Page 8 of No One Else

I drive home, the blare of the TV greeting me as I walk in my front door. My dad is parked in his usual spot in the recliner, a microwave dinner on the tray table to his right.

“Dad, I said I’d make dinner when I got home. You didn’t have to heat that up.”

“You do too much around here. Take a load off. Watch the game with me.” He stretches further out, jostling the chair enough that his cane clatters to the floor. I pick it up for him, leaning it against the side of the recliner.

“I’m just going to lie down.”

“Tough day?” he asks, lowering the volume on the Orlando Magic pulling ahead of the Houston Rockets, fans screaming their heads off as the center sinks a three-pointer.

“Not especially.”

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so butt hurt the last couple days? You left here Saturday night with a spring in your step.”

I sigh, plopping down on the couch, the tan fabric worn and soft under my touch. “The spring got crushed. Then trampled on. Then mangled some more.”

“This about Natalie?”

I glance over at him sharply, his one good eye piercing me through as I meet his gaze. “Pretty sure I lost my chance with her,” I sigh, toeing my shoes off, suddenly too weary to even put them away at the front door. I stare at them lying in the middle of the living room, the once white soles now a dingy gray, laces frayed, scuffed to hell and back. I should probably shell out for new ones. It would look more professional to my clients at the gym if I looked successful enough to afford nice shoes.

I glance around at the dated furnishings of our house, the wallpaper peeling at the edges, the water stain on the ceiling in the corner of the room. New shoes are the least of my worries.

“It’s not over till it’s over, son.”

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“Sure it does. It means you get back up and try again.”

I focus on him, the skin stretched tight on the left side of his face from his last surgery. I can’t discount his advice. He’s actually lived the words.

“I’ll try again later.” I sink into the couch cushions, closing my eyes, and drift off to the sounds of basketball commentators claiming that Houston needs to up their offense if they want to win this game.

3

Evan

1 month later

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