“If you can’t make it on your own, you don’t deserve to have money,” he told me.
“Things are going great, dad,” I now assure him.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
His tone is pure steel mixed with a little bit of pride. He takes full credit for everything I have achieved in my life. In a way, I appreciate that his treatment of me was more on the rougher side. It gave me the push, and later on, the drive that I was craving.
“How are things with you?” I force myself to ask. Small talk has never been our thing.
He doesn’t respond right away, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
“If you’re calling me to ask for money, I have none to give,” he informs me. “Money needs to be earned and not given. You are not a charity case.”
Ironically, he does donate to various charities quite a bit. On the flip side, he is very particular about said charities. He has them fully vetted by a team specifically assembled just for that. And, without fail, if the focus is on single mothers, no money shall be given. They are all presumed to be gold diggers without any further investigation.
“I didn’t call to ask for money.” My jaw aches when I speak, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. Good to see he’d always have my back. Not.
I realize with a start that the only people who ever had my back are my friends. They came up with the capital to invest in my startup, and they continue sticking with me through thick and thin. They are more of a family to me than the man who raised me.
“Oh, why did you call then?” My father sounds surprised. That makes the two of us.
I clear the back of my throat a couple of times. “I called to ask you about…” I clear my throat again. “About a few things.”
“Such as?”
I press my thumb and forefinger into my eyes, applying as much pressure as I can physically take.
“Business advice, I presume,” he continues when I don’t say anything.
My mouth goes dry. It’s like I’m scared to speak.
“It’s personal, actually.”
“Personal?”
I’d laugh if I had the state of mind to appreciate the humor in all this. We are not the type of father and son who share any personal stories. While I appreciate my father not giving me away once my mother bailed, I am a bit surprised that he hasn’t sent me a bill for the money he had to spend on me for the schools I went to, clothing, food and shelter.
“I wanted to ask you about…” I instantly break into a sweat. “My mother.”
“Your mother?” He sounds incredulous. “She’s dead,” he declares. “What else is there to know?”
“Why haven’t you re-married after… her?”
He snorts, the sound coming off as sarcastic and condescending. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“But was it worth you being alone for the rest of your life?” I insist.
“Who says I’ve been alone?” he deadpans. “Just because I didn’t bring anyone around, it doesn’t mean I stopped having sex.”
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. The conversation took a turn, and I honestly don’t care to hear about my father’s alleged sexcapades.
“I get the best of both worlds,” he proceeds to inform me. “I have my physical needs taken care of, and I don’t have to worry about a woman targeting me for my money. Again.”
What he says does make sense. But it’s not what I want to hear. Kyle got into my fucking head, and now all I can think about is that I’m going to end alone and miserable in my old age.
“I made sure to have a vasectomy. That reminds me, you need to do that as well.”
My cock instinctively shrivels up in my pants. “Why would I do that?”
