Page 6 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“Getting right to the point without the niceties. Just like your mom. No charm.” I hold back the fuck you that shouts inside my head. I don’t point out to him that he married her, that I find her charming, funny and more importantly, trustworthy and sincere. That I’d rather be like her than him and I’d be damned if I was ever like him.

“Did you leave? For good?”

“Good question.” He’s back to his fake voice. Not a good sign. “I was going to call you as soon as I got back from my honeymoon. You should congratulate—”

“Honeymoon? Did you say you’re on a fucking honeymoon?” Raising my voice, I don’t bother with self-control any longer. Why bother? There’s no relationship left to save between us, no reason to be civil and pretend we have any relationship. He just dropped a nuclear bomb on the struggling remains of that hot mess.

“Calm down now—”

“Calm down? I didn’t even know you were fucking divorced from Mom yet, let alone getting married to someone else.” Fuck. I can hear the hurt in my voice and the last thing I want to do is feel anything for this man. Not even anger, but for now, anger is preferable to anything approaching sorrow. Not for this clown who pretends to be my Dad. There’s a beat of silence on his end of the phone while I collect my shit and stow it in the deepest recesses of my soul, in a vault labeled Do Not Open.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I assumed your mother told you. It was recent, I admit.” He clears his throat and I’m barely listening past his apology. I don’t remember the last time he apologized for anything, let alone took responsibility. “I paid through the nose—a damn fortune to your mother to compensate her because… it was all my fault.” He rushes his last words and pauses. I don’t know what he’s waiting for because I sure as hell have nothing to say to that. It’s not my place to forgive him and if it was he’d be waiting a hell of a long time. At least my question about whether he’s taking care of mom has been answered.

“In the meantime,” he continues, back to his sales-pitch voice. “I found someone and we got married. We’re in Reno, but we’ll be back. I’d love you to meet her.” His last words vibrate through me, unraveling whatever control I have.

“Are you fucking for real? You just admit you had an affair, abandoned my mother and married someone else.”

“I’m sorry. I take the blame, but—"

“But all the sorrow didn’t stop you from doing it, did it?”

“Life is complicated, Dylan. There’s no such thing as black and white. Maybe they don’t teach you that at your fancy St. Paul University, but it’s true and you need to learn that lesson good.”

“Sure, Dad.” There’s another pause and I take control of my anger and the damn sorrow that won’t stay buried as I pace around my room. I’ve been shouting loud enough for anyone on the floor to hear, but I don’t give a fuck.

“Now that we have that straight.” He forces a chuckle and I roll my eyes, picturing him with his starched shirt and dark tan. “As I said, I’d love to have you meet my new wife. How about if we come to your first home game? Get us two tickets.”

“Whatever,” I say when inside my head I’m shouting hell no. But I can’t cut him off. I won’t be the first one to cut the ties. Mom made me promise her I wouldn’t, and more importantly, I promised myself I wouldn’t. He’s so fucking hard to love. The driving need to test him, to trip him up, flares in me.

“I have a favor to ask you, Dad.” I use his sales voice on him.

“Anything son, within reason.” His predictable response.

“I have a problem with one of my classes. Dean Lassiter called me today and said if I don’t get my grade up, I could lose my scholarship for next year.”

“Well, damn, Dylan. You’d better start studying.”

“Sure. I’ll study. But you could cover tuition if I lose the scholarship, right?” Silence. A big fat shit-ton of silence follows that bomb.

“I have no extra money for your college tuition, not after paying your mother. Sign up for easy classes or change to an easier major. What are you majoring in anyway?” I don’t tell him my major is sports management and that I’m not changing it even though it’s challenging because it includes accounting and finance. I want to learn those things because they’re good for my future.

“Too late,” I say. “I should be able to do fine if I keep my nose down.”

“Tell you what—you find the best tutor for your toughest class and I’ll pay for that.” I don’t tell him the team will probably pay for a tutor and it’s already on my list of things to do first day of classes.

“Sure, Dad. No worries.”

“I’ll send you a check.”

“No. You don’t need to.” My fucking conscience won’t let me just accept his money—at least not for myself—because it’s under a false pretext. But maybe I should take it and send it to Mom.

“Of course I do. You’re my son. This divorce doesn’t change anything between us.” I laugh because I can’t help it. He thinks that’s a comfort, but all it means is I still won’t see him much and he’ll still send me checks instead of spending time or attention or giving me much of a thought or care.

“Sure, Dad.”

“Get me those tickets for the first game. Maybe we can go to dinner afterwards.”

I wonder if I should bet him whether he’ll cancel, or maybe bet him how long it’ll take him to cancel, whether he’ll wait until the day before the game or do it sooner. Once he cancelled the morning of the game.