It was such a shock to my system. Not that it’s a huge shock to meet others who’ve lost parents, but it amazes me that he can be this fun-loving guy despite that. Although, I knew there was more behind his smile. Fucking knew there had to be, and this proved it. But more than that, it touched something in me, something a lot more important than anything we did sexually. I could hear the pain in his tone, see it in his eyes, and I know that pain. That loss. So fucking deep. Excruciating. And he could’ve kept it to his damn self if he was just gonna write me off after.
The thought haunts me the rest of class and through my next one, Medieval Art History. Don’t know why I’m stressing. If Dax doesn’t want to fuck around again, I can just as easily find someone else tonight at the TaskFrat Challenge—this masochistic thing the Peach State frats do where we volunteer for humiliation to entertain the frats and sororities.
What am I sayingwefor? I’m not in a frat anymore.
Anyway, I’ll find someone else to fuck around with and get Dax off my brain.
But…I know it won’t be that easy.
When class ends, I pull my cell out and see a missed call from Dad. No voicemail or text. Anxiety pulses through me as my mind races back…“It’s about your mom.”My throat constricts, my skin pricking with sensation.
I rush out of class, calling him as I head down the hall.
Answer…answer, fuck it.
Because of that one call, every time after, I fear he’ll have some more terrible news to share with me.
It’s probably fine. It usually is.
But every muscle’s so tight, my breathing erratic.
“Hi, buddy,” Dad answers in that playful tone that makes me want to lose it. Not just because of how worried he got me, but how dare he fucking sound so playful after what happened to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I was calling to check in. It’s been like a week since we talked.”
“What have I said about texting or leaving a message?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. It slipped my mind. I figured you might be able to hit me back between classes. I’m sorry. Is something wrong?”
What a dumbass question for him to ask.
“Nope,” I lie.
“How are classes going?”
I take a deep breath, summoning the strength to chill the fuck out. After all, I don’t have a problem talking to Dad. I love him. I do. And I’m sure if I wasn’t already stressed about Dax ditching class today, I wouldn’t be this frustrated.
“Fine. I just got out of Medieval Art History.” I spit that out without thinking, but I should have because I can hear his disapproval in the way he breathes. He doesn’t even have to offer his usual,“Maybe you should consider trying something else. You were so great at math. Wouldn’t you be more interested in accounting?”
“That’s nice,” he forces out.
Time for a subject change. “How about you?”
“Oh, the usual. Wrestling around corporate bureaucracy. The boring stuff that nobody wants to do but that makes a lot of money.”
Hopefully that’s the most he’ll push to remind me there are better careers out there, in his opinion. I’m half tempted to tell him how much I’ve got in my bank account because of what he thinks is a dumb hobby, but I bite my tongue. The only thing worse than Chipper Dad is Hurt Dad. That’s something I can’t bear to deal with.
“You planning to go out this weekend?” he asks.
“Probably.”
“Just keep out of trouble.”
Again, he doesn’t say what he’s really thinking—just like we didn’t talk about Mom after she killed herself. Maybe that’s why I can’t keep quiet. “What do you mean?”
“Have a good time, but I’d rather not get a call from you at the police station.” He snickers in that way he does when he’s being awkward.
