"West, calm down–"
"Don't fucking tell me to calm down! She leaves us–abandons us–without a way to contact her. And now she calls out of the blue and wants to see us? Where has she been?" I paced the length of the kitchen and tried to control my breathing. Anger reverberated off my body and ricocheted off the walls.
"She lives in California now. She called to make sure it was okay. She wants to apologize. She's not coming for a couple of weeks. She wanted to give you time to warm up to the idea. I told her you wouldn't be happy."
"No, I'm not. What the hell do I owe her, huh? She didn't even...fuck she didn't even think twice. Didn't even turn around that day. I sat there, in that window," I pointed near the front door. "And watched her go to her car and leave. She didn't wave like she usually did. Didn't blow a kiss. Just left. And now I have to see her after all this time has passed?"
"You need some time to cool off," Dad said before picking up the barstool off the floor and sitting on it. "We can discuss it further in the morning once cooler heads prevail."
"No, I don't think so. And you shouldn't even tell Bronx. This is bullshit!" My anger was taking over, and I didn't have much time left before I started breaking shit.
“Are you done?” Dad asked, sounding defeated. He was between a rock and a hard place, but when it came down to it, the guy would always pick his wife. Or would that be ex-wife?
“Yeah, I’m fucking done.” I stalked to the back deck and wrenched open the slider door. I slammed it so hard behind me that it popped back open a few inches. I stomped onto the deck and the wood groaned under my weight.
The sky was a mix of purple and dark blue, swirled with stars and moonlight. Even though it was late, but I was far from tired. Going back inside wasn’t an option because Dad’s presence was more than stifling, and his impassive attitude made me want to explode. We never had the best relationship. He was gone a lot and when he was home, he would criticize anything and everything about us, like he had the right to do so being an absent parent. Dad managed to ignite a fury in my soul–he was always so damn nonchalant about everything that mattered.
Mom had a lot of nerve to contact him asking to see us. I used to drive myself insane with questions about her. Why didn't she come back? Did she think about us? Did she wonder what we looked like, what sports we played, how we did in school? Did she ever really give a fuck about us? Or was she biding her time until she could escape?
As pathetic as it sounded, every year on my birthday–August 8th–I would sit on the porch in hopes of seeing her pull in the driveway. In my head, she would jump from the car and run and hug me as tight as she could. She would tell me she was sorry and that she was back for good. Except she never came, and as the years went on, I stopped having hope.
“Rough night?” A voice asked from the deck next to mine, interrupting my little flashback. A small orange glow was the only thing I could make out, although I knew who it was.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” I leaned against the railing and examined the night sky.
“Want a smoke?”
I didn't just want it, Ineededit.
I turned to the glow and followed it like it was a light beaconing me home. Ashtyn’s deck was old and rickety, and I was slightly concerned if it would hold both of our weights.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness as I got closer to her. She sat on the edge of the deck, her legs dangling off, probably collecting splinters and tetanus. She wore shorts and a t-shirt, and her eyes were red and puffy like she’d been crying. She took a hit of the joint and held the smoke before releasing it.
“You’re still listening to this crap?” I asked, noting the faint sound ofCreepby Radiohead flowing from her phone.
“You love it,” she scoffed.
Ashtyn was always listening to something from another decade. Sometimes 90s, sometimes 80s, or even 70s. She used to make me and Bronx listen to her random shuffle. Some of it grew on me, slowly, like a fungus.
“Here,” she shoved the joint at me. “You look like you could use this as much as me.”
Ashtyn leaned back and propped herself up on her elbows. I put the joint to my mouth and tried not to stare and her perky tits and hard nipples poking out of the thin shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra–that much was evident even with just the light from her house illuminating us.
“Fuck.”
“What?” She looked at me and I continued to stare at her chest.
“Jesus, Moretti. They’re just boobs. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty in your life.”
“None like yours,” I said under my breath before bringing the joint to my lips again.
“So, who put the stick up your ass this time?” She took the joint from me once I was done and took a hit. Her fingers brushed against mine and sent tingles up my arm and blood straight to my dick.
“My dad.” If I needed to kill a boner, talking about Dad was a sure way to do it.
“I haven’t seen Oliver in forever. I wasn’t even sure if he still lived there.”
“That’s what I said. He just doesn’t give a fuck. Never has.”