“Hey Dad,” I sniffled. “Can you pick me up?”
CHAPTER 3
He didn’t pry. Never had.
Even in my thirties, he was still the one I called when I needed help. We weren’t close when I was growing up, but ever since — he’s a good man. I’m lucky.
“Want to get something to eat on the way home?” He asked over the voices on the radio. He was big into podcasts now. I had jokingly told him that his midlife crisis should have been more involved than podcasts.
He’d told me that his midlife crisisalsoinvolved helping his adult daughter move back in with him.
That had shut me up pretty quickly.
It was easy between us, mostly. He wasn’t nosy, didn’t ask for all the details and misgivings of my marriage. Just opened his arms and his home and welcomed me back like I had never left.
He joked it wasreallyjust because he was excited to have Lance back. My dad — Herschel Haddock — had a deep love for cats.Thatwas his true midlife crisis.
Cat foster dad.
It was a wonder he wasn’t one of those crazy people with nineteen cats and a single litter box in their homes.
“No, I’m okay,” I muttered, feeling as embarrassed as I did when I called him drunk from a house party in high school. “Can we swing by the bar, though? I should get my car.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
We made it back to the house easily. He helped me carry a couple of boxes in. Dad had recently renovated the basement as a guest room, in case family came to visit.
Dad had joked — just once — that it was too soon to note that he hadn’t expected family tomove in.
“Alright, kiddo.” He set the box down, pretending to wipe sweat from his forehead. It’s March in Seattle; the high for the day was forty-four. But his attempt at theatricsdidlighten the stone that had settled in my gut. “I have to get back to work. Shout if you need anything?”
“Sure thing, Pop.” I offered him a smile before he left, before I tossed myself back on the bed.
I should be allowed to wallow… right?
I think I’ve earned it.
Plugging my phone in, I opened social media, excited about the wonderful afternoon of doom scrolling that sat ahead of me.
This definitely wouldn’t cause my mental health to decline even further.
As I scrolled,hisface popped up.
COMING TO SEATTLE THIS WEEKEND ONLY:
ANSEL BARLOWE
Followed by the link to purchase tickets to the convention, and how to see him. My stomach churned as I clicked the comments. I should have known better… They never changed when it came to him. Always the picture-less icons. Always the usernames createdsolelyto shit on others.
This con used to have good guests.
He was so bad in Candlelights though…
Washed up.
Not even one of the newer heroes? LAME.
He was atalentedactor. He always had been — it wasn’t his fault that the director/writer for hisliteral debutdid a terrible job directing him.
