“You knew you wouldn’t be good for us because you weren’t ready to be a father.”
“I knew I wouldn’t be good for you because I was an addict.Aman addict, really.”
He leans forward to pick up his sandwich again, and I’d think he didn’t have a care in the fucking world except for the careful way he’s waiting for me to say something about his revelation.
What I blurt out is just plain stupid.
“But at Trailhead—it’s a bar.”
“Ah, Riley hasn’t told you? I’ve only had club soda and lime.”
“Riley minds their own business.”
My father nods and swallows another bite before I do the same. “It wasn’t just alcohol, though. Way back then. That group of friends—most of us were in college, at least half of us came from money, and all of us were spoiled—we could get our hands on anything. There was a lot of booze, a lot of weed, a lot of coke. Whatever we wanted, as often as we wanted.”
“My mom, too?”
“I’ll sit here and tell you anything you want to know about me, but I’m gonna follow Riley’s lead for the rest of it.”
“Fine,” I say. “You partied a lot. Go on.”
And he does. While we eat, I get the story of how my father started to slip further away from routines and responsibility, chasing highs his friends could limit to weekend parties. His grades suffered, he withdrew from his family, and he found it easier to lie. His relationship with my mom suffered, but they loved each other enough for the passion to reignite quickly. Then that Thanksgiving weekend, with time off from school, one friend got them an invite to a party up in Malibu. It went on for three days, and when it was time to drive back down to San Diegoon Sunday night, most of them did exactly that—including my mom.
Drew Barrett and a friend didn’t want to be done, and headed up the coast in search of more.
“You dropped out of school?”
“I did, yeah,” he says. “Said some bullshit to my parents they never really believed. Found parties and places to crash. Made a few bucks by picking up odd jobs and a proclivity for petty theft. And we just kept roaming, getting high whenever and wherever we could.”
I shake my head and smile without a trace of levity. “Meanwhile, my mom was pregnant with me.”
“And like I said, I didn’t find out for a while.”
“You were still together, weren’t you? Why didn’t she tell you sooner?”
“Well,shedidn’t tell me at all. My friend got the news when he was checking on things at home.” He stops and levels me with a stare. “As for why she didn’t tell me? Darren, I was adisaster. Who cares that we hadn’t officially broken up? I left my entire life behind to find more drugs and didn’t think twice about it. Why would she want me around?”
“So, that’s it? You found out your girlfriend was pregnant, realized you would be a bad dad because you were coked out of your mind too often, and stayed gone?”
“Fuck, no,” my father snorts. “I found out my girlfriend was pregnant, realized going home to be a dad might take me away from being coked out of my mind, and stayed gone. The clarityof what that meant—that you and Tash were better off without me—came much, much later.”
I startle at his use of her nickname, but he doesn't notice or care when he goes on about years of alcohol and drug abuse, and a couple of stints in prison. Rounds of rehab fell in between, and all but the last one failed. He found out what he could about me in the moments he was focused enough to care—and saw me as a baby the one time I already knew about—but my mom made it clear that we were doing just fine without him in our lives, and I think she must have been right. The birthday card I burned wasn’t the only thing he ever sent, just the only one I ever saw.
My father tells me he’s been clean and sober for seven years now, but settled in the L.A. area more recently. He’s already admitted he’d had an eye on my social media accounts, and that he knew about my job at Trailhead, so I don’t think I have any questions about that—
Until one thing confuses me.
“If you wanted to have lunch with me, you could’ve shown up at the bar anytime. Why’d you wait and use a band gig as an excuse?”
He shrugs. “You still don’t need me in your life, and I’d always figured I’d continue to leave you alone. I wasn’t using anything as an excuse to meet you.”
Something about that hurts. I appreciate the honesty, but however much I didn’t matter to a Drew Barrett who was looking to score more cocaine, I also don’t matter to a Drew Barrett who’s put his life back together. Or really, I only matter in whatever wayI can help his friends and their little band.
“You’re just using me to help Supine?”
“Using you? God, no. I feel so much better knowing you’re there, but that’s not—I don’t believe in the universe or anything, but—” My father trails off and frowns, and as much as he’s been willing to answer my questions, he seems frustrated by this one. “I’m really not using you, but I won't be at Trailhead every week, and I—I’m glad you will be. Riley, too. Not for Supine, but for Sebastian.”
“For Sebastian?” I ask. “Why are you glad we’ll be there for Sebastian?”
My father pauses again, careful when he finally stops minding his own business.
“Because he’s an addict, too.”