When the one person supposed to keep the family together ruins his prom night, 17-year-old Ethan must decide whether to remain quiet or expose the truth. Heartbreak evolves into a reckoning, discovery, and potentially life-changing event.
Some think memory is slippery. It changes and blurs. My memory of that day is flawless.
Not for the suit. No prom reason. But because that was the day my dad finally realized what I’d been saying.
Someone believed me that day.
Mom left when I was 7. No farewell was written, just a few vague lines about “finding her joy.”
Only quiet.
My dad, Mark, tried. A nice guy attempting to perform two jobs meant cold meals and uncomfortable embraces.
A year later, he married Angela. She was polite, willing to assist me with my English schoolwork, and created her own candles, but she never fit.
She died five years later.
Brenda followed.
Brenda makes Pinterest-worthy casseroles. Brenda smiles at pageant. She moved in with her son Logan, my age but nothing like me, when I was fifteen. Logan failed algebra while wearing sunglasses inside.
Brenda into our lives and changed everything. She got Logan into my school and class.
So the lads can connect, Mark! She chirped. Imagine, they’ll be bonded like brothers soon! ”
No, we didn’t.
Brenda began her quiet struggle then.
She didn’t hit. She didn’t yell. She deleted. Downgraded garments. Nearly depleted battery left my phone hardly charged. Logan’s plate was usually fuller than mine.
So she waited till Dad departed for work. Brenda would then emerge with her modest insults and grins.
You thought we reserved breakfast for you, Ethan? Oops. Logan needs more waffles as he grows.”
Brenda would exploit whatever statement I made to my dad.
Ethan is misbehaving again. He wants all the attention.”
Every. Single. Time.
Prom arrived when I stopped fussing. Time was ticking till I turned 18. My salvation was college.
My dad suggested we select suits together.
He dubbed it a “family bonding” excursion. Something normal fathers would offer without hesitation. He took us to the mall with the optimistic look he used to think we were a regular family that had ice cream and played board games without slamming doors.
We entered the formalwear shop. With slicked-back hair and fake joy, the salesperson urged us toward a row of identical three-pieces.
“Same price range, gentlemen,” my dad replied, patting our backs. To be fair.”
Fair. Word felt sharp.
My three-piece was blue with a satin lapel. Classic. Clean. Logan chose charcoal. Even though I wanted charcoal, I didn’t fight. Not a problem.
Prom would be four hours of uncomfortable small conversation, sticky punch, and pretending to care. The suit would probably go in the back of my closet and be forgotten.
Standing beneath those harsh fluorescent lights as Dad paid and Brenda feigned a proud grin, I didn’t realize I’d never wear it.
Because someone had already determined just one of us could shine.
It wasn’t me.
I had been anticipating prom for weeks, but not for the typical reasons. I didn’t care about the limo, dance floor, uncomfortable images, or music, which would probably be dreadful.
It concerned Hannah.
Hannah with her imperfect front teeth and infectious laugh. This girl has been handing me pre-calc notes since October. Her non-gaming nature made me like her. Her only response to my question was a blink.
“Yes, Ethan. Just pledge to dance! Her grin lit up her freckles as she said.
Promised.
Naturally, I was thrilled. Nervous too. Just once, I wanted to look good. I wanted to fit in that space.
My suit was on my bed when I arrived home from prom.
Not bagged. Non-hanger.
But fragmented.
Shredded fabric. Buttons and threads everywhere. It seemed animal-torn. We found clean, furious c.u.ts from someone who intended to destroy something, not bite marks.
I slipped my bag off my shoulder. A shred of my jacket sleeve was in my hands. A detective wasn’t needed to identify the perpetrator.
I headed directly to Brenda’s room.
She lay on the bed, flicking through Vogue like she hadn’t just ruined my night.
“What happened to my suit? I asked.
“Ethan! She gasped, gripping her chest. Honey, it’s not what you think! ”
She told her tragic tale. She said she placed both outfits on the clothesline outdoors.
I simply wanted to breathe off that department store stench, Ethan! She exclaimed. Logan dislikes the scent and didn’t have time to dry clean. Maybe some sun would help! ”
“But that doesn’t explain what happened to my suit,” I answered blandly.
“My lawnmower accidentally hit yours.”
Only my. Logan’s? Totally fine. So convenient.
“You expect me to believe that? I asked.
