Happy Miserable Mess (FOB/Patrick Stump FanFic)

Chapter 21

Her grave was the last destination on my little trip to Chicago. 

I returned to my father's house not too long afterwards and informed him I was leaving by the next morning. He and Jeanette both objected, nearly begging me to stay another day or two, which was shocking...hearing that my dad wanted me. Parker joined their side of the argument, saying he didn't want to go back, that he liked it here and never wanted to leave. But I'd had enough of Chicago. I wanted to go back home, I wanted to see my friends, I wanted to sleep in my own lonely bed.

So by morning, all of Parker's and my things were packed up and we were back on the road, facing the next twenty-nine hours it was going to take us to get back.

For a good majority of the ride, Parker had a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest, upset at me for taking him away from Jeanette and Grandpa.

"Come on, Park, lose the frown, okay?" I pleaded, not being able to take it anymore. He glared at me through the rear view mirror. "I just took you on a nice little trip, and this is how you're going to repay me? The silent treatment?"

"I wanted to stay with them," He grumbled, pouting his lower lip out.

"Well you're not their son, you're mine."

"I wish I was theirs...at least then I'd have a mommy..." He whispered harshly, averting his gaze out the window. I knew he was only saying that because he was upset, but it still felt like a gunshot to the heart.

After that, there was absolutely no conversation. The rest of the car ride was completely silent, we didn't even have the radio on. It was as if someone had stolen it.

*****

It felt like weeks before we arrived back home, though it was only a day and a half. As soon as I opened the door, Parker rushed up to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him, leaving me to bring in our bags. I didn't even bother bringing them upstairs, in fears I might cross paths with my son, so they just stayed in the foyer.

I trudged into the kitchen and saw that the answering machine was full. I heaved a sigh and walked over, pressing the play button and pulling over a stool to sit on.

"Patrick, where are you?" Joe's voice emanated from the speaker, "I've called you on your cell phone a hundred times and you didn't pick up. I even came by your house with the guys and you weren't there-"

"Of course you did," I muttered. Delete.

"Hey, honey," It was my mom, "Just checking up on you and Parker. It's been a little while since we talked and I want to make sure nothing's gone wrong. Call me back when you get this, please. I'm worried."

"Me too, Mom, me too..." Delete.

"Hi, Mr. Stump! This is Elisa Yao, Parker's preschool teacher. I've noticed that your son wasn't in class these past few days and I was wondering if everything's okay. I'm well aware of what happened and-"

I rolled my eyes and slammed my hand down on the receiver. Delete.

"Patrick, I know you're shutting us out again, but please...if you get this, don't delete it." Pete started off. My finger was hovering over the delete button."I can only imagine how hard it is for you right now, being on your own and all, and no one deserves to go through what you've had to go through. And we get it, you lost your wife. But losing people you love is a part of life, a tough one, but it's a part of it. And what example are you leading for Parker? Pushing away everyone who cares about you and wants to help you through this? I don't understand why you don't want us around. If it was me, and I lost Meagan like you lost your wife, I wouldn't want to be alone. I wouldn't want to be miserable. And don't you dare try telling me that you're not miserable because you are, I see straight through the fake smiles of yours, I've known you too long not to. So please, man, stop isolating yourself and let us in. We need you back, Patrick, and so does Parker."

By the end of Pete's message,  I had rested my elbows on the counter and put my face in my hands, tears falling from my eyes and soaking the palms of my hands.

"Daddy?"

I picked my head up from my hands and looked over at him, my eyes red and stinging. "What...What do you want, Parker?" I asked, taking in sharp breaths to bring oxygen back to my lungs.

"I just wanted to say I'm sowwy for what I said earwier," He spoke like a baby, walking over and holding out a piece of construction paper to me. I took it into my possession and saw that he'd drawn a picture of him and me holding hands, squiggly smiles on our faces and a huge hat on top of my head. Scribbled above us was Im sorry Daddy and beneath us,  2 outta 3 aynt bad. "I didn't mean it. I was just angwy."

"Oh, Park..." I set the picture down on the counter and picked him up, sitting him on my lap and hugging him tightly, "I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I haven't been myself lately and...and I'm going to change that. No more frowns, no more scowls. Okay?"

"Okay," He agreed, a small grin crawling on his face.

I leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, "I love you, Park."

"I love you too, Daddy."

*****

Later that night, Parker and I were sitting in his small bed, both dressed in our pajamas. The lamp on his nightstand was on, illuminating the digital clock that read 11:15, and in my lap was an old photo album we were looking through.

"What's this one?" My son questioned tiredly, letting out a long yawn and dropping his finger on one of the six photographs on the page.

"That's from the day you were born," I informed him, the corner of my lip perking upward, remembering the day like it was yesterday. It was of him and his mom, sitting in the hospital bed. He was lying in her arms, his face all scrunched up, whereas she had a genuine smile plastered on hers, looking down at him in admiration. That was the happiest day of her life, of our life.

He made a weak sound of acknowledgement before curling up beside me and fighting to keep his eyes open. "What about this one?" He pointed to another one. This one was of him and me lying on the couch, both asleep.

"This one's of you and me, a few months after we brought you home..."