How to Save a Hero [ManxMan]

Chapter Four - Should Have Stayed Home

~Chapter Four: Should Have Stayed Home~

I take the stairs two at a time, going up to my apartment from the underground garage. There is, in fact, an elevator, but why use an elevator for only three flights of stairs? When I reach the top of the second floor landing, I allow myself a moment to catch my breath – there's nothing no reason to enter my apartment sounding like I just outran a bear – before walking to my front door while fishing the key from the back pocket of my jeans.

My dad is sitting in the kitchen when I enter, sipping something he must have gotten from a nearby coffee shop – the logo on the cup matches the one from down the street - while I was out. "I got something for you, too," he says before I can ask, gesturing towards the refrigerator behind him. Wise decision on his part; now I won't need to steal his. "How did it go?"

"Said I'm mentally fit for duty, but the doc still wants to see me again next week to make sure I stay okay and then one more time after I've been back on the job for a few days," I inform my dad a bit sourly. Though I am relieved to have a clean bill of mental health, the fact that the therapist wants a minimum of two more appointments kind of ruins the mood.

"That's good news," my dad says, seemingly missing the part that I still need to return. Or maybe he means to say the two extra appointments are good news. Clearly, my dad is the same man as he was many years ago when he tried to send me to a therapist to deal with the fact that he had turned into a vampire, even though I wasn't bothered by it – he was still 'alive', just drinking new substances. Besides, even if I had gone, I could not actually talk to the very human therapist about it. "We should celebrate."

Celebrate which part, exactly?

I open the refrigerator and take out the iced caramel drink. "In other words, you want another bacon burger," I comment, because what else would he want? After my dad discovered the perfection that was Simmer Down's bacon burger, he has wanted to spend every dinner there. Last night, he used the excuse of celebrating the removal of my stitches as a reason to go. "We celebrated last night, too. Isn't it just 'going out to eat' if we go there three nights in a row?"

"We can ask them to put candles in a slice of cake for you," my dad suggests, and I frown when I do not catch even a hint of sarcasm in his tone. However, I know it's hiding in there somewhere; I can see it on his face.

"I'm not eating anything covered in candle wax," I disagree drily. Besides, people would likely assume it is someone's birthday if they see the candles and if the staff also gets the wrong idea, there might be a birthday song involved, which would just be incredibly awkward.

My dad sips his coffee. "Your loss."

- - - - - - -

The moment we pass through the restaurant's glass doors, my dad visibly cringes at the sudden wall of noise we are hit with. Though the place is large and has at least fifty tables with a fair amount of space between each, the place is packed. I could see the people as we walked by Simmer Down's windows and heard the muted murmur as we approached the door, but I was not expecting it to be so loud. And my poor dad has to deal with all the smells, too, which I imagine is not very nice with all these people. Yet, I doubt he will agree to go anywhere else; his mind is set and he is nothing if not stubborn.

All the walls are either made of stone or cabin-style wooden planks. The booths are covered in checkered fabric while the cushioned chairs are all dark wood to match the tables. The low-hanging lights over each booth cast a creamy glow, while the main light fixtures around the center of the room make things a bit brighter.

Despite its fancy looks, though, the food is relatively inexpensive. If it hadn't been, there is no way I would agree to eat here three nights in a row. My dad may pay for his half of the dinner, but I would never pay more than twenty dollars for a one-person meal without the occasion being special. Otherwise, that would be suicide on my monthly budget. And I am too prideful to just let my dad pay for everything, which he did offer; I have a job, I can pay for myself.