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Of course, that would require me figuring out why I reacted the way I did myself, which was no easy feat. It probably would involve a lot of introspection and maybe a therapy session or two. My life before I got out of school had been tough, and I tended to block it out as much as possible.
I got dressed for work, feeling a little bit better than the last few days. Hopeful, maybe. Perhaps that was too heavy a word for it. I didn’t feel like everything was hopeless, at least. There was still some outside chance that if I could get my shit together, maybe everything would be okay.
That was shot to hell not thirty minutes into being at work.
I was in the kitchen, happy to be making one of the menu suggestions I made for a customer who was a regular. Getting the regulars to order off their normal rotation was difficult, and I considered it a personal victory when it happened. All two times up to that point. But when I got the ticket, I checked the table and was pleased to see who was sitting there.
Before I could plate it, though, a loud voice came from the dining area that struck me to my core. It sliced into my spine like a hot knife through butter, the same way it had all my life. The booming, desperately angry sound of my father’s voice roared all the way back to me, and I froze.
I dropped the spatula where it was, turning to Tony, who hadn’t even seemed to notice the voice of chaos and destruction just feet away from us on the other side of the ticket window.
“Tony, that’s my dad,” I said.
“Oh?” he said, casually looking over his shoulder to peer through the window. “He coming to have dinner with you?”
“I hope not,” I said.
It hit me that I had never told Tony or anyone else about him. I kept him a secret, along with my mother, secrets that I hoped never to have to address. I had hoped, in a way, that moving to Ashford was like burying them, but it was only a few towns over, not even a half hour away. Of course, they would find me. Of course, they would come to bring their shit to my doorstep. They had always found a way to fuck up my life before. Why stop now?
“Dad?” I said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping my hands on a washcloth.
“Finn, my boy!” he exclaimed, looking like he was seeing me for the first time in a decade. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“No shit,” I said under my breath.
“Finn?” Helen said, from behind the counter. “Is everything alright?”
She had a horrified tone in her voice, and I knew why. One look at my father was one look too many. He was everything that I feared I would become if I let myself sleep in, let myself fall down the well of depression that assuredly started his problems too.
Dad stood an inch shorter than me, but wiry, all elbows and knees. His bottom jaw stuck out past his top in an underbite of terrific proportions, only made worse by the various drugs that coursed through his body at any given moment. They had realigned his face, along with the many fights he found himself in that left him with broken jawbones, noses, teeth and skin abrasions that just never seemed to heal.
He was dirty, not the kind where you can see it or smell it. He bathed regularly. But you could see the lack of care that he gave himself. His nails were long and his hair greasy. He had a goatee, but it was lopsided and unkempt. His shoes didn’t match, and the clothes he was wearing were inappropriate for the weather.
He looked like a junkie. Because he was one.
“Dad, I need you to leave,” I said.
“What?” he thundered. “I finally found you, and you want me to leave? What the hell kind of ungrateful son are you?”
“Out, now,” I said, stepping forward and grabbing his elbow.
He shook me off and took a few steps back, further into the diner. Customers watched him, a mixture of horror and fascination. Sure, this was a terrible situation that they were witnessing unfold in front of them, but also, it was a free show and something to gossip about tomorrow.
“You can’t make me leave,” he said. “You’re not the boss!”
“No, but I am,” Helen said from behind the register. “And if Finn wants you out, then you need to leave.”
Dad looked confused by this sudden double team and shook his head, throwing his arms together like a child.
“No. I won’t go. I am a paying customer,” he said, then rummaged in his pockets. “I’ve got…” He counted briefly. “Fifteen dollars here. That’s more than enough to buy a bowl of soup and a drink.”
