Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I stiffen up, alarmed.
This is exactly what I was afraid of: Noah meeting my dad in a less-than-pleasant mood. Seeing what my family is really like. A sneak-peek of the aforementioned curse I am stuck with for life.
“I’m just spending time with … with friends,” I reply.
My dad looks over Noah and Anthony with cold, faraway eyes. “Friends,” he mutters disdainfully, as if he doesn’t trust the word.
As if summoned, Anthony jerks his head up, coming out of his sleep like someone just splashed a bucket of water on him. “Shit, man, did I doze off …?” He wipes tears out of his eyes, appearing surprised by them, then turns and notices my dad. “Oh, hey. Hi.”
My dad doesn’t return the greeting. He just stares.
Like he does every time my mom raises her voice.
Or even when I butt in to give my two cents.
He just stares.
Every cell of blood in my body boils at his rudeness. Would it really kill him to just return the tiniest speck of hospitality to our two guests?
“Had a bad day?” asks Anthony blithely, oblivious to the fact that this is how my dad always acts, regardless of his day. “It’s all good, sir, you don’t gotta mind us one bit. We’re just relaxin’ with Porridge back here.”
My dad stares at him, then eyes me. “Your mom asleep?”
“Mom and Nan, both,” I confirm.
He irritably wipes at a spot on his nose. “One less headache to deal with. Wrap this up,” he says, then adds, “whatever this is.” He turns to the door to let himself in.
That’s when Anthony sits up. “You seem off. Got somethin’ on your mind, sir?”
“Anthony,” I mutter warningly.
My dad turns, an indignant look on his face. “Excuse me?”
“Not tryin’ to start nothin’. You just remind me of my dad.” Anthony lets out an obnoxious yawn, stretches, then shrugs. “And if somethin’ is on your mind, sir, I think it’d do you and everyone around you so much better if you’d just, y’know, let it out. Talk it out. I mean, shit, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“Anthony,” I say even louder.
“And when I say you remind me of my dad, that ain’t a good thing.” Anthony rises to his feet and slumps tiredly over the grass. “My dad is the damned textbook definition of ‘bottling shit up’. He’s gonna keel over one of these days, and no matter what I tell him, he just won’t listen. Probably ‘cause I’m his son and all he hears when I talk is a child who don’t know better. But maybe you’ll hear me.” Anthony slaps a hand onto my dad’s shoulder, which effectively seems to turn my dad into stone. “Man to man, I’m just sayin’ … if you love your son, if you love your wife, you gotta speak up, say what’s eatin’ at you. You can’t expect everyone around you to read your mind and, like, magically see what pain you’re in. That’s somethin’ the reverend told me, really hit me big, right here,” he says, patting his heart. “Reverend Trey. Been seein’ him a lot lately, ever since I started goin’ back to church. Y’know, I always thought counseling was a bunch of stupid hypnosis bullshit for money, but Reverend Trey, he made me see my own shit, and he worked a damned miracle on my parents who weren’t a stellar example of a happy marriage. Now they take walks every day and talk. Y’know, like I’m tellin’ you to do. Talk.” Anthony gets way too close to my dad’s face. “I know that dark pit, man, the dark pit you think you’re in. Once you fall in there, man, everything looks dark, even the good stuff in your life, even your loved ones. Don’t accept it. Don’t get used to it. Fight it like a soldier.” He presses a hand to my dad’s chest and rubs it. “The problems won’t solve themselves, sir, that’s all I’m sayin’. You got the answer right in here.”
The feeling inside me right now, it’s a little bit like watching a nightmare unfold before my glassy eyes. All of the things Anthony so brazenly says to my father. The way he says them without fear, having no idea what’s going on in my family, giving his unsolicited advice to my cold and dismal father who takes advice from no one.
My dad brushes Anthony’s hands off his shoulder and chest, glaring at him with a mixture of confusion and contempt. Then he turns his harsh eyes onto me, as if I’m at fault for all of this.
Then he says, “Wrap this up. Tell your friends to go home. I’m going inside to …” He swallows, appears frustrated, then lets out a sigh and seems to change his mind, saying instead, “It’s late, Cole,” before slipping into the house with Porridge, whose tail still wags expectantly. The door gently shuts behind them.