Page 109 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

One word. Soft. Almost amused. And somehow, it was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard.

Ethan stiffened like the sound reached somewhere old in him. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t make fists. Not yet.

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “That’s it? No shadowy lectures? No vague riddles in whatever language you speak? Just‘Son’?”

His father tilted his head—just enough to feel deliberate. “Would you prefer the usual… preparations?”

Ethan let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a curse. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m good without the robes and firelight.”

The air thickened, like something unsaid had just filled the space between us. The monsters stayed where they were—silent, still, watching. Like they were waiting for a signal I couldn’t hear.

His father sighed, adjusting his cuffs like we were boring him. “Ethan. I didn’t come to argue.”

“Oh, of course not,” Ethan said, all venomous calm. “You just brought your entourage for… emotional support?”

He gestured to the creatures. None of them moved. They didn’t have to.

“If this is your idea of a family visit, it’s about a decade late,” Ethan added. “But hey—glad to know I still fit in the calendar. Right between ‘Summon the Void’ and ‘Sacrifice the creatures,’ I assume?”

A flicker of something passed through his father’s eyes—something gold, then gone.

“I came,” he said quietly, “because you’re turning seventeen. That means something.” Ethan’s laugh cracked this time, like it hurt. “Yeah? Towhoexactly?”

No answer.

His father stood there, still as stone, as if movement would break some ancient rule.

“You don’t get to show up once every blood moon and pretend this is normal,” Ethan said, the sharp edges of his voice trying to hide the tremble. “You don’t get to say my name like it means something to you now.”

His father’s expression didn’t change.

“Youknowwhy I wasn’t there,” he said, quieter than before.

Ethan’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. You were busy with your… commitments.” His voice curled around the word like it tasted rotten. “Must be nice. Having something more important than your own son.”

His father didn’t blink. Didn’t deny it. Didn't move.

And then Ethan did what he always did when things got too real.

He left.

He stormed off, shoving past me so hard I nearly stumbled. His pace was quick, his body tense like a live wire about to snap. He didn’t even look back.

The monsters turned toward him, ready to drag him back—but with a single flick of Ethan’s dad’s arm, they froze. A silent summons to his puppets.

Silence stretched between me and Ethan’s father.

Then, casually—like none of that had just happened—he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys and held them out to me.

"I brought Ethan a gift," he said, his tone disturbingly smooth. "I trust you’ll give it to him."

I stared at the keys, then at him. Then back at the keys.

The weight of this moment pressed down on me. This wasn’t just a birthday present. This was something else. Some twisted attempt at control, at reasserting dominance after Ethan had refused to play along.

I didn’t want to touch them.

But I did.

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