Thad had been right, because the next day I was really regretting sending that email. It was bitter and childish, something a moody 15-year-old would have sent. But I also didn’t want to send another email apologizing, because I wasn’t going to apologize for shit to a man who’d never been there for me. So instead I just tried to get my mind off of it. That didn’t work, so I resorted to drinking way too much on a Sunday afternoon and passing out on my floor halfway through undressing for a midday nap. Zoe tapped me awake around dinner time.

            “Is there a reason you’re asleep on the floor with your pants around your ankles?” she asked.

            “Mmm, go away.”

            “I made lasagna. You want any?”

            I did want lasagna, but I felt awful so I just moaned.

            She sighed. “I’ll leave it out for an hour. Grab some if you want some.”

            After she’d left, I carefully got to my feet and pulled my pants up. My head was pounding, so I laid halfway across my bed for a few minutes, trying to put my mind back in place. Then I went to the kitchen and got some lasagna. I ignored Zoe in the living room watching TV and made my way back to my bedroom, where I found my laptop in the spot where I’d tossed it the night before.

            This reignited my state of misery. I put the lasagna on my desk, then sat down in my chair with my laptop. I took a deep breath and opened it, watching my Gmail flicker to life on the screen.

            One unread message. I’d forgotten to change my original subject line when I sent it, which was hello from your first shitty ass son. I winced. I really shouldn’t have kept that, but there was no changing it now. Holding my breath, I opened the message.    

Justin,

I was hoping our first correspondence would go better than this, but I absolutely understand your anger with me. We have a lot to discuss, but first off I’d like to offer my deepest and most sincere apologies for all the ways I’ve failed you. Not being there for you has been my greatest regret in life, and there are many times I’ve considered reaching out to you, but I couldn’t think of a way to do it that wouldn’t make things worse. It took me many many years to get sober, and I didn’t want to be the disappointment in your life that my father had been to me. Your mother was—and still is—very protective of you, and I don’t blame her. She told me that she wanted nothing to do with me and didn’t want me in your life if I couldn’t get my act together, and until five years ago, I couldn’t say I had. By that time, I thought it was too late. You were already a grown man, and my sobriety was pretty fragile for the first two years. I thought digging into the most painful moment of my life might threaten it—and your sobriety, to be honest, which your mother told me about. She’s kept me up to date on your life, more than you probably know. I have all the emails and photos she’s sent over the years. I  keep everything. I always WANTED to be a part of your life. But my own personal failings prevented that, and there’s no possible way I can make it up to you in a way that feels satisfying.

What I can do in this moment is say that if you ever were interested in establishing a relationship, then I would be thrilled. All I know about you is what Maureen has told me, and by her account you’re a smart, capable, and interesting person I’d love to meet. My wife Zahra would also like to meet you, should you ever want to visit us in Montana. Maybe you could meet your brother Charlie. He’ll probably love having a cool rock star brother in California, especially when he’s older. He might like to learn how to play the guitar.

If you’d like to end our communication here, then that’s your choice and I respect it. But if you want to call or email me further, feel free. I’m ready to talk when you are.

Kent

(By the way, I don’t care that you’re gay. That, and your drug addiction, was NEVER the reason I wasn’t involved in your life.)

            “Why are you crying?” Zoe asked from the doorway.

            I wiped at my eyes, hating to be seen doing this but unable to stop. “It’s nothing.”

            Zoe stepped into the room and walked up behind me, peering at the screen. “Who emailed you?”

            “My dad,” I mumbled, grabbing a tissue and blowing into it.

            “Like, your biological dad?”

            I nodded.

            “Wow.” Zoe leaned in closer and read over some of the text. “Shit. You have a brother?”

            “Apparently, yeah.”

            Zoe looked at me and awkwardly laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. “So why are you crying?”

            I hadn’t really figured out why, but I was pretty sure it had to do with the fact that my father had written the letter I’d written in my own head for years. Except it was real. All the rage I’d felt earlier had dissipated, replaced with… relief? Joy? Euphoria? Christ, I shouldn’t be so willing to let the guy off, but at the same time, he had apologized, which was the one thing I’d always wanted from him. And now I was getting it. An apology. An explanation. A reaffirmation that I mattered to him. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. I’d been expecting him to tell me to piss off. The way my mother talked about him, I’d assumed he was some lazy jag off who couldn’t keep a job. And yeah, he’d probably been a bit of that. But he also didn’t strike me as some ignorant redneck either. His email was formatted properly at least.

            When I didn’t answer, Zoe started reading the whole email. When she finished, she pulled me into a tight hug, which only made me cry more.

            “You gonna tell Mom about this?” Zoe asked.

            “I don’t know.” I pulled away and grabbed another tissue to blow my nose in. “I don’t know anything about anything right now.”

            “He seems nice. I mean, for a guy who peaced out on being a dad.”

            I gave her a nonplussed look, and she laughed. After patting my head, she walked back to my bedroom door.

            “You should call him,” she said over her shoulder, meeting my gaze. “You could find out what you’ve been missing.”