Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Fenn puts two fingers to his head, preferring a quick, painless death to the slow, agonizing torture of family bonding time. I’m right there with him.
“Yeah, great, Mom.”
I lie, because what else am I supposed to say? Let her knock herself out. Winter break is still a few months away. By then I can figure out a way out of this.
After Fenn hangs up, we decide to be magnanimous and open up the phones to check them out. For all the hype, they just look like normal phones.
“I’ve never actually been on a family vacation,” I confess as I scroll through the setup process for my new space phone. “Mom’s job was to travel, so when she got to be home for a while, the last thing she wanted to do was get on another plane or spend hours in the car.”
“We used to go places,” he tells me. “When Mom was around. We spent holidays on the Vineyard.”
“Of course you did.” Posh little shit.
“Those were good memories.” Fenn tosses the phone aside to chew on his cheek. He’s staring at the TV, but I don’t think he’s aware of it.
Inside I cringe, because I feel a full-on emotional confession bubbling its way to the surface. Given last night with Sloane, I’m not sure I’m in a great headspace to get drawn into another heart-to-heart. But I would feel like a jerk leaving to take a piss while Fenn’s deep in reminiscence, so I have no choice but to grin and bear it.
“My dad was different then,” he admits. “Always wanted to have activities planned with us. We’d go fishing or just take the sailboat out. He spent hours teaching me knots that I could never remember.”
It’s hard to picture the family dynamic he’s describing between those two. I’ve known families who haven’t gotten along. Kids who hated their parents. Parents who were mean as shit and couldn’t be bothered. What Fenn and David have is almost worse. There’s no good reason for them to have a care in the world except some deep underlying animosity that makes Fenn want to plunge chopsticks in his ears at the sound of his father’s voice.
“So what happened?” I ask. “Seems like no matter how often you tell him to fuck off, he keeps trying to win you over.”
Whatever sentimentality briefly took hold of Fenn’s otherwise sour mood, it dissolves in the acid of his resentment.
“After Mom died, he decided not to deal with it. My mom was gone, and my dad disappeared. All he did was work, and when he was home, he did his best to avoid me. Years of pretending I didn’t exist. Then suddenly he shows up with a new wife and kid…” Fenn stares daggers through my skull. “This isn’t love or kindness or his benevolent generosity, dude. He’s trying to distract everyone from the fact that he’s a shitty person who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. When this wears off, trust me. He’ll go right back to being a selfish prick.”
At that, Fenn turns off the game console and puts on a soccer game, turning up the volume. As much as I didn’t want to get roped into a therapy session about childhood traumas, I do feel for the guy. Absent fathers do a number on a kid.
“At least your dad never got hauled out of a motel room naked by the FBI.”
His head whips around. “What the hell?”
“Oh, yeah. Dad’s first arrest was a shitshow. They were there to pick him up on wire fraud charges. Found him getting a spray tan because he’s gotta convince some mark he’s been in Panama the last six months setting up some major development deal.”
Fenn whistles softly. “That’s attention to detail.”
“Second time they hauled him in, he’d been dating the director of the mail department of a payroll processing firm for something like eight months. He needed her to learn about their schedules or systems—whatever. He’d been living with her. Doing grocery shopping and taking her kids to karate. The whole thing was a con, obviously. But, fuck, dude. At least your dad doesn’t have a fake family he treats better than his real one.”
Fenn watches me for a moment, as if processing the picture in his mind. Then his face crumples and a hysterical laugh jumps out of him. He’s suddenly doubled over, can’t breathe, laughing in my face.
“So…you know. There’s some perspective for you,” I tell him, shrugging wryly.
“I’m sorry.” His face is red and wet with tears of laughter. “You win, man. That’s fucking awful.”
“Thanks. Glad I could help.”
I’ve always had a sixth sense for trouble. Like the way diviners smell groundwater or your uncle knows a storm’s coming by the creaks in his knee. So the next day, when Fenn and I are in the Lounge shooting pool, I know something’s coming for me. I woke up with an itch behind my ear warning me to be on guard.