Late call
Dont you dare invite them! Hear me? No matter what excuse you bring!
Its your birthday, love. Thirtyfive is a serious milestone.
I dont care. I wont see their faces.
Stan, how many times must I ask? Ten years have already passed.
And another ten will slip by. And twenty. To me theyre dead.
Harriet slipped into the sofa beside him, gripping his handhot, tense. Whenever the old folk were mentioned, his fingers always went cold.
James called. He asked if he could come.
Harry said, Yes. One. Just him, no one else.
He told me Mum is crying. She wants to see you.
Let her weep. Where was she when they threw me out of the house? When I spent nights hopping from one friends flat to another?
Harriet had heard that story a thousand times. Second year at university, a brutal exam period, a dismissal. Her father, a retired colonel, a man of iron principles. Dishonour the family get out. And Stan had vanished into the night.
Youve turned it around. You finished a different course, landed a job.
On my own! No help! And Harry later bought a flat! A car! A favourite!
Dont hold a grudge against your brother. Hes not the villain.
Im not angry. I just dont want to see my parents at my doorstep.
Harriet exhaled. Another empty argument, as always.
That evening she washed the dishes, mind drifting to her own ghosts. To the mother she hadnt seen for three years before the final breath.
Shed been hurt then by another petty quarrel, by senseless punishment, by humiliation. Shed fled to another city, changed her number.
Then Aunt Margaret rang Mum had passed, liver failure. Only one night in a hospital ward.
Even now, in the dead of night, she hears her mothers voice:
Harriet, forgive me, shed whispered before hanging up.
Whats on your mind? Stan wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Mum.
Still chewing on it?
I cant stop. I should have come back, at least to say goodbye.
She was a leech, Harriet! She drained your scholarship.
But she was ill. A fondness for hard liquor is a disease, they say.
So what? An excuse?
No. Still I could have forgiven. Now its too late.
Stan turned her to face him.
Dont torture yourself. You did what you could. You saved yourself.
Yet my soul feels lost.
Nonsense. You have the brightest soul I know.
He kissed her temple; she leaned into his chest. He didnt understand how to live with that weight of guilt.
They decided to keep the birthday lowkey, at home. Fifteen guests close friends, colleagues, James with his wife.
Morning found Harriet bustling in the kitchen. Salads, a hot roast, a cake ordered from a bakery. Stan helped slicing veg, setting the table.
Harry will really be the only one coming? he asked amid the chaos.
He promised.
Good.
By seven, guests began to arrive. James turned up at half past seven, followed by two more squeezing through the doorway.
Father silverhaired, upright as a lance, in a crisp suit. Mother petite, in a floral dress, clutching a wrapped parcel.
Stan froze, a bottle in his hand.
What does this mean?
Stanley, my boy his mother stepped forward.
I never invited you.
We came on our own, the father snapped. We have a right!
You have no right! James, what the hell?
Brother, cut it out. Theyre your parents!
I dont give a toss! Get out!
The room fell into a brittle silence; some guests held glasses, others plates. The tension was palpable.
Stan, dont Harriet squeezed his wrist.
No, I must! he burst out. Ten years you didnt know me! You ignored my wedding! You refuse to recognise my grandson! And now you turn up?
We just wanted to wish you his mother thrust forward the parcel. Happy birthday.
Throw your wishes away I need nothing from you!
Stanley, quit the tantrum! the father roared. Behave like a man!
How did you teach me? To cast out the son who stumbled?
You disgraced the family!
I was a student! A regular lad who flunked an exam!
Because of parties and girls!
And now thats an excuse to throw a son out the door?
His mother started sobbing. His fathers face reddened.
We gave you a lesson!
You ruined my life! If it werent for Harriet, for my friends, where would I be?
Dont exaggerate! I survived!
I survived without you! And Ill keep on surviving!
James tried to interject.
Calm down, please. The guests
Let them go! Stan turned toward the door. Out, both of you!
His father stood taller, chest puffed.
Fine. Now I know I made the right call. Every penny of our estate will go to James. Every last shilling! And you youre nothing. A vacant spot!
I dont give a fig about your money!
Well see how you sing when were gone.
