“That’s the problem, kid. You don’t stop there. Do you know how on airplanes they tell you to put your own air mask on first before helping others? It’s been a while since I’ve flown, so I could be wrong,” Dad rambled while swirling a french fry in his ketchup. Admittedly, I hadn’t ever been on a plane, but I knew what he was talking about.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well, you’re the type to give your mask away to someone that already has their own. Your mother was breathing your air, Blakely. I’m not going to do that. I’ve got my own supply. My own lungs.”
My eyes twinkled with moisture, and I swatted it away. I wanted so badly for Dad to be the one that raised me. He had his faults, but something told me he would have grown up for me. Dad would have tried for me—eventually. He was just so young when I was born, so stupid. He grew out of it. Prison had that sort of effect on a person.
Mama never did.
“Fine,” I finally said, though I was still itching to know what Dad was hiding from me. But if he wanted to prove he could handle his shit, I’d let him. I had to end this toxic cycle of feeling responsible for my parents. It was their job to feel responsible for me.
“So how is Lance? How’s the new school?” Dad asked, smoothly transitioning us into casual conversation territory.
“It’s good,” I choked out. “I really like my school. I’ve made a few friends. It’s challenging, but I really like it. I really like it. Really.” I sounded like a broken record. Dad’s face dipped, protectiveness rolling off of him in waves. His scowl highlighted the bruise on his eye and the scar on his upper lip.
“What’s wrong, Blakely?” he asked.
I almost wanted to use the same analogy, reminding him that I had my own pair of fully functioning lungs. But I didn’t say it. “I don’t really want to talk to my Dad about guy problems,” I admitted, and his face bloomed red. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment.
“You’re not...pr-pregnant, are you?” he asked.
“Dad. I never had a curfew. Mama gave me my first drink at twelve, and I had to forge her signature on report cards because she couldn’t be bothered to see her daughter’s straight A’s. There was only one rule in her house: Wrap it up. She bought condoms in bulk and put me on the pill when I started my period. I’m not having a kid any time soon.”
Dad squirmed in his chair, his face twisted in pure agony like I’d stabbed him in the eye with my fork. “Okay, okay, I get it!” he whined before scrubbing his hands down his face. “Please, say no more.”
I smirked before plopping a chicken tender in my mouth, slowly chewing it before swallowing. “Have you ever liked someone bad for you?” I asked, then immediately regretted my decision.
Mama. Mama was bad for Dad. Mama was the reason he ended up in prison. When I was eight years old, Mama and Dad got the bright idea to rob a store. Mama convinced him it would put food on the table, told him that if they didn’t want me ending up in the system, they’d have to provide for me. The road to prison was paved with good intentions, and when the cops showed up, Mama sped off in the getaway car, leaving Dad behind while claiming she had a kid to raise. She didn’t give two shits about me; she just didn’t want to get caught.
“Never mind, don’t answer that,” I said while looking out the window. I didn’t want to hash out all the things that twisted Dad up inside. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, and in many ways, he did. She was just too selfish to see.
“I can’t believe I’m giving you boy advice. I might be rusty, but I’ll give it a shot, okay?” Dad offered while taking a large gulp of his Diet Coke.
“This is gonna be good,” I teased while leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Men are pigs,” Dad began. I snorted. “We’re wrong most of the time. And we are stupid. We don’t know what’s good for us, and we make poor decisions.”
“This is the best speech ever, old man,” I said with a giggle.
“But sometimes we find someone that makes us want to be…better. Someone that makes us think. Someone that makes us want to be right—do the right thing. If they become better by being in your presence, they’re good for you.” I let his words saturate my soul for a minute. What about me? Did Decker make me a better person? He encouraged me to voice my truth. Demanded I go to school and further my education. He put aside this…thing…between us so that I could have a shot at a real relationship with Lance that wasn’t burdened by our taboo relationship. He held my hair when I puked.
Maybe I was the bad influence in our relationship.
“What if they think that staying away is what’s better?” I asked.
“Then you have to respect it. Men are selfish. We take, take, and then take some more. We’re fucking conquerors. Just read a history book.” I nodded, understanding what he was saying. “So if he’s willing to not be selfish for your well-being, then hell, I actually approve of this guy.”
“What if I’m the one that wants to be selfish?” I asked before slurping on my drink and maintaining eye contact with Dad. He rolled his eyes.
“Then I’d tell you to stop being a man. You know, we thought you were a boy for like six months? Faulty sonogram. You’ve got that big dick energy, kid. Put that shit away and do what’s right.”
I spurted Coke out my nose while choking on laughter. It burned my nostrils, and I had to grab the stack of napkins in the middle of the table to wipe my face. “Did you just say I have big dick energy? I can’t even with that. Are you reading quotes on Pinterest again?” I snorted while trying to calm my breathing.
“I told you that I’m trying to get hip with the lingo!” Dad exclaimed with a laugh. On one of our calls, he explained that he finally bought a smartphone and was enjoying researching recipes on Pinterest. It was adorable, and I teased him about it whenever I could. “Ten years is a long time to be on the inside. I still don’t understand this Yeet business.”
“I don’t think anyone does,” I snickered.
The front door to the restaurant opened, and in walked three men decked out in all leather with their heads shaved. They looked sketchy as fuck, and I was going to comment on their shady appearance, when I noticed Dad’s face completely drained of blood. Something about these guys had him scared as hell.
“Hey kid, you ready to go? I just remembered I have something to do,” he choked out while looking down at his plate, gripping his fork so hard that I thought he would bend the metal.
“What’s going on?” I whisper-hissed while checking out those guys by the door.
“Don’t look at them, Bee. Keep your eyes on me,” Dad instructed, and my eyes zeroed in on the purplish bruise on his face, and my mind made the connection.
“Did those guys do this to you, Dad?” I asked as he filtered through his tattered wallet and pulled out some cash. Dropping it on the table, he reached over and grabbed my wrist. We were fast walking out a side exit within seconds.
“Dad, talk to me,” I whispered as the door shut. He dragged me to his beat-up Dodge and shoved me in the passenger seat, looking around the parking lot as his fingers trembled. I always thought my father was strong and immovable. Like a mountain. Like stone.