˗ˏˋOur Differencesˊˎ˗

-9-

Dad is the funniest person alive, I'm convinced.

I snorted milk out of my nose after he called my Mom's sister a bitch with 11 toes.

She does have 11 toes. She is a bitch.

"I'm tempted to skip out on the reunion this weekend." he admitted. "Seems like a waste of energy."

Dad couldn't stand Mom's side of the family, which was completely valid. They're incredibly horrible, and apparently they've been slightly racist about Dad in the past. They're a messy family. Even Mom doesn't get along with them most of the time.

"Can we?" I begged.

The last thing I wanted to attend this weekend was a family reunion. We'd all be miserable.

Dad shrugged. "We'll see."

I twirled my pasta noodles around on my fork. When I told Dad I was hungry, he immediately made me a bowl of fettuccine alfredo. He's so real.

"Where's your stupid brother?" he asked jokingly.

He's called him that for years, and Dylan has no idea. It's like our own secret inside joke.

"I don't know." I replied truthfully.
"Probably doing something illegal."

He sighed in agreement.
"That boy gives me a headache."

"You're telling me... Try riding to and from school with him and his stupid friends all the time."

Dad smiled as I took another bite of my pasta.
"You'll get a car soon, don't worry."

What a relief.

Normally I wouldn't care about getting a car or anything, but riding with Dylan is literal torture sometimes. No — all the time.

"How's school going?" Dad asked.

I shrugged. "Fine."

He never has to worry about me doing well in school. I've always made perfect grades and passed every class with flying colors. But he still asks about it a lot, incase I slip up at any point or something I guess.

"I'm proud of you." he admitted truthfully, making my heart warm a lot.

I smiled. "That means a lot, Dad."

It's hard to please him sometimes. He has high expectations for us, but Dylan has literally lowered the standard. If he cleans his plate after dinner, he gets praise. The bare minimum is a gold star moment for him.

We gossiped about soccer for a long time. It was mostly me complaining about people on the team, and Dad adding his commentary about them or their parents. Dad's a snake, but his opinions are all super valid.

Somehow, Devin's name came up, even though I tried my hardest to avoid talking about him. Dad brought him up for some reason, and I desperately wanted to change the subject.

"He's playing well this season." he said.
"He'll get recruited to a big school, I guarantee."

What does this have to do with anything?

I just nodded in response, while Dad kept going.

"You know, he's really cleaned up his act these past few months. I'm hoping he'll rub off on Dylan."

Don't care. Didn't ask.

"He went through a period where he wasn't coming over as much — but I'm glad to see him back around. Dylan seems happier."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Why are we talking about Devin like he's the sun, moon, and stars? He's a dick. A solid, hard dick.

I almost laughed as that horrifying memory of sitting on his boner popped into my head again. That's something that I don't think I'll ever recover from, truly.