Page 8 of Forget About Me

And maybe I should. Since Lucy got recruited to work backstage, I’ve also been spending a lot of time with her… usually when Tony’s off feeling up Tory. If I’m being honest here, Lucy has the best breasts in the whole show—they’re literally awesome. Like, I’m full of awe when I get a chance to stare at them. Just the thought of being able to touch them has me hard. But I need to cap that. She may look eighteen, but she’s only fifteen. And even if she was my age, she’d still be off limits.

“Hey space cadet, did you see that asshole talking to her yesterday?”

Sometimes it’s like Tony can read my mind.“Uh, no. Oh shit. Was I supposed to give Lucy a ride today?”

“Nah, she stayed after school to work on the sets. But you gotta help me keep an eye on her, man. That stoner who works backstage with her was practically drooling over her. I mean, make me barf.”

“Yeah, what a dickweed.”

“If he gets too close, his dick’s gonna be in the weeds. As in, no longer attached to his body.”

“Totally.” A sound escapes my mouth. I hope it sounds like indignation instead of terror.

My hands are at ten and two, but I’m not driving down Route 2 any longer. I’m parked in front of my dad’s house. Guess I got back home on autopilot during my trip down memory lane.

Up in my apartment, Puck bumps his head against my calf before scooting past me to run to my room, where he takes a running leap onto the bed. Turning around, he slaps his front paws low while his rump and tail stay high.

I wasn’t kidding when I reminded Lucy that I don’t know anything about being a dog owner, but this seems like an obvious invitation to play. Jumping on the bed, I roll him and pretend growl before letting him jump on my chest. He takes the hem of my sweatshirt in his mouth, matching my growls. Before I know it, I’m howling with laughter. When I collapse back on the bed to catch my breath, Puck stretches out next to me, panting, belly up. I give it a rub and then pull him in next to me.

I haven’t wrestled like this since me and Tony used to tackle each other in leaf and snow piles, ruining all our hard work but having a blast in the process.

I haven’t laughed like this since… I don’t know when.

All kinds of memories have been bubbling up today, not just of Tony and Lucy but of every time I went to the Minolas’ house, which was pretty much as often as I could. Food tasted better there. Somebody was always yelling or laughing or crying. Mrs. Minola’s hugs could squeeze the breath out of you. At my house, everything was quiet—had been since we’d moved here from my grandmother’s, where we’d lived after my mom’s death. When Grandma died, too, it was like my dad kind of gave up.

I’m a little afraid he’s going to give up now.

Puck sighs next to me. Hm. My dad. “I guess we ought to make sure it’s okay with the old man for you to be here, huh?”

Knocking on the kitchen door as we enter the house, I call, “Dad?” The lingering scent of Hamburger Helper Beef Stroganoff greets us. I’d recognize it anywhere, along with Shake ’N Bake chicken. I can’t imagine eating that crap now. “You home?”

I follow what sounds like a baseball game to the den, where my dad’s snoring in his Sofa with a Secret from Jordan’s furniture. At least there isn’t a cigarette burning in the ashtray. He finally gave up smoking a few years ago after one of his employees tossed a butt and almost set the shop on fire. The doctors said quitting probably kept the heart attack from killing him. Still, it’d been close. When I got that call back in June, I cabbed straight to the hospital from the airport after taking the red-eye from LA. Seeing him in that hospital bed scared the shit out of me.

He looks better now, but nowhere near as vital as the man who raised me. The man I just assumed would always be there for me. By avoiding the Minola family, I’d inadvertently avoided him.

Maybe all that needs to change.

I should probably let him sleep now, though. He had a long day today at work, out courting potential customers to give them estimates, something he doesn’t trust anyone else to do. He can meet Puck tomorrow.

“Come on, pup, let’s go outside,” I whisper. Before we make it out the door, my dad lets out a loud snort, which sets off the dog.

My dad struggles to sit up straight. “What the hell is that?”

I try to shush Puck, but he keeps barking. He just doesn’t listen to me like he does to Lucy. “It’s a dog, Dad. He showed up at the apartment this morning.” When I pick him up and wave his bandaged paw, he finally quiets. “I’m keeping him until he gets better and I find his owner. If it’s okay with you.”

My dad looks around the spotless, orderly room where built-in shelves and oak floors gleam. “Long as you clean up after him.”

“Oh, sure.” I shift the dog in my arms, trying to get him to stop wiggling. “So, you feeling okay?”

“I’d feel better if the Sox would score.”

I nod at the TV. “They’re up by six.”

He grunts. “You can never be up by too much.”

“I think I’m going to take him for a little walk. You want to come?” I should get that run in, but I doubt Puck’s up for that. Getting my dad to exercise a bit would be worth taking the day off.

“Nah, I gotta watch till the end.”

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