“You’re getting a divorce?” It was exceptionally odd that Patrick wasn’t here if that was what they were telling me.
“No,” my father cut in. “We’ve just, uh, realizedthat we, uh,” he stammered.
Of course Mom picked up for him. “We haven’t been fair to you, which was what we were trying to say last night.”
Once again, rage boiled in my veins. “And therapy is helping you feel better about treating me like shit?”
“Watch your mouth, son. Don’t you dare talk to your mother like that.” He took a deep breath before taking a long sip of his black coffee. I alwaystold myself he liked it black because it matched his soul. “To answer your question, no, we’re not in therapy so we can feel better about it. We’ve been trying to… to… to fix it. So when we saw your acceptance letter, we realized just how far we’d let it go. How much we’ve ignored you and how secluded you’ve become.”
“You’re justnowrealizing this?”
“No,” Mom cut in. “We knew we couldn’t carryon like this forever, so we started therapy to try and figure out how to make it better.”
I couldn’t possibly hold in my laughter. “You don’t find it at all hysterical that you have to go to a therapist in order to figure out how to treat your son?” Standing from the table, I held my plate in my hand. After scraping the rest of my uneaten breakfast in the trash, I leaned against the countertop,crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “Can I ask something?” They both nodded. “Why do you treat me differently than Patrick? What does he have that I don’t? Why aren’t we both the same in your eyes?”
And as luck would have it, Patrick walked into the kitchen on the echo of my questions. “Um, I don’t know,” he started, sounding every bit the asshole that he’d always been. “Let’s see.” Holdingup a single finger, he continued, “For one, I’m stronger than you. Even after taking your pathetic ass to the gym. Two,” he counted, shocking me by holding up the correct amount of fingers. “I’m far more talented and good-looking than you’ll ever be.”
“Yeah, and those are all extremely valid reasons not to love your son,” I seethed, stepping toward him. “Are you really that ignorant? That self-centered?”
He shrugged as if what he’d just said was as simple as telling me the weather. “I guess so, but there’s something you don’t know,” he taunted. “No matter what you do, no matter what you become, no matter what rinky dink little tech school you get into, you’re never going to be as good as me.”
“Patrick,” Dad boomed as he slammed his fists down onto the table, shaking the remaining dishes and mugsin the process. “That’s enough. Sit,” he commanded. “Both of you.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other before she walked toward the table. “Yes, please. Both of you. Sit. We have something to tell you.”
