Dirtbag
PUT OUT THE LIGHT
“No date for tonight?” dad curiously asks. A blonde more than likely younger than me is sitting next to him. I’m suddenly not very hungry. Not hungry at all.
“I told Heather it wasn’t okay,” I clarify. “You know, dad, you don’t have to set me up with your leftovers.” The blonde stiffens. I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“I didn’t do anything with that girl, Jack,” he says just loud enough for Blondie to hear. “God. She’s less than half my age.”
“Yeah?” I can’t help it. I’m being snarky. I turn to the blonde and ask, “How old are you, exactly?”
“Excuse me?” she snaps. She thinks she’s got everyone fooled. That Stephen Trenton really gives a fucking shit about her existence. It’s funny, only for a second.
“He won’t call you after tonight,” I say to her and I suddenly can’t stop. “He doesn’t call any of them back. Even Heather and she’s his Assistant of the Week.” She sucks in air between her teeth and throws her napkin on the table. She’s gone in another minute.
“Why do you have to do this?” dad is whisper-yelling at me. “Jack, why in the fuck’s sake do you always have to lash out at people? That poor girl didn’t do anything to you. Jack, are you even listening to me?”
I had already blocked him out after the word “you”. It’s always my fault, never his. Every loss of mine is displayed. Every conquered task of his is shouted out to the world.
“I told Heather it wasn’t okay,” I clarify. “You know, dad, you don’t have to set me up with your leftovers.” The blonde stiffens. I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.
“I didn’t do anything with that girl, Jack,” he says just loud enough for Blondie to hear. “God. She’s less than half my age.”
“Yeah?” I can’t help it. I’m being snarky. I turn to the blonde and ask, “How old are you, exactly?”
“Excuse me?” she snaps. She thinks she’s got everyone fooled. That Stephen Trenton really gives a fucking shit about her existence. It’s funny, only for a second.
“He won’t call you after tonight,” I say to her and I suddenly can’t stop. “He doesn’t call any of them back. Even Heather and she’s his Assistant of the Week.” She sucks in air between her teeth and throws her napkin on the table. She’s gone in another minute.
“Why do you have to do this?” dad is whisper-yelling at me. “Jack, why in the fuck’s sake do you always have to lash out at people? That poor girl didn’t do anything to you. Jack, are you even listening to me?”
I had already blocked him out after the word “you”. It’s always my fault, never his. Every loss of mine is displayed. Every conquered task of his is shouted out to the world.