Page 49 of Rebound

“Get off me, you hundred-foot giant.” I don’t. I press harder, and a carnal moan slips out of her lips, suddenly awakening my body. Uncaring that we’re not alone in the house, I kiss her again.

I kiss her until I hear a loud throat clearing. I look up to find my dad smiling down at me. He’s holding a folder in one hand and Jasmine in the other. He puts her on my back.

“Horsey,” she says.

“I found those report cards,” he says. “I kept every last one of ‘em. Come on.” He gestures for Layla to follow, and I slide off her body while still keeping Jasmine on my back.

“Horsey,” she says again, and I give her what she wants when I start to neigh.

Chapter 28

Layla 28

“That’s it. I’m convinced that there was a computer glitch on every report card day in this school district. There’s no way.” I pick up a random report card. This is from his sophomore year, and it’s straight A’s. “Or you made these on your computer, Pete.”

“I can send email. That’s about it. My boy is just smart. And he used to be in the school plays in junior high, but when he got to high school, he gave it up so he could play ball.”

Wakowski gives his father a look I can’t interpret. It’s not the first time he’s looked at him this way in the past hour while Pete’s told me all about his son’s accomplishments in school.

“He was Peter Pan,” Pete says, clearly proud of his son.

“You’re way too big to have played Peter Pan,” I tell Seth, who just smirks at me. He puts a finger to his lips, and he stands with a sleeping Jasmine in his arms. He goes upstairs and comes back a few minutes later with the baby monitor.

“Drama club had the best snacks. That’s why I joined,” he says, but he’s not smiling. He side-eyes his father, and I have a feeling that drama club came more out of a necessity than a love for the stage. “They had a pizza party every Friday. The parents took turns paying each week. Well, most parents did anyway.” He eyes his father again who suddenly becomes stoic.

“Uh, do you have any video of Seth’s so-called acting skills?” I ask Pete, who smiles again. “I don’t believe that either.”

“I don’t,” he says sadly. “I asked Seth to get them from the school or another parent, but—” He catches himself and says, “Well, never mind. He did the best he could.” Then his face changes and he becomes happy again. “Now, where are those sandwiches? I’m starving.” He pats his protruding belly. “I love it when Seth visits because he cooks so much better than me or Ruby. Ruby’s the housekeeper.” Pete stands and gets dishes from the cabinet. He sets the table while I cut the sandwiches. After he hands me a serving platter, I place them and he takes it to the table. He gets water bottles for everyone, and we sit.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Pete says, “You’ll have to teach me how to make these before you leave.” He puts his hand on mine and smiles warmly at me. “And you don’t have to wait for Seth to come here for you to visit. Come any time.” He picks my hand up and kisses it. Seth scowls but he doesn’t say anything. He grabs another sandwich and eats half in one bite. “You did a good job with her, Seth. She’s pretty and sweet.”

I blush at the compliment, and Seth snorts. “She’s not all that sweet, Dad. She can be a bit of a judgmental bully,” he says. “Don’t let her fool you.” He winks at me when he says it, and that takes me by surprise. He’s never winked at me before. Then he smiles, and my stomach somersaults.

“Nonsense,” Pete says. “You and all that foolishness with them girls. That’s all that was. I’m the one who suggested he find someone serious. I told him every child needs a mom, especially a girl. What does he know about being a woman?”

Seth huffs and takes another big bite of food. I have the feeling that he’s eating partly to keep himself from responding to his father’s words. Pete talks nonstop for the next half hour,all about Seth. He tells stories of him as a baby and takes out pictures to show me.

Seth doesn’t say a word, and when lunch is done, he clears the table while his father talks to me some more. He only stops when Jasmine starts to fuss through the baby monitor. He goes to get her, declaring that he’ll feed her lunch while we clean up.

“Cleaning was never his strong point,” Seth says through clenched teeth. I take the plate he’s holding tightly in his hand. I’m afraid it’s going to break from his tight grip. “We practically lived like hoarders until I was old enough to start cleaning.” I look around the immaculate house, ready to point out how clear and clean it is. “The housekeeper comes here Monday through Friday. She’s instructed to throw shit out, and if he has a problem, she’s to call me. I make all the decisions here,” he says. “I can’t count on him to do shit right.” He takes the empty serving platter and slams it on the counter by the kitchen sink.

“Why don’t you sit down and let me handle this?” I point to a chair at the kitchen island. “It’s not his fault, Seth. You realize he has some mental health issues?”

“You think?” he snaps. “And this act he’s putting on is just that. An act. How many of my school plays do you think he went to? How many parent-teacher conferences do you think he attended? None. And he wants to sit here and act like a proud parent. Whatever I accomplished, it was not with his help, I’ll tell you that. My accomplishments are despite him. If it was up to him, we’d both be living in that shitty fucking trailer he packed with trash.”

“But he’s sick,” I say softly. I put the plate I’m holding in the dishwasher and walk to my husband. I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I didn’t know that when I was a kid,” he confesses. “I get it now, which is why I put up with him. I wish he wouldn’tdo this though. This proud father act he puts on. I don’t need it. Not only that, but I don’t like it.”

“It’s not an act. Heisproud, and I think he’s trying to show you now.” I sit next to him and take his hands. “Let me ask you this, and I want you to answer honestly. What if he didn’t have these issues? Do you think he would have come to your events?”

He looks away as he ponders my question. I hold my breath and wait. He looks back at me and says, “Who cares?”

“Really? Who cares?”

“Yeah. Who cares? What does it matter what he would have done if he could? What matters is what he did, which was a big fat nothing. I’m not going to create a new narrative of what-ifs because that does not change the facts at all. The facts are that I never had anyone in the audience at my plays or my games.”

His big hands feel warm in mine, and I give them a squeeze. He squeezes back but he doesn’t give me his usual lopsided mischievous grin. He remains unsmiling, and I have the feeling that he’s holding his breath to see what I have to say next.

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