Eleanor & Grey(8)

My parents were in yet another screaming match.

That was nothing new. Whenever they were both home, fighting was what they did best. Mom was probably wine-drunk, cussing out Dad, and Dad was probably whiskey-drunk, telling her to shut her piehole.

Though, I was pretty sure whatever was going on was Dad’s fault. He was pretty good at screwing up and making it look like Mom made the mess. I’d never met a person who was so damn good at gaslighting another person. Mr. Handers taught us that word last year in English class—gaslighting—and the moment I heard it, I knew it was my father to the T.

He was a professional manipulator. Both at work, and at home. He was so good at making my mother think she was completely mad. If she smelled perfume on his clothes, he’d say it was hers. If she found lipstick on his shirts, he’d convince her that she placed it there. If he told her the sky was green, she’d doubt her own eyesight.

He once forced her into the hospital to test her psyche.

The tests showcased that she was sane. She’d married an asshole.

Dad stayed eerily calm during Mom’s meltdowns, too. Which was another mind game of his—making her seem as if she was crazed, even though he was the one driving her to the looney bin. Sometimes I thought he left other women’s numbers in places just so she’d find them. I wouldn’t put it past him.

When I was younger, he’d try to get me to side with him—to use me to throw Mom under the bus. But I never did. I’d always known that the only thing Mom had done wrong was fall in love with a monster.

My father was a liar, a cheater, and a messed-up man.

Actually, there was one other thing Mom had done wrong. She stayed.

I never understood that.

I didn’t know if it was because she loved him, or loved the comfortable life he created for us. Either way, it wasn’t healthy. I guess that’s why she was hardly ever home. Maybe she got comfort from seeing the world on Dad’s dime. Maybe spending his money made her feel as if she was somehow winning.

“I know you’re messing around with her, Greg!” Mom hollered as I sat on the top step of the porch. I rolled my hands over my ears, and tried my best to drown out the sounds.

I wished Grandpa was still around. For the most part I tried my best not to think about him being gone, because it really messed with my head, but some nights I just wished I could sneak off to his house and watch old kung fu movies with him and eat insane amounts of popcorn.

The best thing about my grandfather was the fact that he was nothing like my father.

He was a good man through and through, and the world sucked that much more now that he was gone.

It had been a few weeks since I’d lost him, and honestly, I still didn’t know how to stop missing him.

The guidance counselor at school told me that over time it would get easier dealing with loss, but I didn’t find that true. It didn’t get easier; it just got lonelier.

I glanced back and looked through the window. Something shattered in the living room. Mom had thrown a wine bottle at Dad’s head, but she’d missed—she always missed.

Housekeeping was going to have the time of their lives getting that red wine out of the carpet again.

“Just leave, Greg! Go!” she hollered at him. “Go be with that whore!”

Like always, Dad stormed out of the house.

I think it worked best for him when she told him to leave. Then he was free to go to whoever he was sleeping with behind Mom’s back.

He paused when he saw me sitting on the front porch. “Greyson. What are you doing out here?” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Avoiding you.

“Just got home from hanging with Landon.”

“Your mom’s acting like a nutjob again. I’m wondering if she’s been taking her pills.”

I didn’t comment, because any time he called her crazy, I wanted to punch him square in the face.

Dad narrowed his eyes and nodded my way. “I heard Landon started an internship at his father’s law firm.”

“Yeah.” I knew where this conversation was headed.

“When are you going to come down to EastHouse and learn something, huh? I can’t run that place forever, and it’s about time you figured out the basics. The sooner you learn, the sooner you’ll be ready to take over one day.”

Here we go again.

My father was determined to have me work at EastHouse Whiskey headquarters, because he was certain I’d be taking over the company one day. My grandfather had started EastHouse, and he’d run it with all his heart and soul for years until his retirement. My father had followed in his footsteps.

It was a family business, and I intended to take over someday to honor Grandpa.

I just didn’t want to do it any time soon.

“Are you deaf, boy? Am I not speaking English?” he hollered.

I stood up and stuffed my hands into my pockets. “I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“Not ready? You’re sixteen years old, and you don’t have any time to waste. If you think this basketball thing is going be your one-way ticket out, you’re fooling yourself. You don’t have what it takes to make it on basketball alone.”

There were three things to note about his comment:

I was seventeen, not sixteen.

I didn’t want to be a basketball star.