Page 81 of Her Filthy Grump
The flight to Kansas City was uneventful, even if I did have to wait overnight to get a standby ticket. The desire to get away and lick my wounds was the only thought drumming through my brain like a broken record.
After I flop onto the brown sofa, I stare at the ceiling. The marks from Micah’s remote-controlled helicopter still dot the ceiling along with a smattering of cobwebs on the fan.
“What happened?” My dad strides into the living room with two beers in his hands. It’s five o’clock somewhere. Even if it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.
“She dumped me.” I snatch the ice-cold container from his hand and pop the top. The kind of beer doesn’t matter at this point. I’d drink warm piss if it took the edge off. I’ll drown my sorrows in whatever I can find.
“What the hell for?” My dad’s voice sounds like he’s got a pound of gravel lodged in his throat from years of yelling in the factory. He moves to the recliner and plops down. A loud whooshing sound erupts as the air deflates under him.
“Fuck if I know.” I guzzle the entire can in one gulp, set it on the coffee table, and wipe my mouth off with my hand.
He presses his lips together and arches an eyebrow. “She must have said something.”
“Fine,” I sigh in exasperation and slouch into the cushions. Damn it. I feel like a nine-year-old prepping for a lecture. “She says I lied to her. I guess she’s not wrong, but I was figuring everything out and wanted to surprise her. She got all pissed off and wouldn’t listen.”
“Then why are you here?” He takes a sip of beer.
I curl my lip. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Because you love this girl, and she’s had time to cool down. Now would be the time you spill your guts. Instead, you ran here with your tail between your legs.”
“That’s a little harsh. Don’t you think?” I brace my hands on the cushions and shove my weight forward. This conversation deserves another beer. I expected a pat on the back, and ‘She was the wrong woman for you.’ Not–‘You screwed up.’ I stomp through the living room as the joists squeak under my weight.
“No. I don’t think it’s too harsh,” he mutters more to himself than to me.
“Need another?”
“Nope. One’s plenty for nine o’clock in the morning.”
After I march through the kitchen, I jerk open the door and grab a beer. I should’ve gone to Rich’s place. He should be home by now. I slip back into my spot on the sofa.
“You need to straighten this out.”
“Why? This proves what I’ve always thought. Like you, I don’t have what it takes to be in a long-term relationship.”
“Dude.” My dad rolls his eyes. “You don’t know everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been with Margaret for twelve years.”
My mouth drops open, and I stare at him. Ms. Connelly? What in the fuck?
“Why in the hell did you think she came over all the time and cooked and cleaned?”
“I thought you paid her to do the work.”
He chuckles and smacks his leg. “In sex.”
“Oh, fuck.” I cringe. “I didn’t need to know that.” How in the hell did I not realize that?
She was here three days a week when we got up in the morning. And when we came back from school, she was still here. Yeah, it doesn’t take ten hours to clean the house. I suck down half of the beer and rest the can on my knee.
“Tough. We decided not to get married or live together because you kids had been through enough. Your mom was so messed up with what she wanted, and I rushed into it with the other one.” Even my dad can’t say her name. “I have to admit that was a mistake.”
I blink and swallow over the lump in my throat. I’m not surprised he considered Jolene a mistake. “Was mom a mistake?”
“No, son. Your mom was a bundle of good and bad times. When she was taking her medication, she was amazing. But sadly, that was when she felt disconnected to herself, so she’d stop taking her pills. Then came her overwhelming need to party and have a good time.”