing’ for your mother?"

"Well... you still have those two pictures of her on your dresser. I mean... After all these years, why would you keep those if you didn’t still have feelings for her? I figured that she must have been, like, the love of your life."

Dad rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward and shook his head. "Alight, I admit... yes, those pictures are of the love of my life, but... Look... Chef... I know that most of your life I have been... distant... as a father, and I made a pretty terrible mistake this summer, but..." he rubbed his forehead and looked down our driveway. "...Chef... honey... I... I know who I am and what I am. I’m... I’m nothing, honey... nothing...

"Dad..."

"...except your dad." He finished.

"Dad... that’s not true. You’re..."

"No, listen, honey." He still looked down the driveway. "Honey... I... I was an idiot as a kid. I screwed up and I took chances and I made mistakes. Huge mistakes. Like your mother. She was a huge mistake, but..." He grimaced and his bottom teeth appeared and scraped his upper lip as he thought. "Brook... the very first moment that I saw you... the moment that the doctor handed you to your mother... I knew right then and there that I had a purpose in life." He looked at me and his eyes were watery. "I was your father, Brook. That was my purpose, and... I tried, honey. I did. I really tried. I tried really hard to be a good father, but... I had just gotten so good at being a screw up, that I didn’t know how to be good at anything."

He shook his head and looked down the driveway, again. "I really did try, though, and one day, when you were little, I decided to take my wife and my little boy for a day at the lake." He snickered as he remembered. "I thought, you know... we’d be a real family. Have a real life. Like real people. God knows I couldn’t really afford it, but... I just wanted us to live a normal life."

I bit my lower lip. This conversation had gone in a different direction than I’d expected and I didn’t know what to say.

"That day at the lake..." he continued, "you had so much fun, honey. You were in and out of the water all day and you laughed like I’d never seen you laugh before. My little boy was actually happy. That day... I really thought that I was going to be able to be a good dad, but then... It was like as soon as your mom got a taste of a normal life, she just wanted it all... everything... a life of vacations and beaches... immediately... And she knew that she couldn’t have that with me. I was just a screw up. A GED instead of a high school diploma. A crappy job at the lumber yard. I was never going to be able to give her vacations in the Caribbean, or a winter home in Florida... and she knew that, but... even a good middle class life wasn’t enough for her. It was like she had no interest in trying to help me, after that... to work with me to make a good life for the three of us after that day. Everything fell within three or four months of that day and... then... she left."

He looked at me, took my hand and kissed it. "Brook... yes... I have pictures of the love of my life on my dresser, but I don’t have any pictures of your mother. I have a picture of the day that the love of my life came into my life and a picture of the only time I ever made the love of my life happy. Those pictures are of you, Brook. Not your mother. When I look at those pictures, I don’t even see her. I just see you."

"Oh, dad," I sighed as I leaned into his shoulder.

"So, baby, go see your mother if you want or don’t if you don’t want, but please believe me... that woman means absolutely nothing to me anymore. NOTHING. Alright?"

"Alright, dad," I said and I kissed his cheek. Then I rested my head on his shoulder. "Alright."
 
 
To Be Continued...