The Babysitting Contract | j.jk

10 • basketball

"Nothing." My laugh is bitter, eyes turned heavenwards. "I figure that if I had to wait two years to hear from him again, he can wait a couple of hours for my reply."

It's been six years since my father ran off with his intern at the hospital to start a new family, and he's rarely looked back. From what I can remember the divorce hadn't been pretty, but at least he had the basic decency to be straight with my mother about the situation so she wasn't completely blindsided by his new marriage to his much younger employee.

He promised he'd visit. And he'd kept it for a while. But soon, every weekend turned into every other weekend. Which turned into every month. Which turned into every year. Which turned into birthday texts days off from my actual birthday and empty promises of having dinner under the guise of him seeking familiar ground when his new family was falling apart.

He may be my father but he sure as hell isn't my dad.

But I don't need to explain all this to Jeongguk. He was there when it happened.

He's the only one who knows.

Jeongguk nods his head but remains silent, watching as I angrily bounce the basketball, and there's something about that silence that pulls the reeling thoughts from my head into spoken words.

"It just- it feels like he only contacts me when he needs something." I watch my hand slam against the ball, my repressed feelings suddenly surging uncontrollably to the surface. "It's almost like I'm his backup family. When things aren't good with his new one, he comes crawling back, suddenly wanting to patch things up between us as if he hasn't been absent for most of my life."

I scowl, slamming the basket ball down onto the concrete and watching it soar above my head. It lands back in my hands.

"And then, as soon as things are perfect back at his new home, he leaves again."

I laugh, though there's nothing funny about any of this. And I can tell that Jeongguk thinks so too, because I can see the gears turning in his head; can see his brows pull into a concerned frown; can see that words sit on the tip of his tongue, ready to pour out.

But I can't have that.

So before he can speak, I cut him off.

"So anyways, that's what's new with me," I say airily, waving my hand and trying to make light of the situation. I then bounce the ball over to Jeongguk who catches it with ease. "Your turn. Shoot." As an afterthought I add, "no pun intended."

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "Knowing you, the pun definitely was intended."

I have an elite sense of humour. Sue me.

Jeongguk takes a moment to compose himself, face angled towards the thick, dark clouds stewing in the sky.

"It was just... suffocating," he admits finally, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Being in there with everyone. It was a lot. "

He must see the confusion on my face for he then adds, "Mom called today. The wedding's in May."

So this is about Mrs. Jeon's and Hyuk's wedding. No wonder he was so wired up with all the talk about the weddings.

"It just feels too fast. Like they aren't really thinking things through. And the last time she married a guy on a whim, he-"

He catches himself, eyes widening a fraction of a millimetre before he looks away.

"My mom falls fast. And I just don't want to see her get hurt again."

"Do you not like Hyuk?"

Jeongguk snorts. "Can't say. I barely know him. My mom and him met at the start of summer. One day I'm babysitting the twins as a favour for her business partner and the next he's my soon-to-be step father. No warning, no nothing.