I couldn't make eye contact. "It could be nothing."
"Tell me."
And I did. I skipped over many of the more embarrassing details of the evening. When it came to Jack Fielding and the things that he said, I was candid. She looked annoyed but not by what I told her. Her annoyance was aimed at me. "Do you honestly think he would do that? Turn on his son? Do you think mom would allow him?"
"Would that be such a stretch? Isn't that what he's been doing all these years?" Hadn't I been damned and rejected? Worse than being turned out - I had been deleted from his life.
"I know he's a difficult man, but I have a hard time believing he would be that cruel. Maybe Jack was trying to hurt you?"
Of course, the thought had crossed my mind, but my heart had not been convinced. On the contrary, the more I considered the possibility, the more my heart accepted that it was true -- even without proof. It would have been impossible for most children to believe such horrible things, especially about their parents. Ours was not a typical child-parent relationship, however. It had never been. I wanted it to be a lie, but my experience with him clouded hope, and that was why it was so easy to believe.
"Well, you have to ask him about it."
"Who?"
Lauren rolled her eyes. "Who do you think? You can't choose to believe such a horrible thing about him and not give him the chance to rebut." I was surprised she knew the word.
"Every moment we spend together is already uncomfortable -- for both of us. Why make it worse? I'm only here for a short while. It's best not to say anything at all."
"Best for who?" Her voice sounded anguished. "If he is guilty of what you're saying, then he owes you an explanation. And if he isn't, then daddy deserves the opportunity to tell you that he's not the monster you think he is."
It was often difficult to believe the same man had raised us. I suspected had I been born a girl; I too would have felt the same need to defend him. The love of a little girl and her daddy was a bond, unlike many others. The worst fathers in the world were often still heroes in the eyes of their little girls. Even when little girls grew old enough to know the truth, they seldom accepted it.
"What are you two whispering about in there?" His voice called from the living room. "And where the hell is my whiskey?"
"Sorry, Daddy," Lauren answered back. "I'm a little busy right now, but Parker will bring it to you."
I groaned. "Do I have to?"
"Don't be a baby," she said, handing me the small glass she poured earlier.
"Are you out of your mind? I can't bring this to him. It's watered down now. He'll accuse me of trying to poison him."
"That one's for you," she explained as she poured him another.
I swallowed the drink. The whiskey burned slow and deep, all the way down. I choked. "I can't."
"You can, and you will." She placed her hand on my shoulder and spun me toward the living room. Breathing and trying to quiet my racing pulse, I moved from one room and into the other.
"What are you watching, Pop?" I said, trying to sound casual.
"The news. What's it look like?" It looked like a Wendy's commercial to me, but I did not comment. "Took you long enough. I thought you two were trying to dehydrate me to death." The annoyance in his voice was not surprising. The sharpness with which he yanked the whiskey glass from me caught me off guard though, and my balance teetered. "Jesus, are you drunk?" he accused.
I placed myself gingerly on the arm of the sofa, not quite willing to commit to sitting. I gave a disingenuous smile and attempted to banter. "Considering how much liquor I consumed last night, I may still be." He put the glass to his lips. "I went out with a few guys last night."
"I thought queers preferred to call each other girls," he said with a dramatic flick of his wrist.
"It's pronounced guuurl," I egged him on, fueled by annoyance. "And while I don't speak for queers everywhere, I have never enjoyed being called that, I assure you." I took a breath and attempted to calm myself. When I felt my temper settle, I continued, "Actually, I went out with Bryce and his friends. We shot some pool in Dellwood."
"Those boys are straight shooters. I'm shocked they let you tag along. I hope you didn't act all faggy."
"Well you know, my first instinct was to stick the pool cue up my ass, but Bryce informed me that it wasn't that kind of party."
"Disgusting," he frowned, and I wasn't sure if he was referring to my comment or me in general. "Keep your gross habits to yourself." Definitely me.
I bit my lower lip. "Sorry," I almost whispered. "It was a joke. I don't shove --"
"Jesus Christ! Stop talking about it!" He slammed the palms of his hands against the armrests of his chair.
I apologized again and shifted, uncomfortable on my perch. I decided to broach the subject. "It was a pretty fun night. I hadn't seen some of those guys since we were kids, and back then they weren't very nice to me." I watched his face for any flicker of a reaction.
He took a drink of whiskey, then nodded. "You never gave them a reason to, I recall."
His comment, which was by no means an admission of anything, still struck me hard. I found my defences rising. "I didn't realize one had to barter for basic niceties."
"When you march to your own parade, sometimes you become the drum."
In other words, dare to be different, and you risk being beat. I shook my head at the warped analogy. "I never knew why those kids were so mean to me, especially Jack Fielding. I mean, he nearly killed me for no reason at all."
He gave me a rare gentle look before turning back to the television. I waited for a response, but one never came. I decided to change the subject. "Lauren said you've been having trouble sleeping?"
"Your sister talks too much 'bout my business."
"She was telling me how you were doing; that's all. She's concerned. We both are."
"Don't be," he said shortly. "But if you're so concerned about how I'm doing, you should ask me. I can speak for myself."
I nodded understanding. "So then, how are you?"
"Fine."
"But you haven't been sleeping..."
"It's sleep. I've had more, I've also had less," he said very matter-of-factly. "Now, do you mind? I'm trying to watch the damned news."
I didn't press further. There would have been no point; he had dismissed me. To question him further would only make him angry. Or rather, angrier, since angry was his default setting. I left him to the television and rejoined Lauren in the kitchen, where I found her cutting vegetables. She stopped still in her chopping and turned to me, knife still in hand. "So?"
I shook my head. "I couldn't. I tried, but I couldn't ask him." She looked disappointed. "He doesn't want to talk," I explained further. "At least not to me. Not while he's watching television at least." I paused. "I don't remember him watching that much tv before."
"Well, when mom got sick, he started to stay home more. The TV took the place of all the things he used to do."