Tom, 17, must decide between keeping quiet and speaking the truth after the one person who should keep the family together ruins his prom night. However, what starts off as silent heartbreak becomes into something else. a moment that might potentially alter everything, a reckoning, and a discovery.
It’s said that memory is elusive. that it evolves with time. However, I can recall every single detail of that day.
It’s not the suit. Not even because of prom. However, it was the day when my father finally turned to face me and realized what I had been saying all along.
That was the day I was finally taken seriously.
My mother left us when I was seven years old. There was no note, no farewell, other for a few vague words about “finding her joy”.
Nothing but quiet.
Richard, my dad, tried his hardest. He was a good man attempting to handle two jobs, which meant uncomfortable embraces and a lot of frozen meals.
He wed Sophia a year later. Although she was friendly, willing to assist with my English assignments, and even created her own candles, she was never quite right.
She also vanished five years later.
Then Leslie arrived.
Leslie of the casseroles that are so Instagram-worthy. Leslie, grinning like a pageant. She moved in with her son, Stuart, who was my age but very different from me, when I was fifteen. Stuart was the type of child who failed math even when wearing sunglasses indoors.
Leslie did more than simply fit in; she changed the course of our lives. Stuart was moved to my school and even placed in my class by her.
“Richard,” she had added, “so the boys can bond.” “Just think, they’ll be like brothers in no time!”
As a spoiler, we didn’t.
Leslie started the silent fight at that point.
She erased, but she didn’t hit or yell. My wardrobe was degraded. The battery on my phone was so dead that it could not hold a charge. Stuart’s plate usually seemed a bit fuller than mine did.
She would bide her time till Dad left for work. Then the real Leslie would appear, smirking and making passive remarks.
“Oh, Tom, did you think we were keeping breakfast for you? I’m sorry. Stuart needs more waffles because he is a growing boy.
Leslie would swiftly rewrite the story to fit her and her priceless boy if I told my father anything.
“Tom is simply misbehaving once more. He desires all the attention.
Each and every time.
By the time prom arrived, I had no more complaints. Going away to college would be my bright spot, therefore I was counting down the days till I turned 18.
It would be wonderful, according to my dad, if we choose suits jointly.
He called it a “family bonding” trip. It was the type of thing that typical fathers would likely recommend without first assessing the emotional prediction. When he pretended that we were the type of family that played board games and went on ice cream runs without slamming doors, he drove us to the mall with that optimistic smile.
When we arrived to the formalwear store, the salesperson pointed us a line of identical three-pieces while sporting a sleek hairstyle and a fake smile.
My dad put a hand on each of our backs and remarked, “Same price range, gentlemen.” “Just to be fair.”
Just. Now that term was sharp.
I went for a three-piece in navy with a satin lapel. Clean and classic. Charcoal was Stuart’s choice. I wanted charcoal first, but I didn’t argue with him about it. It made no difference.
Four hours of awkward small conversation, sticky punch, and acting as though you care would be prom. After that, I would most likely throw the suit in my closet and go on.
I was unaware that I would never get to wear it as I stood there under those awful fluorescent lights watching Dad pay and Leslie pretend to smile proudly.
Because someone had already determined that only one of us could share the spotlight.
I wasn’t going to be the one.
For weeks, I had been anticipating prom, but not for the typical reasons. I didn’t give a damn about the dance floor, the limousine, the uncomfortable pictures, or even the music, which was sure to be awful.
The subject was Taylor.
Taylor, who had been passing me in pre-calc since October, had a crooked front tooth, a loud laugh, and notes. Because she didn’t play games, I liked her. She blinked once when I finally summoned the courage to ask her.
Yes, Tom. However, only if you swear to dance! Her freckles showed through her smile.
I said I would.
I was excited, of course. I’m also anxious. I wanted to appear respectable. Only once. I desired to have a sense of belonging in the space.
On prom day, however, I discovered the remnants of my suit on my bed when I returned home from school.
Not in a bag. Not hanging.
but in bits and pieces.
Shredded fabric fragments. A maze of buttons and threads. It appeared to have been mauled by an animal. However, there were just the crisp, enraged slashes of someone who intended to intentionally destroy something; there were no teeth marks.
With my backpack slipping off my shoulder, I stood there looking. I wrapped my fingers around a piece of what had been my blazer sleeve. I could determine who did it without the help of a detective.
I made my way directly to Leslie’s room.
As though she hadn’t already ruined my night, she was lying on the bed, leafing through a Vogue.
“What happened to my suit?” I inquired.
“Tom!” she exclaimed sharply. “Honey, it’s not what you think!”
Like awful soap opera speech, the story poured out. She hung both suits on the clothesline, according to Leslie.
She yelled, “Tom, I just wanted to let out that department store odor.” It was too late to get to the dry cleaners, and I know Stuart detests the odor. Thus… I believed that a little sunshine would help them.
“But, Leslie, that doesn’t explain what happened to my suit.”
“I… unintentionally ran the lawnmower over yours.”
Just my. Stuart’s outfit? secure. Oh, phew. It’s a miracle.
“You think I’m going to believe that?” Deadpan, I asked.
As if I had just attacked her food, she clenched her chest.
“I feel so bad about it, Tom, honey,” she said.
So I gave my dad a call.
“Son,” he added, “she told me about it already.” “It happened by mistake. Tom, she feels awful. When she told me about it over the phone, I could hear her trembling.
