You Got Me

Mom and Dad got back a few hours later after Stacey left. To be honest, I didn't want to see Stacey again. She was annoying and very spoiled, kinda like Shayla was after we broke up.

"So how'd it go here all by yourself?" My dad asked.

"It was all right. Room service stopped by and gave me banana splits for free."

"That better not end up on my bill," he said.

"It won't, the room service lady was cool."

"Yeah, yeah, they're all cool. That's how they get you to buy stuff you don't mean to."

"So, how's grandpa doin'?" I asked my mom.

"He's actually doing quite well, recovering." She smiled reassuringly. "When he gets better we can talk about staying somewhere else so we don't have to pay a million dollars a night. Maybe we'll stay at dad's house."

"That sounds good," I said. I couldn't wait to get out of this place, mostly so my dad would stop bitching about the prices and what I could and could not eat/drink etc. It'd be cool to live at my grandpa's house. I never really took note of it before, but my grandpa was cooler than most. He was one of those guys who drank beer and watched football all Sunday. Probably what gave him the heart attack. Too much excitement.

I picked up my dad's laptop and brought it into my room. Yeah, I had my own room. Not like a different room as in this was Room 536 and I was in Room 537. Room 536 had two rooms in it. I had never been a hotel as nice as this one.

As I was browsing the internet, minding my own business, my dad came into my room. "Hey, son."

"Um," I looked around warily. "Hey."

"Just seein' how you're holdin' up." This was so unlike my dad. He never "just saw how I was holding up".

"I'm all right..." We looked at each other awkwardly for a minute. "Why are you in here? Seriously."

"Well, seriously just seeing if you're all right."

"You never do that."

"Fine." He gave in.

"Fuck. What?"

"Do you have any cigarettes?" He pursed his lips. This was another thing about my dad. He "quit" smoking about a year ago. Mom made him because she was scared he would get lung cancer, plus she hated the smell. He did quit...mostly. But occasionally he would come ask me for one.

"Dad, you know I don't have any." That was a lie. Even though you could bring cigarettes on a plane, I couldn't because none of my baggage was checked, it was all carry-on and they would've taken them out to "inspect" them. Then my mom would see them and probably flip shit. Anyways, I saw a snipe stuck into the cracks of the wall near the hotel door and grabbed it. There was no way I was giving that to my dad.

"That's bullshit, Kade."

"No it's not! I didn't bring any on the plane."

"Crap. Well, I really need one. I'm so fucking stressed out right now with your mom's dad...I just need to calm my nerves. Do you think she'd notice if I went to the store to get some?"

"Probably not. But then you'd have a whole pack and you'd probably smoke them and love them so much you'd start again, or she'd find the pack somewhere."

"Okay, so what if I buy a pack, then just smoke one and throw the rest away."

My mouth was hanging open at this point. "Six dollars...for one cigarette?"

"I know, I know. Just wishful thinking." He sat at the edge of my bed. "Any weed?"

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly, I couldn't bring that on the airplane either." My dad didn't normally smoke...usually he didn't even call weed "weed". This was probably serious.

I handed him the snipe. "Fine, here."

"Thanks son, I'll repay you someday." Someday was the key word. He would never repay me.

"Yeah, I'm going to hold you to that you know."