12
West
“Didn'texpecttoseeyou here.”
“It’s good to see you too, son,” Dad said as he dropped his leather briefcase on the marble countertop. He let out a sigh as he inspected the contents of the refrigerator, not finding a damn thing worthy of consuming.
One of my biggest complaints about Dad working all the time–and I meanallthe time–was that we rarely had family meals. I mean, I could cook, but I was busy with the gym and school. I didn’t have time to plan out dinners every night for me and Bronx.
Dad worked for Axel's dad at McKinley Industries, which was a huge conglomerate with headquarters here in Gilchrist Point. It was a tech company that was always growing and expanding, which meant they needed Dad's human resources expertise now more than ever.
McKinley Industries had offices across the country, and Oliver Moretti was never one to bow down to a challenge, so he accepted the position of traveling HR superman. He helped Winston open new offices, and then he would travel between them to keep them all in top shape. Dad would complain about the hours and travel requirements, but he secretly loved it. He loved not having to deal with his offspring or the problems that came with homeownership.
“But really, why are you home? I thought you were in Chicago until Wednesday,” I said from the barstool across the counter.
“There’s nothing here to eat,” Dad said, more to himself than me. “Think I’ll order a pizza."
"Dad!"
"Oh, uh, change of plans. Is your brother awake?" He raked his hand through his dark hair. The scruff on his face was a clear indication that something was amiss.
"No, he's been passed out since eleven o'clock. He got wasted at Axel’s, so I brought him home and dumped him on his bed. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
He didn’t respond as I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the eruption that threatened to take hold of my body.
Dad leaned up against the counter and pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and started typing away on it. His laser focus on the screen and grimace on his face had me questioning exactly why he would come home early.
“Are you going to ask how I’m doing? How Bronx is doing? How the house is doing?”
“What?” He barely glanced up from his phone. “I thought I told you to take that thing out of your eyebrow.”
Dad despised my piercings and tattoos almost as much as he despised being home. Like I gave a fuck what he thought. “This is the first time you’ve been home in almost a month. You don’t call or text anymore. Shit, sometimes I wonder if you even live here.”
“I’m sorry I have to work, West. Someone’s got to pay for the house, the cars, the insurance, all of your littlehobbies. That’s what adults do. We work.”
“I know you work, but you don’t need to be absent all the time. There’s shit going on here that you know nothing about.”
Dad continued to scroll on his phone, not realizing I was about to blow my lid. “There’s nothing I can do about it, West. I know it’s not ideal to be gone all the time, but you’re eighteen now. Most eighteen-year-olds would be happy to have a house to themselves. If you and your brother are staying out of trouble, what’s the big deal?”
My blood simmered and my face flushed crimson red. He was oblivious to everything. I knew the truth: he didn’t care. He didn’t give a fuck if we spoke or not. It didn’t bother him that he barely knew his sons. If we stayed out of jail and out of the hospital, he was happy with our arrangement.
“No parental supervision was great for Bronx last year when he snorted bad coke and ended up on some dirty bathroom floor. Or when I wrecked the old Mustang because I thought a career in street racing was a great idea. How about when we almost burned the house down because we were kids, left home alone again, and thought we could put aluminum foil in the microwave?”
"If I remember correctly, I rewarded you handsomely for not getting yourself killed in that car wreck. Purchasing half of the gym wasn't anything to scoff at. Yet it's still not enough for you."
Dad loved to rub it in my face that he and Winston McKinley purchased Brass Knuckles andallowedus to use the facilities. It wasn't something I liked to think about because he used it to shut me up. He knew I was going through it last year when I smashed up my old Mustang, and rather than figuring outmy problems, he bought a gym and told me to use it for my anger instead.
He sighed and put his phone down on the counter. He looked like a shell of his former self. His hair was graying, his eyes wrinkled. He looked exhausted. "Look West, I was going to wait until your brother was up to talk to you about something."
I braced myself on the stool, preparing for the worst. "What? What is it? Just spit it out."
"Your mom called."
My heart stopped. We hadn't heard from mom in years. "What'd she want? After all this time, why now?" I asked with bated breath. The only sound I could hear was my heartbeat throbbing and my blood pumping.
"She's coming back to Gilchrist Point. To see us. Well, to see you and Bronx."
"You've got to befuckingshitting me!" I shouted as I pushed away from the counter, knocking the barstool over with a thud in the process.