chris comes home
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Eddie had to blink away the brief shine of tears, borne more out of frustration than of sadness. He was, very simply, angry. He was angry that he’d been deliberately excluded from the life of his child, and was expected to be grateful for it. He had missed Christopher like he was a limb torn from his body, and here his parents were, waving around the torn off leg and claiming they were treating it well. It’s my leg, he wanted to yell, like a crazy person.
eddie goes to texas, confronts his parents, and brings his son home.
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- Part 1 of chris comes home
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Chris couldn’t quite fathom it. He had always known, he supposed, that his parents had had him while they were young. Hell, his dad was only thirty-three. He had done the math before and landed on that age. Nineteen. But he’d never really considered it. His dad was simply his dad. In Chris’s head, he had never really existed as anything else. He had always just been his dad, and there wasn’t anything else to it.
But Chris had just spent six months living in his dad’s childhood bedroom, surrounded by evidence of his youth. His baseball trophies decorated the shelves. Yellowed posters of older emo bands were taped to the wall. Pictures of him and his high school friends were pinned to a cork board. His poorly graded tests sat in the drawers of the desk. Bed sheets patterned with race cars adorned the duvet. It was a kid’s bedroom. And it belonged to his dad.
or, finally home from texas, chris and eddie sit down to talk.
Series
- Part 2 of chris comes home