She grasped her breast again, as if I criticized her food.
She said, “Ethan, honey, I feel so terrible about it.”
Called my dad.
“She told me, son,” he said. It was accidental. Ethan, she’s miserable. She shook when she told me.”
You believe her? As I asked, my voice was strained.
“She admitted. She confessed. It must count. Simply wear a beautiful shirt and pants. I expect many other males to be unsuited. No big deal.”
I hung up. But I continued.
Next-door neighbor Mrs. Dubois. They always knew whether your garbage was late or your automobile tire was a few inches off.
She liked me. She often invited me for brownies or cookies. I helped her choose her first digital camera a month earlier. She liked the video function.
Desperate. I knocked.
“Ethan! Hi gorgeous young guy, I cooked stew. Want some? She welcomed heartily.
“Thank you, but did you notice anything unusual in our yard today? I asked.
She slowly nodded and grinned.
“I didn’t just see it, dear,” she added. “I filmed. Your stepmother came outside as I was filming a bird. I’m nosy, Ethan.
Video was clear and striking.
Brenda. My outfit. Lawn.
She presented it strangely. So she rolled out the mower. She revved it once and drove over my outfit with the blank attention of a flowerbed weeder.
She threw everything in a garbage bag gently.
“Wow,” I murmured.
“She’s a nasty piece of work, dear,” Mrs. Dubois replied. “There’s something not quite right up here,” she said, touching her temple.
I almost laughed. I texted my dad the file from my phone.
“Thanks, Mrs. Dubois. You benefited me more than you realize.”
Stay for stew! She yelled, walking to the kitchen.
Dad arrived home an hour later. I was in my room with calm music, pondering how to tell Hannah. My pants barely reached my ankles when I tried them on.
No way I could go.
Then Dad came at my door. He was silent at first. He glanced at me before entering Logan’s room. I saw him take Logan’s outfit off the rack and return.
Brenda shouted. Logan complained it was “his night.”
I called Logan, “Come on.” “You didn’t want to go.”
Father didn’t fight.
I was urged to put it on and call a taxi. Will pay. Go. Enjoy your night.”
The outfit fit well. Ironically, Logan and I were the same size.
Brenda was still shouting as I left, but I didn’t care. The door closed and I felt lighter. Not for prom, but because someone finally saw.
As the taxi arrived, I raced across the yard and plucked some roses from Mrs. Dubois’s garden.
For Hannah.
Came home at midnight.
I stood at the curb staring at the home after the taxi dropped me off. Porch light shone. Hidden behind a curtain, one window shined. Everything else was dark.
It was silent inside. Too quiet.
TV off, kitchen quiet. No battery request from Logan. A clean, resounding quiet, like something had been wiped away.
Boxes littered the corridor. Shoes, books, perfume. Logan’s posters vanished. Brenda adored that awful porcelain duck?
Gone.
My dad was drinking beer in the kitchen. Stove light shadowed his face. He saw Brenda’s shattered picture frame, jam jar, and half-burned candles in a box.
He murmured, “She’s gone,” without looking up.
I remained silent. I sat opposite him.
After a lengthy drink, he placed the bottle down.
“I think I knew,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to admit another mistake. I wanted a ‘normal’ family for Ethan. I thought Logan may be your brother…”
His hands trembled slightly.
“I let her make you feel small,” he continued. Saw stuff. But I told myself they were fake. I made excuses when you spoke out. For her. Not yours. I apologize.”
My response was delayed. Thick throat, full with things I wanted to speak but couldn’t. Just gazed at him. Actually looked.
This wasn’t the guy who ignored me on the phone hours earlier. This person was sincere and sorry.
He raised his hot yet clear eyes at me.
“No more stepmoms, Ethan,” he added. “I’m done trying to solve problems by replacing absent individuals. I’m your dad finally.”
He grabbed my hand.
First time in years, I believed him.
I recalled Hannah’s brilliant grin beneath the lights.
“You clean up well,” she taunted, fixing my tie.
I remembered how she giggled throughout slow songs and never let go of my hand. She didn’t know what occurred before I arrived. She needn’t. She just saw the guy who arrived.
People consider vengeance loud. They picture yelling, doors smashed, plates shattered. But sometimes it’s silent.
One video file. Lawn mower whirr. A suit moved between hangers.
Before someone says “I’m sorry.”
I believe dad and I will be alright.