Dads Still the Best
Max, we need to have a chat.
Helen fussed over the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles with the nervous energy of a woman pretending to be calm, though her fingers betrayed her. Max sat opposite, nose buried in his mobile, thumbs flying across the screen with the kind of exaggerated focus best reserved for ignoring your mother. His favourite trick.
Son Id like to talk to you about something important.
No reaction. Just frantic tapping.
Helen took a deep breath, summoning courage for the words shed been dodging all week.
When your dad and I divorced it was six months before I introduced you to Simon. I didnt rush, Max really, I wanted to be certain I was serious about him.
Maxs thumbs froze. He lifted his gaze, his teenage eyes blazing with such indignation that Helen shrank back a little.
Serious? he gritted out. You think youre serious about that guy, that random bloke? Hes not even worth Dads little finger! Dads still the best! He always will be!
Vivid memories of that very first meeting crashed through Maxs mind: a tall stranger in the hallway, his mums awkward smile, the foreign stink of aftershave lingering in the corridor. An invader occupying the sacred space once reserved for Dad.
Hes not a stranger, Helen ventured gently. Hes my husband.
Yours! Max tossed his phone onto the table. But hes nothing to me! My dad is my dad. That other guy
He left it unsaid the scorn said enough.
Simon, poor soul, had honestly tried. Good Lord, hed tried. Most evenings youd find him sweating in the garage, hunched over Maxs battered bicycle, hands black with engine oil, brow slick, and lips stretched in the stubborn grin of someone determined to win at any cost.
Sorted the frame out, hed announce, wiping his hands. Fancy a ride tomorrow?
Silence. Chilly, echoing silence.
Later, Simon would perch next to Max at his desk, explaining maths homework as simply as he could.
See, if we move the x over here
I get it, Max snapped, even though it was obvious he didnt.
Just wanted Simon out of his hair.
Every morning, the kitchen was filled with the scent of freshly made pancakes and honey Maxs favourite. Simon would stack them with military precision on a plate, setting them in front of his stepson.
Dad made them thinner, Max would grumble, barely touching the food. Real honey, not this tasteless stuff.
Every olive branch was met with a fortress of chilling indifference. Max seemed to collect reasons to be snarky, turning each little thing into ammunition for comparison.
Dad never shouted.
Dad always knew what I liked.
Dad did everything right.
Helen and Simons wedding blew apart any fragile truce theyd brokered. Max saw the marriage certificate as the final betrayal. The house transformed into a minefield. Mornings brimmed with charged silences; evenings ended with doors slammed shut.
Max unwittingly became a secret agent. He recorded every one of Simons slip-ups with the diligence of a detective. A sharp word at dinner noted. An irritated sigh over homework logged. A weary not now after work filed in his grievance folder.
Dad, he shouted at me again, Max would whisper into the phone, barricaded in his room.
Really? Andrew would click his tongue with theatrical sympathy. Poor lad. Dyou remember when we used to go to the park? Every single weekend, eh?
I do
That was a proper family. Not like it is now.
Andrew would turn ordinary arguments into wild tales of cruelty, painting a golden portrait of the past where the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, and Dad was flawless.
Simon, meanwhile, felt like an unwelcome lodger in his own home. Every glance from Max seemed to say: You dont belong. Youre taking someone elses spot. Youll never be part of us.
The strain piled up, day by day, a backpack full of bricks.
And then it all collapsed one ordinary evening, over dinner.
Youve got no right to tell me what to do! Max erupted when Simon asked him to put his phone down. Youre nothing to me, alright? Nothing!
Helen froze mid-fork. Something inside her snapped; she watched her son look at Simon with pure hate, and the room felt heavy.
My dads better in every way. And you you just Dad says you ruin everything! Id be better off with him!
Thats enough, Helen said quietly. Thats quite enough.
The next morning, she rang her ex-husband. Her fingers trembled, but she was resolute.
Andrew, she said, calm as anything, Since you reckon youre the better parent, why dont you take Max? For good. Ive got no objections. Ill even pay you child maintenance.
Silence. A long, awkward, buzzing silence.
Well you know how it is these days Andrew began to waffle. Works mad. Im away on business half the time Id love to, but
He started shuffling some papers, feigned a cough.
Well, Helen its tricky right now. One-bedroom flat, Im mid-renovation. My job, as you know the hours are all over the place.
Helen listened, letting him talk himself into a tangle.
And then theres Carla my girlfriend. Shes not, erm, really ready for a kid at home. Weve just moved in, still finding our feet
The tragic blether of a man who spent his evenings poisoning her sons view of Simon, stoking every bit of tension, only to back out at the crucial moment with excuses about flats and decorating and Carlas preferences.
I get it, Andrew, Helen said evenly. Thanks for being honest.
She hung up before he could muster a reply.
That night Helen called Max into the lounge. He flopped onto the armchair, ready for a fight but something in his mums face made him pause.
I spoke with your dad today, she started.
Max perked up.
And what did he say?
Helen sat opposite, her voice gentler but firm.
Hes not going to take you. Not now, not ever. Hes got a new life. New partner. Theres no room for you.
Youre lying! You always lie! Max shouted. Dad loves me! He said so
Its easy to say, Helen replied, quietly. When I asked him to take you, he suddenly remembered his decorating and his one-bedroom flat.
Max opened his mouth, but there was nothing to say.
Now listen carefully. Helen leaned forward. No more comparisons. No more secret reports to Daddy, no more being rude to Simon. Either were a family all three or you go to your dad, who, frankly, doesnt want you. If it comes to it, Ill make him take you. And then youll see your dad as he is, not as he tells you.
Max sat frozen, pupils wide, hearing every word.
Mum
Im not joking. There was no hint of a smile. I love you more than life, but Im not letting you wreck my marriage. Youve been horrible, and Ive let it go for too long. That stops now. The choice is yours.
The world, so neatly divided nice Dad versus evil stepdad crumbled to bits. Dad didnt want him. Dad picked Carla and a new paint job. Dad was just using him, really, for a bit of revenge against Mum?
The harsh truth dawned slowly. All those evening calls, the sad clucking, the Whats he done now? not kindness. More like ammo. Andrew was quietly collecting stories to fuel his own petty vendetta, and Max was unwittingly supplying the bullets.
Max swallowed a hard lump in his throat.
And Simon? The same Simon Max had antagonised for months? Who painstakingly straightened out his bikes wonky frame while Max strutted past the garage, pretending not to notice. Who woke up early every morning just to make pancakes. Who stuck around, never quitting, trying again and again, no matter what
Change didnt come easy. For weeks, Max hid in his room, barely daring to meet Simons eyes. It was mortifying to admit hed acted like a little brat. Every time he saw his stepdad, he remembered saying, Youre nothing to me, and honestly wanted the floor to swallow him.
Everyone tiptoed around, conversations wrapped in cotton wool. The house felt like a hospital ward, poised between recovery and relapse.
The first step was physics homework. Max struggled with a mind-bending vectors problem, chewed his pencil half to bits, and finally swallowed his pride.
Simon The word stuck, but he forced it out. Could you help me? Im lost with these vectors.
Simon glanced up from his laptop. No surprise, no gloating just calm acceptance.
Lets have a look.
A month later, they went fishing together. Sitting by the bank, watching the bobbers, Max found himself talking about school, his mates, even that girl in year ten who was way out of his league. No snark, no comparisons. Just honest chat.
Simon listened, nodding now and then, chiming in quietly. And Max realised: this is what family is. Not the big declarations, not the rose-tinted memories, but quiet breakfasts. Patience. Someone staying, whatever happens.
Max made his choice and got it right.
