Page 33 of For the Fans
By my nineteenth birthday, we’ve played three more games, and won them all. We’re starting off the season with a bang, and as a team, we’re pumped.
Game two was an away, in Pittsburgh. We beat the Panthers, thirty-eight to thirty-one… Sort of close. But game two, which we played the day before my birthday, was a blowout on our turf. WedestroyedSyracuse, forty-four to three. It was the perfect birthday gift, and you bet your ass I celebrated hard that night.
But there are two reasons why the Syracuse win wasn’t the best night of my life. The first is because I had to watch Avi doing the shuffle the whole time dressed as our stupid eagle mascot. I mean, I’m really not trying to be a team downer, but it would be nice if I didn’t know my obnoxious stepbrother was the one inside that eagle suit, watching me and grinning the whole time. It was in the back of my head throughout the entire game, and I think it might have something to do with the fury I managed to channel into more passing yards than any quarterback has ever thrown only three games into the season.
Thankfully, Avi wasn’t at the game in Pittsburgh. I’m not sure if traveling to away games isn’t part of the mascot’s responsibilities or if he just decided not to go, but either way, it was a nice break from having to watch him dance like an idiot. But sure enough, at our next home game, there wasBaldwin. Annoying me with his presence, which is pretty much his greatest talent.
The second reason the Syracuse win could’ve been better is because my father wasn’t there. In fact, my father hasn’t been to any of my games yet, and it’s starting to fuck with my head a little. I didn’t expect him to travel to Pittsburgh. but for the home games… What’s his excuse? Football is the only thing he truly supports me in, yet he’s been noticeably absent.
Part of me wants to call him and find out what the deal is… But the other part, the part that’s infinitely stubborn, refuses to give him the satisfaction. If he’s stopped caring about me in the one teeny tiny sliver he still had, then so be it.
He can fuck right off.
Unfortunately, though, that attitude is only skin-deep. On the inside, I’m obsessing about it, to an almost neurotic degree. Inside, I’m a child again, desperately trying not to disappoint him, while simultaneously doing just that, with things that are completely out of my control.
It feels like an itch I just can’t reach. Which is why when Hannah called me on my birthday and invited me to come home for dinner this weekend, I ignored all my urges to tell her and my dad to go to Hell, and agreed. If for no other reason than to confront my father and find out whatpossibleexcuse he could have for missing my games without so much as a phone call or a text.
I’m nervous while I sit, bouncing my knee in the backseat of my Uber as it drives me to Somerville for what I’m sure will be yet another one of our forced family dinners I’ve been purposelytrying to avoid for the last few years. It’s why over summer break, I spent as much time out with friends as possible. Anything to keep me away from home; from my dad acting like I’m more of an unsatisfactory business investment than a son, from Hannah being the object of his only affections, and from Avi, whose blasé attitude and constant smiling just reminds me of what Icouldbe like if I wasn’t so fucked up.
But now, rather than running away, I’m going back. Dealing with all of this family bullshit, in an effort to figure out what’s happening.
The Uber comes to a stop in front of my house, right behind what looks to be another Uber. I step out of mine at the same time that Avi is stepping out of his, and we both roll our eyes at one another.
“See, now… if you weren’t such a prick, we could’ve split one,” he mutters while we walk up to the front door.
“No thanks.” I grab the doorknob before he can get to it, pushing my way inside the house in front of him.
He mumbles, “Fucker,” under his breath, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too busy looking around the house with startled wide eyes, wondering why everything is different.
Most of the furniture is either gone, or has been replaced with smaller, cheaper-looking stuff. The art is all missing from the walls… It looks like when we first moved in. And I smell food, but I don’t hear Theresa’s familiar humming coming from the kitchen.
It’s just a dimly lit, barren wasteland of what our home used to be.
“Dad?” I shout, at the same time that Avi yells, “Mom?!”
Hannah peeks around the corner from the kitchen and shows us a tired smile. “Hi, boys!”
She wipes her hands on a dish towel, sauntering over. And as soon as she’s close, I can see some dark circles under her eyes. She looks exhausted and sort of frazzled.
“Baby boy,” she croons while hugging Avi. Then she turns and hugs me. “Happy late birthday, Ky. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to see you on your actual birthday. There was a lot… going on.”
“Like what?” I ask nervously as she pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and avoiding eye contact.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Avi asks. “Why is it empty in here?”
“Yea, and where’s my dad? His car’s not in the driveway…”
“Your father is here,” she says, as if trying to placate me, but it just brings up a bunch more questions. “He’s in his office. We have some things to talk about with you boys, but we’ll do it over dinner.”
She turns and darts back to the kitchen. “I’m just finishing up!” she calls as she rushes to the stove. “Relax for a bit. It’ll be ready soon.”
Avi and I share a look of concern before he follows after her. And I tilt my face all around the drab walls.
What the hell is going on…?
I wander through the den, to my father’s office. The door is closed, and when I gently press my ear up to it, I can hear him speaking. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but he’s clearly talking to someone on the phone. And it doesn’t sound like a pleasant conversation. My dad’s stern rumble seems sort of frantic. And then he starts shouting.
Pulling my face away fast, I stare at the door separating us, my stomach all bunched up in knots.
