Page 63 of Sizzle

The room goes silent.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter. And you might as well go, too,” he says to Connie. “I got no use for people who think I’m some sort of mooch, not in my own goddamned house.”

“Nobody thinks you’re a mooch, Hank,” says Connie, trying to soothe him.

“That’s obviously not true, if the two of you are—what? Staging some kind of intervention.” Dad laughs, and it’s a bitter, ugly sound. “Is that what this is? Some kind of get-your-dumbass-back-to-work intervention. Like what Bill and Marsha Myers had to do with their lazy sumbitch grandson when he dropped out of college.” He laughs again and drops back into the chair.

I’m still frozen where I stand, on the verge of tears for the second time in twelve hours.

“Dad, I—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You have to go to work.” He picks up the remote, jacking the volume up too high. “So go already.”

I pull my coat on, dazed. Connie follows me out to the front step.

“He didn’t mean it, honey,” she says, rubbing my arms. “He’s just in a mood.”

“He did,” I say, moving now but frozen inside. “He meant every word of it. And he’s not wrong.”

“About what?”

“That I resent having to take care of him. That I’ve been thinking he needs to get back to work.”

“There’s nothing wrong with either of those things, child,” she says, too kindly. That gentle tone starts the tears falling. “You were just a kid when he got hurt. And then when your fool mama left—” Connie huffs out a breath. “Since I got nothing nice to say, I’ll stop there.”

“What am I going to do, Connie?”

“For starters, you get your butt to work. After that, you come back here, get you a bag packed and you come stay with me for a few days. Let that old coot cool off a bit.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’ll do him some good to have a couple of days to himself, anyway. Let him get a taste of what it feels like.”

“But what if—”

“I’ll still be here checking on him, don’t you worry. Even if he tries to fire me again.” Connie laughs at that. “Can you believe it? I’ve told him a thousand times you can’t fire somebody who don’t work for you, but he keeps trying anyway. Plus, those therapists will be around every so often. And Lord knows, the man can operate a cell phone.”

She sees my frown at that and pulls out her smartphone, flicking the screen open. It’s a text thread from my dad.

Memes. So many memes.

“When did that start?”

“I showed him a couple of funny ones that first day. Guess he got hooked,” says Connie. “I swear to God, he sends me ten a day.”

Dad’s sending memes. To Connie.

The world’s gone mad, but I don’t have time to sort it out. I have to go face my boss, who is now also my lover, and find out whether I still have a job after sleeping with him and then showing up over an hour late to work the next day.

I hug Connie, thanking her and promising to text her later. I back out of the driveway as fast as I dare. Now that the bridge between me and my father is burning, time to go find out whether the one between me and Elliot is still standing.

19

Elliot

It’s supposed to snow today. Thank God. Bring it on. I’m due for a run after work and the snow might finally, finally cool me down. After last night, I need all the help I can get.