Page 62 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

“Call me Gerald. That’s the least you can do after the ass-kicking you gave me on the court.”

Holt chortles. “You put up a good fight.”

I hate how they interact like old comrades. I sit, angrily breaking a croissant in two.

“After breakfast, I’m heading home,” I announce, pouring a glass of orange juice.

“How are you getting home?” my dad asks.

“Well, I was going to get Izzy to take me, but it’s her grandma’s birthday. So, I figured I’ll call a taxi or something.”

“I could take you,” Holt offers.

“No, thank you.” I spread butter rather violently on my croissant.

“Nonsense. I don’t want you riding with some stranger all that way.” My mom wipes her mouth with a napkin, as if the subject is decided.

“It’ll be fine.”

My father nods across the table. “I agree with your mother. I’d feel much better with Holt taking you.”

“Well, now that’s settled.” She smiles serenely as she raises her coffee cup.

I chug my juice. “Okay, well I’m ready.” I push my chair out.

“Oh, come now, dear. Sit for more than a minute with us,” Mom insists.

I give her another twenty minutes before I rise again. “I really need to be getting back now.”

“All right, let me take a quick shower and change out of my tennis attire, and we can head out.” Holt rises from his seat. “I need to grab my gym bag from my car.”

All this stalling is making me antsy, but there’s not much I can do about it. I go upstairs to grab my dress and the gift Marcus gave me. I still can’t believe he did that for me.

After about another thirty minutes, I give my parents a kiss.

Holt holds open the passenger door to his car for me, and I climb in.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He closes the door, kisses my mother on the cheek, and shakes my dad’s hand. “I’ll let you know she gets home safely.”

“Thank you,” my father replies.

“You’re such a good boy.” My mom smiles. “I hope Brandy gives you another chance.”

He climbs in the car and off we go.

Holt tries to make small talk, but after thirty minutes of short answers, we ride the rest of the way in silence.

When he stops on the street in front of my place, I push open the car door and climb out. “Thanks.”

“Wait, can I come in for a minute to talk?” He leans over the passenger seat.

“You had a whole car ride to talk.”

“Well, at least let me use the restroom before I leave.”

“There are bushes over there.” I gesture to some that run along the sidewalk.

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