“And you think she’s real?” I tightened my jaw and asked.
She took responsibility. She admitted it. That’s important. Simply put on some slacks and a beautiful shirt. Many of the guys will probably wear that nevertheless. You kids no longer give a damn about suits. Not until you go shopping with your folks. Son, you are not required to wear a suit.
I ended the call. I wasn’t finished, though.
There was Mrs. Elizaveta next door. She was the type of neighbor who could always tell whether your car had strayed three feet from your property line or if your trash was late.
But she often called me to ask if I wanted to eat a brownie or cookie with her, as if she had a soft spot for me. A month prior, I had assisted her in selecting her first digital camera. The fact that it featured a video option delighted her.
I felt desperate, even though I knew I was relying solely on chance.
I went to knock on her door after that.
“Hey Tom! I just made a pot of stew, you lovely boy. Do you want any? She gave a kind grin.
“Thank you, but not really. I had a question. Did you notice anything strange today in our backyard?
She nodded and smiled slowly.
“My dear,” she said, “I didn’t just see it.” “I recorded everything.” Actually, I was filming a bird when your stepmother came out. Tom, you know I’m as nosy as they come.
The footage, in its simplicity, was terrible.
Leslie. My outfit. The grass.
She arranged it as though she were making a sacrifice for an ancient deity. She then pulled out the lawnmower. With the expressionless face of someone pulling weeds from a garden, she gave it a single rev before driving right over the suit.
She then scooped it into a trash bag with composure.
“Whoa,” I exclaimed.
My neighbor said, “She’s a nasty piece of work, dear.” “I believe she is having some sort of issue. upstairs. Do you understand what I mean?
It nearly made me chuckle. I sent my father the file after moving it to my phone.
I’m grateful, Mrs. Elizaveta. You’ll never realize how much you’ve helped me.
She responded, “Well, stay and have a bowl of stew!” as she started to go to the kitchen.
My father entered the house an hour later. As I listened to music in my room, I contemplated how I would inform Taylor of the news. Slacks sat at my ankles when I tried them on.
I couldn’t possibly make it to prom.
My dad showed up at my doorway a few moments later. After giving me a quick smile, he went to Stuart’s room. He went back to me after removing Stuart’s suit from the hanger, and I watched from my bed.
Leslie let out a scream. It was his night, Stuart complained.
I said, “Come on, Stuart.” “You weren’t even interested in going.”
My father did not strike back.
He said to me, “Son, put it on.” Make a cab call. I’ll cover the cost. Enjoy your special evening, please.
The garment was a fantastic fit. Strangely enough, Stuart and I were about the same size.
Leslie was still protesting when I left the house, but I was unaffected. I felt lighter as I closed the door. It was because someone had finally, finally seen, not because of prom.
I hurried over to Mrs. Elizaveta as the cab arrived and plucked some flowers from her rosebush.
For Taylor.
Around midnight, I arrived home.
I stood for a moment staring up at the house after the cab dropped me off at the curb. The light on the porch was on. Behind the curtains, one window had a faint glow. It was dark everywhere else.
It was silent inside. Too silent.
No television was present. No sounds from the kitchen. No Stuart complaining about his controller’s need for new batteries. Just the sort of quiet that seemed to have been cleaned up recently, as if something had been removed.
The corridor was lined with boxes. towers made of cardboard filled with books, shoes, and perfume bottles. The posters of Stuart were no longer on the walls. Leslie liked that terrible porcelain duck?
Lost.
I discovered my father drinking a beer while seated at the kitchen table. His face was shadowed by the light from the stove next to him. A cardboard box containing Leslie’s last trinkets, a damaged picture frame, a jar of peach jam, and a few partially used candles stood in front of him.
He murmured, “She’s gone,” without raising his gaze.
I didn’t respond. I simply took a seat across from him.
After taking a deep gulp, he put down the bottle.
His voice was low as he added, “I think I knew.” “You know, I just didn’t want to own that I had made another error. Tom, I really wanted to offer you a “normal” family. I wanted a mother figure to be a part of your life. I desired for Stuart to resemble a sibling.
There was a slight tremor in his hands.
He said, “I allowed her to make you feel insignificant.” “I noticed stuff. However, I persuaded myself that they weren’t what they appeared to be. Additionally, when you said… I offered justifications. For her. Not for you. I apologize.
I didn’t say anything at first. I felt as though something was stuck in my throat, preventing me from forming all the things I wanted to say. I simply stared at him. glanced closely.
The man who had thrown me off the phone hours before wasn’t this one. This person was genuine, silent, apologetic, and stripped down.
His eyes were hot but steady as he turned to face me.
He declared, “Tom, no more stepmothers.” “No more attempting to make things better by substituting what or who is gone… I’ll be the only one. I’m your father at last.
He grabbed my hand from across the table.
And I believed him for the first time in years.
In the dim light, I pictured Taylor grinning.
She fixed my tie and said, “You clean up well.”
I recalled how she held my hand the entire time and how she giggled during slow dances. Before I arrived, she was unaware of what had transpired. She didn’t have to. The person who showed up nevertheless was all she saw.
People believe that retaliation is noisy. They believe it to be slamming doors and yelling matches. Ultimatums and explosions. However, there are tranquil moments.
A flash disk contains a single video. the beginning of a lawnmower. Silently, a suit moved from one hanger to another.
The silence before “I’m sorry” is ultimately said.
My dad and I should be alright, I believe.