“No. No, fuck you, you don’t get to do that,” Kian snaps. “I’ve got enough riding on my shoulders without you adding pressure. The two of you got to leave. But I don’t have that option. I’m all Da has now.”
I can feel the frustration emanating off him in waves.
“Except you do have an option,” I remind him. “Da can’t control you.”
Kian looks at me. And that one look tells me a lot.
It tells me he’s grown up fast and hard.
He’s a hardened man who never had the chance to be a boy.
“That option involves disappointing our parents,” he replies. “And I can’t do that. They’ve lost too many children already.”
And there it is.
The one thing that sets him apart from our father. He’s got the classic steel-edged toughness—but it’s tempered with compassion.
“I’m proud of you, Kian,” I tell him, putting my hand on his shoulder.
He seems uncomfortable with the contact, but he doesn’t shake me off.
* * *
We linger for a while, even though it makes Kian wildly uncomfortable. But I’m content to sit here and soak in the memories.
The sun is high in the sky by the time he finally insists on us leaving.
“We should get going,” he mutters.
“Fine, you stuffy bastard.” I glance towards the bartender to ask for the bill, only to realize that he’s already looking straight at me.
How long has he been watching us?
How long has he been listening?
“You sure you two don’t want another round?” he asks.
“Positive,” Kian says firmly, tossing a few bills on the bar top and heading for the door.
I take in the bartender’s surly appearance. Something’s not right about him, but I chalk that up to the unfamiliarity.
All the people of my past are gone.
“Do you know a Gabe Atkins?” I ask him suddenly.
“No. Should I?”
“He used to work here,” I explain. “About thirteen years ago.”
“I started only five years back,” he replies. “Never heard of a Gabe anybody.”
“Right.” I nod. “Cheers then, mate.”
I leave and follow Kian back outside where the car’s waiting for us. There’s no avoiding the inevitable any longer.
It’s time to go back home.
“Has it changed much?” I ask. I don’t have to explain what I’m talking about.
Kian shrugs. “It’s been updated, I suppose,” he replies. “You know Da likes to renovate, keep shit modern. His office is the same, though. Time can’t touch that place.”
“How about our parents themselves?” I ask. “Have they changed much?”
Kian smirks. “What do you think?”
We leave it at that.