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“Put the fucking kid down,” he said.
There was no doubt now that he really was agitated, and though his outward demeanor seemed calm, he was blinking rapidly, rubbing his hands together.
Putting Crystal down was the last thing I wanted to do, but I laid her in the middle of the foldaway bed and arranged pillows around her.
“She’s not going anywhere,” he said.
I didn’t bother to respond and instead sat on the floor next to the bed and looked up at him.
He stared back at me, a myriad of emotions on his face.
One in particular stuck with me.
I’d seen it before but hadn’t acknowledged it. Didn’t want to accept what seemed so clear now.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he responded without pause.
“You always have,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, adding an emphatic nod.
“Why?” I asked.
Some part of me was vaguely curious, but only vaguely.
The why didn’t matter anymore, not really.
Still, it seemed like he wanted to talk, like he had something to get off his chest. So I would do anything that would distract him from Crystal, maybe give me information, or help me buy time.
“Do you really want to know?” he said.
“Yes,” I answered.
I hoped I sounded sincere, but then I realized it didn’t matter. Whatever I might have felt, he seemed relish the idea of answering the question, welcomed the opportunity to let loose.
Which only confirmed that I probably wouldn’t like what he had to say.
“First, let’s get one thing straight,” he said.
“Sure,” I responded.
“You are no child of mine,” he said.
“What?” I said.
“You’re not my fucking kid,” he said, his voice rough with anger. He breathed out a deep breath, then leaned back in his chair, settling in for what I knew would be a long stream of vitriol.
“Do you think I could produce something like you?”
“I…” I trailed off, having no idea what to say.
“I couldn’t. You…” He grimaced, and it hit me all at once. The weight of his pure hatred.
How had I missed it for so many years?
Why had I overlooked it?
