Page 34 of For the Fans
“Dad?” I call through the door, knocking softly. “Is everything okay?”
He’s quiet for a moment before he clears his throat and answers, “Fine… I’ll be out in a minute!”
My nerves are bounding around inside me like bouncy balls. The impending dread reminds me of when I was twelve years old… When my parents would have hushed arguments about me behind closed doors.
Combing my fingers through my hair, I release a breath in an attempt to calm myself down. I lean up against the wall and close my eyes.
It’s not my fault.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I open the camera just to stare at myself.
It’s fine… It’s all fine. You’re here.
This is you.
I guess I spaced out, because a throat clearing startles me. I flinch so hard, I nearly drop my phone, chin springing up to find Avi at the entrance of the room, gawking at me.
His brows push together. “When you’re done sexting with bimbos, dinner’s ready.”
“I’m not—” I grumble, but he’s already out of the room and walking away.
Sighing, I stuff my phone away and follow him, heading for the dining room where Hannah is bringing dishes of food to the table.
“Where’s Theresa?” I ask, accusatory distress in my tone.
“She took the week off…” Hannah won’t look at me, busying herself with setting up dinner.
Something strange is happening here, and I really hate it. If I knew this was what they had in store for mybirthday dinner, I would have gladly stayed at school.
I take a seat at the table, and Avi sits down across from me. I think he might be watching me, but when I peek up, he seems much more concerned with his mother’s restless movements. She gets everything set up on the table, then stands still for amoment, her face slowly slanting in the direction of my father’s office.
She stalks away. And a moment later, I hear her knocking on his door, calling for him to come join us. I’m getting the impression he doesn’t want to…
Something is not right at all, and what’s worse, for the first time since I met him, Avi has lost that cocky,couldn’t give a fuck lessattitude he always brings with him. In fact, he seems just as uneasy as the rest of us… It’s like when you go through turbulence on a plane. If the flight attendants look nervous, then you really have something to worry about.
After a few minutes, Hannah finally returns to the room with my father meandering quietly behind her. I’m watching him like a hawk, and it’s not making me feel any better about this situation. Because he looks like shit.
He too has circles under his eyes, stubble overgrown, his typically pressed white dress shirt unbuttoned and rumpled.
The two of them take their seats, and while Hannah shows me and Avi a hesitant smile, my father won’t even look at us.
“Dad…?” I murmur, and his jaw sets.
I witness his Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he finally peeks up at me for a split second. His eyes are bloodshot… I think maybe he’s been drinking more than usual.
“Happy birthday, son,” he grouses. “I heard about your game this week… Congratulations.”
My lips part, but I have no words. I thought seeing him would spurn on the rage I’ve been feeling at him not showing up or caring about my games. I even had a little speech prepared, wherein I brag about my passing yards and then tell him to fuck off.
But seeing him this way has turned my mind blank.
“Well, everyone dig in,” Hannah sighs. “I made my special couscous, and—”
“Fuck that,” Avi grunts, and all eyes move to him.
“Aviel,” Hannah huffs. “No cursing at the dinner table. Now, eat something.”
“No fuckin way,” he keeps going. “No one’s eating shit until you tell us what’s going on.”
