When Everything Is Blue(29)

“A car, huh? How much you got saved?”

“A couple thousand,” I say like it’s no big deal, secretly proud that I’ve been able to amass that much cash on my own. Like a boss.

“I can ask Susan about the Range Rover,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

My sister practically bounces out of her seat. “Really, Daddy?” she whines like a puppy. “Ohmygod, that would be sooo amazing.”

“How about it, Theo?” My dad levels his gaze at me, and it seems like a test. He wants the same reaction from me. In some weird way, it’s like he needs to be needed. I think about all the things he should have been there for—teaching me how to ride a bike, how to drive a car, telling me what an erection is, which Chris had to do. What the hell is this? I asked Chris one day because I thought my dick was broken, and Chris explained it to me, without even laughing or making me feel stupid about it.

My dad stares at me, waiting for a response, and I feel trapped.

“That’s really generous of you Dad, but I’ll probably get a junker.”

“Too good for the Range Rover?” he asks snidely.

“No, I just want to do this on my own.” I also don’t want to owe him anything. There’s no such thing as no-strings-attached with my father.

His eyebrows raise, and he frowns so that his chin puckers. “Maybe you could talk to your mother about your child support, then. Wouldn’t mind getting that monkey off my back.”

I swallow down my rising tide of anger and study the design on the silverware. My mother hasn’t had it easy since their divorce. After being cheated on and discarded like yesterday’s headlines, she had to battle my dad’s army of lawyers for child support. Her English wasn’t exactly perfect at the time, which my dad took advantage of. Then it was the constant badgering over the years from my dad, trying to make my mom feel like a freeloader when she works harder than anyone I know. And for all that he’s put her through, she never says a bad word about him, always defends him, which is a hell of a lot more than he’s ever done for her.

What was it he used to call me? Oh yeah, mama’s boy. And that was before the divorce.

Our server arrives then to take our order, and I’m thankful for the distraction. After the server leaves, my dad switches the topic to sports.

“How’s soccer going?” he asks. Soccer is the one thing he used to show an interest in. He never came to my practices—that was my mom—but he’d come to my games. He was the dad on the sidelines yelling at the refs and telling the coach how to do his job. But near the end of middle school, Dad’s participation in our lives dropped off dramatically, which for me included soccer.

“I decided not to go out for the team. I’m more into skateboarding now.”

He squints at me. “Skateboarding? That’s hardly a sport.”

I rub my forehead; a headache’s coming on. Maybe he’ll ask me if I have a girlfriend next. No, Dad, but I’m getting really good at giving head. I can’t even imagine coming out to my dad. What a nightmare.

“That’s too bad about soccer,” he says. “I was looking forward to going to a few of your games this year.”

I started almost every game last year. My dad didn’t make it to one of them. Chris did, though. I almost smile at that, thinking how I could always count on him to show up, even if my dad didn’t. My dad stares at me, perhaps waiting for me to apologize or tell him I’ll go out for the team, but I do neither. I gave up trying to impress him a while ago.

“I’m trying out for the dance team, Daddy,” my sister says, trying to fill the silence. I feel bad for her. Needing his approval like that, wanting his attention bad enough to make everything nice for him. “You and Theo could come to one of our basketball games.”

Dad frowns. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” My sister and I exchange a look. We both know what that means.

My sister, God bless her, tries again. “I saw on Facebook that the baby’s a boy. Have you and Susan picked out a name yet?”

Dad fiddles with his tie. “William,” he says without meeting my eyes. William is my dad’s name. I got named after my great-uncle and his uncle before him. For whatever reason, the Theodores in our family don’t spawn. But I wasn’t named after my dad, which is strange, being firstborn and all. Maybe his heart was never in it to begin with. My sister looks at me with sympathy, which is worse. So much worse.

“When’s the baby due?” my sister asks with a little less enthusiasm.

“Sometime in December,” he says, and all I can think is, I hope he does a better job with this one, for the kid’s sake.

My sister asks more baby-related questions, most of which my dad can’t answer because he doesn’t have a clue, which only makes me worry for William IV, to think my dad could potentially screw him up too. I hope Susan can keep my dad’s alcoholism and wandering eye in check. My dad has a bad case of white male privilege, worsened by the fact that he grew up with money, which has given him the impression that whatever he wants in life, he can just reach out and take it, regardless of who else’s life he’s screwing with.

Maybe it’s better that my dad didn’t raise me. I’ve seen what that looks like on guys my age. Some of the guys on the soccer team have it. Huge assholes. The kind of asshole who fakes a foul, then picks a fight with the player on the other team when it doesn’t get called. The kind of asshole who would rather be red-carded than back down, then throws a hissy fit on the sidelines because he can’t play and it’s all someone else’s fault.