It Started With A Whisper

Chapter 3- Snitches Become Bitches

“Hey sweetie,” my dad’s green eyes greet me with happiness as soon as I lock the door behind me. His white button up shirt is lose around his neck with the sleeves undone going about three quarters of the way down his arms, black slacks and shoes finish his outfit. His brown hair falls into his eyes adding a dark rim to the vibrant green. I heave a sigh, trying to think of a way in which to tell him I blew the money for my car on useless things when in reality, I used it for a somewhat good deed for the bad boy he pinned on me. He must have noticed the look on my face because a small frown replaces his smile. “What’s wrong?” ah, the million dollar question, well, not quite.

                “Uhm, I can’t go to the dealer with you today,” I finally manage to breathe out, loud enough for him to hear.

                “You got too much homework or something?” he questions slowly. I look up to his tall frame before shaking my head dejectedly. “I have the feeling you’re trying to tell me something,” he smirks, ushering me to the couch in the living room. The one where we watch games every weekend, him with a glass of scotch on the rocks beside him and pizza, me with a book in my hands pretending like I know what’s going on, much to his chagrin. I place my bag in my lap to keep me distracted as he sits right next to me, accommodating his body to face me.

                “I spent the money I earned,” it’s better to get rid of these things like a band aid, or some shit like that, right? He presses his lips together, pulling them to the side and giving him a childish look, pensively.

                “What’d you spend it on, lip gloss?” I let out a breath before laughing at his teasing. The joke letting me know he’s not extremely mad or about to burn me at the stake for disappointing him. “Well, you’ll just have to continue working,” he pats my leg before getting up with a smirk. It’s a good thing I rather enjoy working at Liz’s café, if not this would definitely seem like some sort of demented punishment.

                “What’d you make for dinner?” I taunt, stretching myself out on the couch.

                “Unless you want salmonella, nothing,” he bites back. The corporate lawyer cannot boil water to save his life, that’s how I lost my eyebrows at the age of five and let me tell you, they do not grow back the same way.

                “What am I supposed to eat,” I whine as he returns to his own recliner with his laptop in hand.

                “No thank you, sweetheart, I, myself don’t want salmonella,” he responds. It’s not my fault I can’t cook, how was I supposed to learn with no foundation for education?

                “Chinese takeout?” I deadpan, pulling out the menus from the side table. He nods without looking up from his computer, I shrug before going over to the kitchen to place the order.

                “I’m going to go take a shower,” my dad calls out before his footsteps fade upstairs. Just as I was hanging the phone up it begins to ring again.

                “Hello,” I answer without looking at the caller ID.

                “Hello, is Ethan there?” a horribly high pitched voice comes from the other end of the line causing me to roll my eyes.

                “Who is this?” I drawl.

                “Marcy, is he there?” the female huffs out impatiently.

                “No, he’s on the date of the week,” I lie. I can already tell from the sound of her voice that I don’t like her for my dad. He has got to stop giving his number to anything walking on two legs.