The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

37 - Telling it Like it Is ... Finally

By coincidence, my parents are staying at the same hotel, separate rooms, of course, but on the same floor. Go figure. It's like their brains are still working the same wavelength. It's sort of cryptic if you think about it. They'd been together so long, they adopted similar likes and thought patterns, though they have little left in common.

It's the evening after Hartley's burial, and we've decided to have dinner together at a restaurant on Chartres Street: Mom, Dad, Henry, and I. Conversation is stilted, each of us shifting uncomfortably in our chairs, careful not to say the wrong thing. But so many topics feel taboo that it's hard to know what to say and what to steer clear of.

This is the first time in a few years that we've been out of the state together and the circumstances aren't ideal, but it's nice having us all here. It would be even nicer to share the magic of the French Quarters with them, but I'm not so sure if that's in the cards. I can tell Mom's tense by the way she's crossing and uncrossing her legs beneath the table, and Dad is attempting small talk but she's shooting him down at every turn.

"So, why did you decide to drive here instead of fly?" Dad asks her as he dives into his crawfish étouffée. "It would have been a lot faster."

Mom doesn't bother looking up from her shrimp gumbo and rice. "Because it's cheaper, and I'd rather spend my money on less frivolous things. Besides," she adds, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. "There's nothing wrong with driving. We were going to come out here to pick up Gwen anyway. And this way, we got to see some of the country. Isn't that right, Henry?"

Henry takes a colossal bite of his hot dog. "We saw someone driving a house down the road! And Mom and I played I Spy and Cows on my Side," he says in between chews. "And then we stopped at a McDonald's near a flea market and she bought me a baseball hat that says Save the Narwhals!"

"Oh," Dad says. "A Save the Narwhals baseball hat? Sounds like a very non-frivolous purchase."

Mom shoots him a look. "Are you seriously going to do this right now? I wanted to make it a little fun for him. Is that so wrong? Lord knows I'm the only one of us trying."

I slap my palms on the table so hard a sharp sting races up my forearms. "Would you guys stop already? You don't like each other anymore—we get it! And now you're getting a divorce," I say, addressing the obvious elephant in the room. "But that doesn't mean you get to fight every time you see each other. Especially in front of me and Henry." My eyes flit to my little brother but he's staring at the half-eaten hot dog in his hand.

Mom's jaw drops. "Gwen! Is that any way to speak to your parents?"

But now that I've started, I'm nowhere near done. "How about you watch how you speak to each other? And what you say and how you act in front of your children? We don't deserve to be around your constant bickering all the time. We didn't ask to be born. You chose to have us. And now you have a responsibility to do the right thing."

I know I should stop, but all of the things I've been holding back are suddenly clogging my throat, desperate to get out. My hands drop to my lap. "Look, I accept that you're not happy together, but that doesn't make us any less of a family. It's because of you that Henry and I are even here. And we're sad and hurt that our lives are changing because you two couldn't make things work. But you know what? It's okay if you can't. You're only human—just like everyone else. But it's like you don't even care how we feel." I turn to my dad. "You cancel plans with us more times than you keep them, while Mom is busy working her ass off trying to keep everything from going to hell. She tries to be strong in front of us, but I hear her crying at night. Do you ever cry, Dad? Do you wish things had turned out differently? Do you even care?"