▪️Friday, November 27th, 2017▪️
▪️Chicago, IL▪️
One beer and a half of a shriveled lemon stare at me from the shelf of the refrigerator. Fuck. The leftovers. I left the leftovers Ben offered me. If only I'd taken them from the Friendsgiving Bash or stopped to collect them this morning when the rideshare picked me up at Angie's and dropped me off at Ben's parents' garage, I might have actual pie in my mouth right now. But Angie, and not food, was on my mind. Then. Now, I'm starving. Starving, but not regretting ignoring the delicacies on the table. Angie is so much better than food.
Protein shake to the rescue, I rush around the living room of the rental house Mom, Louka, and I have been living in since we left downtown Chicago. The kitchen no longer looks like a bachelor squats here, and the dishwasher is running. I've no time for a shower, but I take a minute to remove the dark stubble off my cheeks. Mom says I look like my dad when I don't shave. So I always shave.
There's no time to run out for groceries. It'll be something to do after I deposit Mom and my little bro at the house. Thankfully, it's Friday, and Ben'll have a new iteration of his quest for perfect pizza for me to try at our Game Night tonight. He nailed it several weeks ago, but why tell Ben? Let him look for that Holy Pizza Grail, because I'm not dumb enough to stop the supply of free pizza every Friday night.
I wish I could've spent today with Angie, but I promised Mom I'd pick them up at the airport. A week in the house by myself was both fan-fucking-tastic and unsettling. With my new job, I could, for the first time in my life, afford to move out, but I don't see any reason for it. I've been the man of the house for ten years, and I'll stay for another ten, or as long as Mom needs me.
I bypass my bike, start Mom's minivan, and merge onto the highway. Although Buffalo Springs is great for Louka's high school and close to Mom's job at the salon, riding Beauty to work takes over an hour. The drive to O'Hara isn't as long, even in the Black Friday traffic, but parking at the airport takes ages. I race to baggage claim and push my way through the small crowd of people around the carousel when I spot Mom's short bob and Louka's head with ever-present giant headphones.
"Mom," I shout.
She turns and smiles. Her eyes are my eyes: the darkest brown, almost black irises lined with thick, long lashes. She's beautiful even after a long day of travel. The hug she gives me when I reach her is automatic.
"How was the flight?"
"Not a single empty seat. I didn't think so many people travelled the day after Thanksgiving." She keeps her eyes on the carousel, which begins to move, displaying the first pieces of luggage from the flight.
"Did Louka behave?" I glance at my brother, who is staring into his phone, playing a game, by the looks of how his hands move on the screen.
"Oh, we had a great time. UCLA is where his heart's at. He'll be crushed if he doesn't get in. I hoped he'd change his mind, but it was the opposite. There's no way he's going to stay in Chicago."
"I'll talk to him."
"You do that, but LA is where he wants to be, and the movie industry is what he's after. And he doesn't care that it's not the stable professional world I've always imagined for my boys. Nothing like what you do." She pats me on my forearm, her eyes still on the conveyor belt. "I thought with your perfect example. . .oh well. . .at least he's going to college firs—that's mine, the red one. Could you grab it?" Mom points at the suitcase that has emerged, and I step forward to wrestle it off the line. We walk over to Louka's seat, and he registers that I'm here.
"Hey." I ruffle his wavy hair.
"Hey." Louka lets me, yawns, and puts his phone away. "I'm starving," he says.
It's his normal state. At nineteen, he's six-three, an inch taller than I am, but skinny, lanky, and half my size. He's Mom's copy. Lucky. I'm Dad's, and the mirror reminds me of it every day.
"We can get fast food on the way home. I didn't have time to get groceries." I glance at Mom. She's not a fan of eating out, but she's too tired to object and asks for some fries and chicken nuggets when I place our order at the nearby drive-through.
"So, you're set on LA then?" I ask Louka after I swallow the last bite of the burger.
He's still eating his meal in the back seat, but his headphones are off for once.
"Yep. UCLA or USC, but gonna apply to a bunch and maybe transfer later on if I can't nail it on the first try. Dad said I could go to a community college too."
I'm not sure I heard him right. What the fuck?
"Dad?" I glance at Mom in the passenger seat next to me. "Did he just say 'Dad'?" She freezes, and I know I didn't mishear Louka. They've fucking seen Dad in LA and don't want to tell me about it.
"Mikey, you know Theo still lives there. We met; it's not that big of a deal." Her voice is conciliatory, and the only reason for her to talk to me this way is if it is a big deal. A much bigger deal than she fucking wants to admit to.
"You saw Dad and didn't bother to tell me?" The familiar fumes seep into my heart, pushing Angie's lightness out. "Did you plan to do it before your trip?" A flame ignites at the thought that Mom looked for him. My chest burns hot. With anger. It vibrates with it. Not that anyone would know. My temper is the gasoline: flammable in the wrong hands but an excellent fuel in the right ones. I made myself the right one. The perfect one. The one who no one suspects is playing with fire inside his chest. "How did you even know where to find him?"
"I told you both, if you want to reach out and reconnect, I won't ever stand in your way. You're adults, and the decision is yours." Mom reaches out and places her hand on my elbow, squeezes it. It's Mom. I'm not going to jerk it away, but fuck, I wish I could. I wish we weren't in the car in the middle of the highway. "Theo hurt all of us, but he's not as bad of a guy as you think he is. He's been rebuilding his life. He's writing screenplays again." What she's saying is not new. But the way she's saying it is a red flag. She's back to thinking my father deserves a chance when he doesn't. "Louka got in touch with him. He wanted to see his dad. He didn't even remember him apart from the photographs."
"You should've told me."
"We weren't even sure he'd show—"
"Speak for yourself, Mom." Louka pipes in from the back seat. "Dad's not the flake Mike's always been trying to make him be—"
"Not a flake?" My blood is reaching the boiling point. "Walking out on his wife and kids and not caring for them till they're grown?"
"He didn't walk out. He was in prison. You owe it to him to listen to his side of the story, bro."
"I owe that fuc—man nothing!"
"Boys, boys, stop shouting. Louka, let your brother drive. Mikey, focus on the road. We'll talk about it later."
Fuckety-fuck.
Like hell we will. Not if I have anything to do with it. I don't want to listen to the lies my father has been feeding them. My phone begins to ring. It's Ben's mom. I hope she wants me to stop by and pick up the leftovers after all.
"Mike here. You're on speakerphone."
"Sorry to bother you, Mike, but it's urgent. How soon can you get to Ben's place?"
"I'm almost home, and it's at least thirty minutes to Ben's from there. Forty-five minutes? An hour, if traffic is bad? What's going on?"
"Ben is having . . . well . . . I'll explain when I see you."
"Absolutely, Marguerite." I swallow a lump in my throat. "I'll be there."
No leftovers then. And no pizza tonight.
"What happened?" Mom's hand on my elbow again. She may think it's calming me down, but I know it's what calms her down, so I let her.
"You've heard the same thing I did." I regret my tone the minute the words come out of my mouth.
"Mikey—"
"Sorry, Mom. You guys rest. I'll ride Beauty and be back as soon as I can. Don't wait up."
"Please be careful. Don't rush. The weather is getting worse."
"You know I always am, Mom."
I'm not my fucking father.