“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t moved. Where did you think I was living?”
“You’ve always been living with that fricking furry friend of yours, of course. What’s his name? Bloody Marty. I tried getting in touch with him, too, but seems he’s off busy having fun over the holiday period – although what he’d be doing is anyone’s guess. I didn’t even know furry freaks even celebrated Christmas.”
Sage winced. His parents were phobic about anyone paranormal. Early in his studies, Sage had tried to find out what the correct term for his parents’ attitudes was. Most therapists used the term phasmophobia, although that related more to the fear of ghosts, much like daemonophobia was a fear of demons. Teraphobia might also apply – a fear of monsters andmythical creatures, but Sage knew his parents weren’t scared of paranormals – they just hated them. It was that simple. Unfortunately, that hatred included Sage’s best friend and his family.
“I haven’t lived with Marty for more than ten years. That just goes to show how long it’s been since you wanted to see me.” His parents’ lack of interest in his life didn’t upset Sage anymore. He’d gotten used to the idea that his parents were never going to win any awards by the time he’d graduated university.
If he needed a parental figure, Marty’s mom was the one he called on. But since graduating, Sage had stepped out into the world on his own for the most part, and he was proud of what he’d achieved. “Did you have a reason for calling? Only it’s late…” Sage wasn’t going to mention he was heading out. His parents gave up the right to know what he did with his life a long time ago.
“You’re not brushing us off, you ungrateful turd.” Sage rolled his eyes. His mom had joined the call, although knowing his mother, she’d likely wrestled the phone from his father’s grip. She liked to think she wore the pants in that relationship. “You need to start doing your duty as a son. Your dad’s sick. He needs medicines and hospital treatment. We can’t afford that shit. We need money.”
Sick?That made Sage pause for a moment. Sage was thirty-three, and he was a late-in-life child. His dad would be close to seventy, and his mom was well over sixty.
“What’s wrong with him? What has the doctor said?”
“It doesn’t matter what’s wrong with him, all you need to know is that he’s sick and needs treatment.” Sage could hear his father fake coughing in the background of the call. A far cry from the yelling he’d been doing less than a minute before.
“A couple of my colleagues from college are medical professionals now,” Sage said, realizing from the moment his mom spoke that he was being played. But it wasn’t in him to just hang up… something his parents would know. “If you send me the details of the diagnosis and suggested treatment, I can arrange that for you with one of them.”
“Oh, Mr. University Man actually has friends?” Sage learned his mom’s sneering tones could still hurt. “We don’t need you taking over your father’s treatment. Just send us the money, and we’ll take care of it ourselves. You stick to your tentacled creatures – likely the only friends you actually have.”
Sage let out a long breath. “All right. So you can’t tell me what’s wrong with Father. You won’t tell me what treatment he needs, or where he’s going to get it…”
“How is that even important?” Sage’s mom’s voice had risen to “shriek” levels. “After all we sacrificed for you – raising you, caring for you. You never did anything for us. It was all about what you needed…”
“Now hang on one damn minute.” Sage had heard enough. “I was a kid, and even then, you never gave me anything. It’s a miracle I lived as long as I did. If it wasn’t for Marty and his family, I would have been living under a bridge by the time I was twelve.
“The pair of you were so out of it on your drugs and your drink, you didn’t even stop to think where I was half the time, and don’t get me started about the moldy food that was the only thing that was ever left in the fridge.”
“You were always a complainer, weren’t you. You don’t get it. Times were tough…”
“You’re the ones who don’t get it.” Sage glanced at the clock. He didn’t have much time left to get ready if he didn’t want tobe late. “I’m a grown man. I’ve forged my own life. I don’t ask you for anything and never did. I worked two jobs to pay for my university degrees, and I got jobs on my own merit because of what I achieved through my hard work.
“So don’t you dare, don’t you dare start pestering me just because your drug runner has suddenly decided he wants the tab paid, or your local pub won’t give you credit anymore. That’s not my problem.”
“You’re calling me a liar about your father’s illness?”
Sage moved his phone away from his ear. He had no idea how his mom could yell so loudly. He just knew she could. “I’m simply saying if it weren’t for the drugs and the alcohol, Father might be in far better health than he is now, and so might you. You’d also have more money of your own, instead of stealing someone’s phone to call a son you haven’t kept up with for ten years.”
Sage was livid. He’d blocked his parents’ number when the calls started. He was tired from working nights, which he wasn’t used to. The night before, the hairs on the back of his neck kept rising, as if he was being watched, although for most of the night the front lobby was empty. He hadn’t slept that well since being home, having weird dreams and waking every few hours before going back to sleep again. He was stressed, tired, and he still hadn’t started his shift yet.
“I’ve got other things to do. If Father’s genuinely sick, I’ll arrange treatment for him. I can get him into a free clinic or a specialist appointment if needed, but I’ll pay for the treatment directly. I’m not sending you money, especially when you won’t even tell me what’s wrong with him in the first place.”
“You were always so ungrateful. Fricking wanting things all the time. That’s all it was with you. Want, want, want…”
“Are you talking about that ice cream cone I made the mistake of asking for when I was five?” Sage couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Clearly, all the drugs and alcohol had completely addled his parents’ brains to the point where they were now rewriting history. “I don’t care. I’m not listening anymore. I can afford my own ice cream now.
“As for you, you’ve never once treated me with respect. You’ve never once been proud of what I’ve done in my life. You’ve never helped or even given me advice worth a damn. Everything I have, I work damn hard for. So there’s my advice for you. Find yourselves a fucking job.”
Sage barely ever swore, but he was so angry, he disconnected the call and blocked that number immediately. Yes, it would be easy for his parents to simply find another phone, borrow another phone, steal another phone, who the heck knew?
But just blocking that number gave Sage a small feeling of relief. The one thing he had learned from the call – his parents had no idea where he lived – was surprisingly reassuring, and depressing.What does it say about me?he thought sadly.That my parents didn’t realize I moved over ten years ago. This is the first time they’ve ever actually wanted to see me, and that’s probably so Dad can thump some money out of me.
Curling up on his big couch, Sage tucked the back of his heels under his butt and wrapped his arms around his knees. He was still in his sleep pants, and he knew he needed to shower and get himself dressed and ready for work. But he also knew if he didn’t take a moment to process the call, he’d be fretting about it all night.
Back when he was at university, Sage did send his parents money sometimes. They were framed as Christmas and birthdaygifts – his parents believed it was easier for him to put money into their account than send physical gifts.
Once Sage had graduated and was working two jobs – sometimes three when he took on extra tutoring – his parents would get in touch spasmodically, wanting twenty bucks one day, thirty dollars another time. His parents didn’t call – they would text. If Sage had spare money, he would send some, and other times he didn’t.
