“It’s been years.”
“Dad!” Alfie exclaimed in excitement, rushing out of the kitchen.
“There he is!” Except my father pushed Alfie off when he tried to hug him. “These are new pants. I don’t want mustard or whatever you’re eating to get on them.”
“Oh.” Alfie was crestfallen. “Sorry.”
“Alfie, go finish your snack,” I ordered.
“I’m not that hungry,” my little brother said.
I was furious.
“You can’t just come in here,” I yelled at my father, “and start stirring up shit, especially after you barely managed to show up for his birthday parties, let alone help during his cancer treatment, except when it benefitted you to parade your sick son around for a charity donation we never saw a dime of.”
“Sebastian,” Alfie said in a small voice.
I tried to calm down.
“What do you want?” I snapped at my father.
“I just wanted to see my kids and ask you how you were.” He paused then said, “I also wanted to talk about the wedding.”
“We’re not going to the wedding,” I said brusquely. “We will be busy that day. Don’t worry. We’ll catch the next one.”
“Tatiana is the love of my life.”
“You said that about your last wife, and the ink hadn’t even dried on the marriage certificate before you were banging one of your students.”
“Actually,” my father said, thoughtful, “that wasn’t Tatiana. That was her sister. Tatiana was in the next semester’s class.”
“Are you staying in town, Dad?” Alfie asked hopefully. “I’m making a biodome. Maybe we could do it together.”
“That’s not my thing,” my father said. “I just wanted to talk about the wedding. Here, why don’t we take a picture?” He pulled out his phone and posed and snapped a few photos.
“Tatiana is going to love this. She was asking about you. Why don’t you all come to Manhattan for dinner? We can talk about the wedding. You want to be a ring bearer, don’t you, Alfie?”
“I said we’re busy,” I said curtly.
“You can make a little time for family,” my father insisted. “Honestly, you’re so histrionic, just like your mother.”
“Alfie has homework,” I said, ushering my father to the door.
“I’ll be in touch about the wedding,” he said, slipping on his sunglasses then heading over to his midlife-crisis red corvette.
Alfie rested against my hip as we watched him speed off down the drive.
“We’re not going to the wedding?” he asked in a small voice.
I let out a breath. “I suppose we can if you want to.”
“Are you going to plan that one too?” Alfie joked as we walked inside.
“Absolutely not,” I replied.
“Maybe Amy is planning it, and you guys can work together.”
“I’ve been seeing quite enough of Amy already,” I told him, smiling as he sat back down and finished eating his food.
