It’s Monday, she’s not expecting to see you today.
Oh so it’s you that misses me?
I expect some variation of “fuck off,” middle finger emojis maybe—or flat out no response. What I don’t expect is the reply she actually sends.
Semi-lazy day I guess. Found the tiniest bit of energy for you today.
Shame I’m missing it.
“What’s that smile for?” my dad asks, taking the seat across from me.
Well, shit.
“Nothing much, just a friend sent me a video of their dog.”
“Oh, a teammate?”
I knew he’d have a follow up. I could lie, end this before it starts but I’ve already hesitated a second too long. He’d call me on it for sure now.
I look out to the rain with a shrug. “Um, no, just a…friend of a friend really.”
“Right,” he responds, and I know for a fact he absolutely doesn’t believe me.
Okay, I wasn’t exactly convincing to begin with. A friend of a friend…what the fuck was that? I should have just said friend but that feels weird to say about Jensen. I think about her in very non-friendly—or, I guess, super-friendly—ways.
I take off my glasses and set them on the table. “We go running together sometimes, it’s nothing really.”
“Okay,” he clips. “I didn’t ask another question yet.”
Wonderful, wonderful, so this won’t be the end of this conversation, and that’s my own damn fault.
“Right, well?—”
Dad pushes back from his chair. “Why not a game of pool, huh? We haven’t got to play all week, and I just cleared it off.”
I look down at my half-eaten sandwich. Telling him I’m not done eating won’t save me, but maybe the distraction of the game will.
Putting my glasses back on, I nod. “Alright, let’s go.”
While he heads out, I clean up my lunch and take that opportunity to hype myself up.
It’ll just be a conversation. You don’t have to go into details.
I’m perfectly happy as is and I can make him believe that.
I step one foot into the garage before the pep talk blows right in my face.
“You’re not holding up your end of the deal, son.” My dad stares daggers as he rolls the blue chalk on the end of his pool cue.
We’re off to a bad start. Shit.
“Seriously, Dad? Couldn’t have at least waited until we started the game?”
He shrugs. “You know I’m not one to beat around the bush, but I’ve held off this week. I’ve officially maxed out my patience on it now.”
“Fucking hell,” I mumble. “I’m fine! Today’s been a little rough—not gonna lie, but I feel that’s warranted.”
“Fine,” he scoffs. “The deal wasn’t ‘fine,’ it was happy. You’re not happy, and it’s starting to piss me off. You can act like it’s stress about your mom’s health all you want, but I see past that. When you talk about Boston, it sounds as if you’re simply going through the motions. But then you seem to have the first genuinely happy smile on your face talking to someone, and then you fucking lie and say it’s nothing!”
