Chapter 14 - THE NEXT BIRTHDAY
Walter turned seventy-one quietly.
No big dinner.
Six people.
Margaret.
James.
Rachel.
Two neighbors.
Daniel Cho.
Brian was not there.
The no-contact order still stood.
Melissa was gone from the family circle.
Walter cooked roast chicken.
Margaret brought cake.
Someone joked:
“No dog food?”
The room froze.
Margaret went pale.
“I’m sorry.”
Walter looked at her.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
“It’s okay.”
And it was.
Not because the memory was funny.
Because he chose whether the joke existed now.
Then the doorbell rang.
Everyone looked at Walter.
He smiled.
“Relax.”
It was a grocery delivery.
That became funny too.
Later, Rachel asked:
“Do you miss Brian?”
Walter took time.
“Yes.”
“Do you want him back?”
“Not the same way.”
“What does that mean?”
“I want a son. I don’t want a manager.”
Then Walter told her Brian had begun writing letters through counsel.
One every two months.
No demands.
No guilt.
Updates:
job,
therapy,
repayment,
sobriety from alcohol for several months even though alcohol had not caused everything.
Walter read them.
Did not answer at first.
Then one letter said:
I keep thinking about how I called you useless while living in your house and taking your money.
Walter stared at that sentence a long time.
Finally he wrote back:
That is worth thinking about.
Nothing more.
A relationship reopening one inch.
Not restoration.
Then Walter looked around the dining room.
Same table.
Different chairs because two had been damaged during the police incident.
Same kitchen.
Same window.
The room had not become sacred.
May you like
It had become ordinary again.
That was enough.
