Page 74 of The Story of You
Well then. Good thing I hadn’t declined.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Silas ~ May 23rd 2009
He spoke to Julius first. He didn’t bother to talk to me at all. Am I jealous? No.
Yes.
I shouldn’t be, but I am. I know I’m his father and good parents are supposed to be happy when their children outgrow them, but I’m not. I hate it. I only fed him. Clothed him. Changed him. Stayed up with him all night while he puked his guts out. Didn’t sleep for the first twenty-four years of his life and counting.
But you do one thing he doesn’t like and your only child trades you in for a hot Italian dancer who would be swimming with the fishes if it weren’t for me.
I take my anger out on the cake batter in my mixing bowl. Oliver’s birthday is tomorrow. I always make his cake. The same one I’ve been making for the past twenty-four years, strawberry shortcake.
Oliver’s laughter rings out from the entryway. “What did that mixing bowl ever do to you, Baba?”
I freeze, take a breath, and then calm down. “Are you speaking to me again?”
My sleeves are rolled up. I’m in loose jeans. I don’t wear an apron like Lakshan does.
“I was mad yesterday,” he says.
“You don’t say?”
I continue to whisk and add vanilla extract along with some other ingredients.Whisk. Whisk. Whisk.
“I’m not mad anymore. I said what I said. It’s over.”
It doesn’t feel over for me. He feels far away. “Do you want to hear why I did what I did?”
“I already know, Baba.” I raise a brow. “It’s your internal programming. You’re like that robot who was sent from the future to protect that kid.”
“The Terminator?”
“Yeah, and I’m John Conner.” He smiles. “Can I help?”
I never let him help with baking his own cake. “No.”
“Can I watch?”
I nod, pouring the batter into my greased cake pans. I slide them into my preheated oven. “It’s the boring part.” It will have to cook an hour and then cool before I can ice it with whip cream, which I’ll make from scratch. I suppose I can start on that and cut the strawberries for his entertainment. I need to mix up the banana custard too.
I add that to the long list of things I’ve done for him.
“D-Do you want me to go?” he asks.
I look up abruptly. “No. Never.”
“You’ve never been this cold toward me. Now I know how everyone else feels. I hate it.”
“I didn’t mean to be. Come.” I open my arms for him.
He rushes into them, clinging to my torso. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You were right. I’ve never seen you that angry with me. I didn’t know what to do about it.” I kiss his blond head. This feels better. “Please don’t cry, Eaglet.”
“You understand why I had to go to Julius first, don’t you? He’s … he’s my …”
