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She smiles over her shoulder at me as she guides me through the house like I’ve never been here before. It still looks exactly the same as the last time I was here. Cleaner maybe—without my shit everywhere. My dad probably loves that I don’t live here anymore. Now there’s no one here to mess up his perfectly organized junk drawer.
When we make it to the kitchen in the back of the house, my tension returns at the sight of my father sorting the mail at the counter.
“Jackson,” he says without looking up. He still wears his hair like he’s a news anchor from three decades ago.
“Dad.”
He lifts his gaze and takes off his reading glasses to get a better look at me. I know he’s scrutinizing me. That’s what he always does. My suspicions are only confirmed when he says, “You need a haircut.”
“Okay, Dad.” I’m not going to let him get to me this quickly. I haven’t even been in the house for all of thirty seconds.
He holds my stare, waiting for me to come back with something more. When I don’t, he scoffs and goes back to sorting the mail. “No guitar, I see.” He positions his glasses on his face again.
“Nope.”
My mother watches our exchange with anxious eyes. This woman would give anything for a happy family, and sometimes I feel like I’m the one fucking it up for her. If I were more like my dad—more like what he wants me to be—maybe she’d have it.
“I hope that means you’ve finally come to your senses and quit obsessing over music.”
My jaw twitches. “Nope.” I know I should walk away. I should go put my stuff down in my room. I should give him time to get over his disappointment in my hair before I give him anything else to gripe about.
“Of course not,” he drones as he opens an envelope and starts reading its contents.
“Honey, would you like something to drink?” My mother’s voice is barely audible like her speaking at a normal volume might detonate the bomb we’re all sidestepping.
I shake my head, but my teeth are too busy biting the inside of my cheek to form words.
“Oh, look,” my father muses as he continues to read. “The University of South Florida is renovating its library. I guess my tuition dollars aren’t going to complete waste.”
That one sentence is all it takes for my resolve to slip. The familiar feeling of fist-clenching anger settles into me. He’s more interested in the fucking new library than he is in looking at his son he hasn’t seen in three months. Everything about this is bullshit. This house is bullshit. His fucking hair is bullshit. He’s the last person who has room to talk about me needing a haircut. My blood boils as I stare at the man who has shit on everything I’ve ever seen as being good in this world. I can’t take a whole weekend of this—I won’t. I won’t stand here and let him vomit his opinion no one fucking asked for while I keep everything I’m feeling locked in a vault.
I briefly look at my mom. After dinner would be a better time. Hell, as I’m walking out the door to drive back to campus would be a better time. But I forgot what this feels like. I don’t get this treatment on the regular anymore, and I forgot how much it stings—how it has the power to strip you of your self-worth. And he’s already acting this pissed, so I might as well give him something to be pissed about.
“Don’t worry, Dad. Come next semester, you won’t have to waste your money on my tuition anymore. I’m not going back after winter break.” The words are liberating and scary as hell all at once. My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest and the adrenaline coursing through my veins has the blood in my ears pounding.
He tenses. “What?”
When he finally gives me his full attention, the corner of my mouth twitches. “That’s right, Dad. No more college for me. My band confirmed an opening slot on tour next year.”
He rips his glasses off his face. “Your band?” He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You might be eighteen, but I won’t let you throw your life away over some pipe dream!”
“Honey,” my mother’s voice chimes in, soft and sweet. “Maybe you can tour over the summer, so you can do both.”
I run my hand over my face. “That’s not how it works.” Daring to look back at my dad, I add, “Look, this is all I’ve ever wanted. This is my dream, and I have a once in a lifetime opportunity to make it happen. It’s not like I haven’t thought about this. I’ve wanted it since I was in middle school.”
“Dreams,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “Dreams don’t pay the bills, Jackson. You’re staying in school, and this conversation is over.”
Determined to look calm even though everything under the surface is going haywire, I say, “I’m not asking. Legally, I’m an adult, and I’ve already made up my mind. At the end of the semester, I’m dropping out and going on tour.”
He looks me up and down, his entire body shaking with anger. “Okay, big man. You can do what you want, but not under my roof.”
“I don’t even live here anymore!” I say with a bewildered laugh.
Through gritted teeth, he manages to say, “Not under my roof. Not now. Not ever.” He takes a step toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Get out.”
“Chuck!” my mother cries, but it’s no use.
“He can do as he pleases, but he will not do it here. I won’t stand for it.” He turns to me. “I won’t give you another dime. If you can make these big decisions on your own, you can pay for them, too. Now, I won’t tell you again. Get out.”
