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“Well, he’s been at our condo in New York City, and Dad got reports from the neighbors about parties with strippers and stuff.” She whispers the word stripper.
That’s my brother’s MO. He refuses to grow the fuck up and lives off my parents’ money. Being ten years younger than me, he’s given them way more problems than I ever did. He was thrown out of two boarding schools and just got kicked out of my dad’s alma mater. Ollie apparently informed my dad that he will no longer be going to college because he considers it to be a waste.
“Maybe I should call back.”
“Nonsense.” She knocks on the office door and walks in without waiting for a reply. “I’ve got Damon on FaceTime.”
“It’s your golden boy, talk to him. I’ll be in my room.”
“Ollie!” my dad yells.
My little brother’s face peeks on the screen. “You look like shit.”
“I could say the same.”
“See you.”
“We are not through here, Oliver! You will pay for all the damage to our condo,” my dad screams.
The slam of the door says that Ollie’s left.
“I swear, your son,” my dad says.
“Myson?” My mom points at herself. “I’m taking credit for this one.” Mom smiles at the screen.
“And what does your golden boy want?” my dad asks.
My mom laughs and positions the phone on his desk, bringing a chair next to him and taking a seat. “He says he has news.”
My dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just what I need, more shitty news.”
“How do you know it’s shitty?” I ask with a frown.
“Because your ass would be in the chair across from me if it was good news. You’re in the offseason, Damon, and last time I checked, you had the means to either pay for a public flight or have the private plane come and get you. So, just lay it out there. Your brother’s already escalated my migraine.” He tips his head down and rubs his temples.
“It’s not horrible news, it’s just…”
“Spit. It. Out.” He stares at me through the screen. My dad still has his dirty-blond hair without any gray, and he’s fit from running every morning, but today he looks older than he usually does. When I can’t get the words out, he asks, “Do I need a scotch?”
I decide to just go with my usual humor.
“Congratulations, you’re going to be a grandpa and grandma!” I put up my hands as though it’s exciting news.
“What?” My mom’s eyes widen, and she beams. “Oh my god! This is great.” Then her smile dims. “You’re not talking about a dog or cat or a fish, are you?”
I laugh. “No, Mom. A real, live human being.”
Her smile reappears, and it lights up the entire screen, warming my chest.
But my dad just sits there, staring. He scratches his head. “Son, who’s the baby’s mother?”
I knew my mom would only hear the word baby, but my dad would hear baby mama along with trust fund, rich, user, opportunist.
“She’s a woman I met last summer right before the season started.” I keep my voice light.
“Are you dating her?” he asks.
“No.” I swallow hard.