Youll be left with nothing but the tablecloth!
The parents stalked out. Mother sniffed, father marched with a heavy tread. James chased after them, pleading, trying to reason.
Silence settled over the room.
Sorry, folks, Stan said to the remaining guests. Family drama.
It happens, someone tried to lighten the mood.
But the celebration lay in ruins. Guests slipped away quickly, leaving only James, pale and dejected.
Whyd you bring them? Stan asked, exhausted.
I thought youd reconcile. Mum begged me.
Let her beg all she likes. Im indifferent.
Brother, its wrong. Theyre old now.
So what? Old age is a pardon?
Father spoke seriously about a will. Hell leave you nothing.
Good. I dont need their charity.
James left. Harriet silently cleared the table. Stan slumped onto the sofa, his face buried in his hands.
Did I do right?
I dont know. But I understand you.
They didnt even apologise. They walked in as if nothing had happened.
Pride wont let you.
And my pride? Could they have trampled me?
Harriet sat beside him, wrapping her arms around him.
You cant. But sometimes sometimes its better to forgive before its too late.
Hows your mum?
Shes gone.
Thats a different story, Harriet. Your mother was ill. Mine were just hardhearted folk.
Perhaps. Or maybe they just never knew how to love properly.
Three years later, a typical morning, Stan was getting ready for work when the phone rang it was James.
Brother, Dads in hospital. Stroke.
Something snapped inside Stan.
Seriously?
Doctors say it might be fatal.
I see.
Are you coming?
I dont know.
Stan, hes your father. Whatever happens.
He hung up. Harriet watched him, eyes asking.
Hes on the edge.
Go.
Why? He doesnt want me.
And you? Do you want him to die that way?
Stan was silent, memories flooding back his dad teaching him to ride a bike, fishing on the lake, the firstday school bag clutched in his hand.
When did the protector become a tyrant?
Go, Harriet urged. Itll be too late later.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic. A frail woman in a grey coat sat in the corridor his mother, thin, greyhaired, lost. She spotted Stan and clutched at him.
Stan! Youve come!
She threw her arms around him. He stood stiff as a statue, unable to reply.
Hows Dad?
Bad. The doctors they give little hope.
Can I see him?
Hes unconscious, but they say he can hear.
In the ward, his father lay on the bed tubes, drips, monitors. The onceformidable colonel now a helpless old man.
Stan sat beside him, taking his withered hand light as a feather.
Dad, its me. Stan.
Silence. Only the soft beeping of machines.
I I need to say this. I was angry. I held a grudge for years. For throwing me out. For the indifference. For loving Harry more than me.
His hand twitched. Was it real?
But you know what? I forgive you. Hear that? I forgive you for everything.
His fathers eyes fluttered open, cloudy but recognizing.
Dad?
His lips moved. Stan leaned in.
I forgive
A whisper, barely audible, but Stan caught it.
I forgave, Dad. Its alright.
His fathers eyes closed again, a peaceful expression settling over his face.
Stan held his hand, talking about work, about family, about the grandson his father never saw.
That night, the old colonel slipped away quietly, as if in his sleep. Harriet later said hed been waiting for that forgiveness.
After the funeral, Stan and Harriet sat at the kitchen table, tea steaming, silence between them.
How are you? she asked.
Strange. I thought Id feel something. Inside its empty.
You did the right thing, leaving.
You know, he said I forgive. My first time hearing it.
Pride shattered before the world.
Yes. Mine too.
Harriet lifted her head.
Stan, apologise to yourself for Mum. She wouldnt want you to keep suffering.
How do you know?
Because parents love their children. Even those like my dad crooked, painful, but love still there. And they forgive everything.
Harriet began to cry. Stan pulled her close, pressing her against him.
Were both fools. We clung to the hurts, gnawed at ourselves. We should have just just forgiven.
Now we know.
Its too late for them. But were alive. We can live without that burden.
Outside, snow fell the first of the season, clean and white. Like forgiveness. Like a fresh page.
Stan thought of his father. How they could have made peace sooner, how much time wasted on anger.
Hed at least said the words. Hed at least heard them. And that was something.
Be wise, learn to forgive, for parents arent eternal, and we dont choose them
