Javi, Come Home

CHAPTER FOUR

     Oscar has aged.

     Javi expected him to, didn't think time worked any differently for his parents then it did for himself. It didn't make it any less sad, sitting across from him at the kitchen table under the bright overhead light, looking at his closely shaved beard that was fully gray now.

     Oscar looks at Javi like he can't take it all in fast enough, his eyes darting up, over, down, over like they were using Morse Code to find out why he left and why he never came back.

     "Do you want coffee?" Oscar asks suddenly, jumping to his feet. He has an old coffee maker on the counter and pulls a container of Folgers out of the cabinet.

     Javi does want coffee. His body craves caffeine like it's narcotics. Maybe for him it is. But he knows the rules and feels like at least while he's here he should try to abide by them. He doesn't need another incident occurring where everyone knows him.

     "I can't have caffeine this late," he says instead of just no thank you. He says it mainly because he wants his dad to ask him oh why not? So he can say because my doctors advised me not to and he'll ask what doctors and he'll tell him my psychiatrist.

     He wants his dad to give him the opening to tell him everything.

     Javi waits, wringing his hands on the table and trying not to look around. Everything is the same in the worst kind of way. He can easily imagine his mom in this room, picture her at the sink filing a cup of water to pour into her herbs on the windowsill. Or by the oven making rice, overcooking it so the bottom burns the way Javi likes it, cocón.

     Oscar returns with a cup of coffee, the steam rising and fogging his glasses. He sits across from Javi, looks at him again like he has to make a memory of him. "Your mother," he says and stops.

     "I know," Javi tells him.

     "Where were you, Javi? Why did you not come?" Oscar asks, his tone hurt. "She loved you so much."

     "I know," Javi repeats nodding solemnly.

     "She said to me...she was dying and we knew that. We did not take the little time she had for granted. She got her affairs in order. And in one of the last days — she said to me, forgive him, Oscar. He is our son and so you must forgive him."

     "I was so mad at you," Oscar admits shamefully. "At my own son. I couldn't understand what we did to push you away."

     Javi takes it on the chin. He deserves worse. He deserves his father's wrath.

     Oscar drinks from his mug. Doesn't even flinch from the heat of his drink. He says slowly, "I loved your mother till the very end. I'll love her for the rest of my days. So I'll do as she asked. I've missed you, Javi. I've missed my son very much. But I also need time. Because I'm angry. But I am happy you're here. I hope you will stay. At least for a little while."

     Javi blinks back the tears. He won't make this moment about him. He doesn't deserve his father's pity. Not when he's disappointed him the way he has.

     He clears his throat and says, "I don't have anywhere else to go right now."

     "Then you'll stay," Oscar says standing. "And we'll work on this. Rebuild it." He watches his father walk over the sink and set is coffee in it. He realizes that, like his father, he does things sometimes just to busy his hands, not because he necessarily needs to.

     Oscar's at the doorway and he looks back at Javi. He says, "I believe your mother sent you back to me."

     Javi is gutted. He needs worse from his father. He needs his father's rage. He didn't come here looking for absolution. He came here to reaffirm how he already feels about himself.