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“Alright. I’m around if you wanna hang out this summer. My family is having a big Fourth of July barbecue at the lake house. You and Colby are invited, so let me know if you can make it.” We dab fists, and Carter gets into his car.
I feel like an asshole as I watch him drive off.
I’m over her. So why does she still have so much control over my moods?
She’s not supposed to affect me anymore. I should be able to talk about her and answer a question about her without a dark cloud appearing and dampening everyone’s mood around me, including my own.
I toss my pen down on the counter. She’s not coming home, so stop worrying about it.
Why would she when she’s living her perfect life in California?
* * *
“You’re not working today?” Dad snaps at me as soon as I walk into the living room. His eyes are red, his speech a little slurred.
Please don’t tell me he’s drinking again.
“It’s Sunday, Dad. I don’t work on Sundays.” I sit on the couch, on the opposite end from where he sits in his recliner.
“Watch how you talk to me, boy. I know what day it is.”
I swallow down the poison I want to spew. How badly do I want to yell at him or tell him to fuck off. But I’m trying. I’m really trying here.
Levi calls me weekly now and gives me pep talks on how to deal with Dad. While we definitely aren’t best friends, it’s a lot better than it used to be without his support.
“Anything good on?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer, his blank stare aimed at the tube. I ask again.
His head snaps my way, and fuck, if looks could kill. Dammit. This is useless.
“What’s it matter to you? You're gonna actually stay and watch TV with your old man?” Dad snickers and rolls his eyes back toward the screen.
Well, shit. What a fucking blast he is to be around.
I had planned on spending the day at home with him, hanging out, maybe ordering some takeout. But with the way things are going now, I’m not so sure I want to spend my day off with a grumpy asshole.
I know he’s miserable. I know he’s dying for a beer, though it's possible he’s already had some, but if he weren’t such a dick, then I’d want to spend more time with him. My mind sifts through memories of my younger days when Mom was alive, and everything was normal and happy. When Dad loved spending time with his family, his favorite little people, he used to say.
Dad had a beer here and there, but it wasn’t anything us kids noticed. He was happy when he was home, always doting on Mom and helping around the house with cooking and cleaning. He got up and went to work every day, took turns with Mom driving Levi and me to and from school, and even started a family game night.
Until the night that ruined everything.
A drunk driver killed our mom, and life as we knew it wouldn’t ever be the same again.
Dad became something darker, cold and uncaring, but worst of all, he turned to the bottle. Hoping he would find the answers at the bottom, hoping Mom would walk through our door again, her bright smile contagious.
But she never would. Something I still wonder if my dad will ever accept.
“I was thinking about it. Grab some pizza, watch a movie or two?” I offer, trying my best to be cool.
“No. I just want to be left alone.”
I sigh, wondering if it sounds as defeated as I feel. Every part of me screams to give up. He obviously doesn’t want to repair our relationship.
But I won’t give up. It’s just that today isn’t the day.
I wait a while longer before I stand. Dad remains silent, all his attention on the stupid show.
Actions run through my head all at once—slam the pillow down, punch the couch, knock the lamp off the table,something, anything,to relieve how I feel. But it’s what he expects, isn’t it?
