March 2007

“You can’t do this to me,” their mother sat on the bed, her face worn and tear-stained. “Please, Ryan, don’t go!”

Their father had spent the last two days clearing his stuff out of the big dresser and walk-in closet they shared, packing it all into boxes.

“I haven’t been happy in a long time,” he revealed coldly. “I’m leaving, Colleen, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Michael had cracked open their sliding glass door, sitting just out of sight on the back porch. Things had just kept getting worse, their father no longer trying to hide the affair.

“Ryan, please, I love you,” their mother begged. “And what about the kids?”

Their father gave her a disgusted look.

“Keep them,” he said simply. “I never wanted the brats, anyway.”

She broke down. He scoffed, throwing the last of his things in an old hiking pack, bought for a Fourth of July camping trip that had never happened. Michael scowled, fighting his own tears.

“How long have you been seeing her?” she demanded tearfully; he’d never heard her so angry. His father smiled, cold and mean.

“Since you were pregnant with the triplets,” he answered cruelly. “I wasn’t going to be seen with an overgrown cow like that.”

He laughed when she sobbed again, barely looking up when Michael threw the door open.

“You can’t talk to Mom like that!” he stormed between them. His father scowled at him; Michael hated that he looked so much like him.

“Stay out of this, scrap,” he said. “You’re too young to understand.”

Michael growled. That old nickname had become nothing more than an insult.

“Oh, I understand, all right,” he couldn’t remember being so pissed. “I understand you’re a lying dirtbag that’s not worth the pot he—”

His father smacked him, sending his glasses flying. His mother gasped.

“You’re lucky you’re even alive, you little brat,” he snapped coldly. “Don’t make me regret it.”

He closed the pack and threw a strap over his shoulder, grabbing a small stack of boxes as he stormed out. Michael spat on another, wiping his mouth as he grabbed his glasses from the floor. His mother’s normally shiny hair was dull and greasy, her clear green eyes red and puffy. He sat down next to her, hugging her tightly. She sniffled.

“Oh, Michael,” she choked on a sob. “I-I’m so sorry about all this…”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But it’s not your fault.”

She tried to smile, her scabbed over lips trembling.

“We were so happy before he started working for that new law firm,” she wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what happened!”

“He met Kara,” he spat the name. They hadn’t seen her since Lena’s birthday party, but that hadn’t cooled their hatred of her. “You won’t let me use the words to say how I feel about her.”

She laughed a little.

“You’re so much like Ryan used to be,” she brushed the hair from his forehead, then kissed it. “I wish he was still the man I married, but you can’t help how people change.”

He looked at her, wondering how anybody could treat her so badly. But he had to agree that she was too trusting, that they wouldn’t be dealing with all of this now if she had walked away from his father sooner. 

Not that he would ever tell her that.

“How’d you meet him, anyway?” he realized he’d never asked. She sighed wistfully, her eyes shining a bit.

“I was working at my grandfather’s café in San Francisco,” she started. “Ryan came in for breakfast one morning, saying he was on business from a law firm in Makakilo. He came back to ask me out after my shift, and I ended up flying back to Hawaii with him.”

“Did you ever think about leaving?” he had to know. She nodded.

“A few times, but he always convinced me to stay,” she tucked some hair behind her ear. It was one of few times he’d seen her without a ponytail or bun. “About a year and a half after we got married, he was transferred here, and then I found out I was pregnant with you.”

It was quiet for a while, as they sat and watched the triplets play in the backyard. Lena was staring blankly out the treehouse window, where she’d been closed in all morning.

“Did Dad mean that,” he asked at last. “That he never wanted us?”

Her smile was forced.

“I’m sure he didn’t,” she hugged him. “He’s just upset.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Why would he be upset? He’s not the one getting—” he stopped himself. “Uh, sorry, Mom.”

She wiped her tears again. They had never stopped slipping silently down her pale cheeks.

“It’s all right,” she sighed. “Like I said, you can’t help how people change.”

“I know,” he kissed her cheek. “And things always get better eventually, right?”

I hope.