After I switched off the ignition, I turned my phone to silent. Not that it really mattered, because meetings with him were never pleasant, but the ding of phone notifications made him batshit crazy and I was fucking tired of hearing his lecture on how good manners dictated silencing your cell phone during meetings.
Because this wasn’t a son visiting a father to catch up with each other.
It was a meeting.
The clock on the dash glowed 2:53. Hey, Dad, I’m here by three. But the stubborn streak I’d inherited from him kept my ass firmly planted in the driver’s seat of my Wrangler until the numbers changed to eight minutes past. Only then did I reluctantly exit the vehicle and approach the front door.
I rang the doorbell and waited. It wasn’t like I had a key to let myself in.
He answered it with a scowl, and I vowed for the millionth time not to turn into him in thirty years. He was just past fifty, but the lines etched around his eyes and the permanent creases carved into his forehead made him seem a decade older.
“’Bout damn time,” he muttered, turning away and heading to his study in the rear of the house.
“Good to see you too,” I mumbled to the empty foyer as I shut the massive carved oak door behind me. The house was spotless as I moved deeper into it. Even the dust particles were scared of him. He had a cleaning service come daily, and they probably knew him better than anyone at this point. He kept such a chokehold on every aspect of his life, there was no room left for joy, happiness, laughter, love. Me. I didn’t think he even recognized the concept of fun anymore. It had ceased to exist as a noun in his world. Maybe it was because his job as CFO of the largest chain of car dealerships in south Alabama dealt with numbers, not people. Everything was black and white. Profit and loss.
His back was to me as he sat in his oversized leather office chair behind his equally oversized solid mahogany desk, the view out the window of the perfectly manicured yard obviously preferable to the sight of me standing stiffly in the doorway.
“Come in,” he ordered impatiently. “You’re late.”
I moved a few steps farther into the room and chose the guest chair in front of the desk closest to the door, already planning my escape. The chair was hard and uncomfortable which suited the mood in the room perfectly.
“It’s recently come to my attention that you haven’t submitted any med school applications yet.” He steepled his fingers as he spoke, each word precise, sharply articulated, and dripping with disapproval. “And not only have you not applied, you’ve changed your major from pre-med to computer science.”
My back straightened on the unforgiving chair but I held my tongue. He hadn’t actually asked a question yet. The silence lengthened. It was a game he liked to play to make me squirm, one that was losing its power over me the older I got and the less I cared about his opinion.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? There was a plan. You’re going to med school to become a research oncologist because this world needs better doctors than the ones that took care of your brother. You’re smart—you got that from me. Your grades are up to par. And you owe it to him.” The last four words were accented by his fist pounding the desk with each syllable.
Your brother. Him. He couldn’t even say his name.
“Garrett,” I emphasized the name and he flinched, “wanted me to be happy. That’s what I owe to him.”
“And what are you going to do with a computer science degree?” He said it in the same tone you might expect someone to say finger painting.
A smile curved my lips. “Design video games.”
His head shook in denial before I even spoke. “No. Absolutely not. I forbid it and I won’t pay another cent in tuition toward something that asinine.”
I held my silence. His decree was both unsurprising and unimportant.
“Well?” he demanded after a time. “Do you hear me? You will change your major at once. School hasn’t started yet so you can end this nonsense before it begins.”
“I hear you,” I acknowledged. “But no, I don’t plan on making any changes.”
“And then how exactly do you plan on supporting yourself?” His smug tone made it clear he thought he’d won this round.
My shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug he couldn’t see. “I haven’t used a dime of your damn money for myself in the last two years.”
I knew that would shock him and one side of my mouth tipped up in a satisfied smirk at the way he whirled around to glare at me with eyes the same color as my own.
“Watch your mouth.”
I rolled my eyes. Because that’s what we really needed to be worried about here.
The middle finger of his right hand tapped the desk in an angry allegro rhythm. A pair of robins flew loops outside the window, and the vapor trail of a jet cut across the clear blue sky. Minutes passed. The tapping sped up.
“Why didn’t I know about this?”
Because you only exist on the periphery of my life. Because you quit being a father the day we—not you, we—lost Garrett. Because you’re a selfish asshole who never asks about my life. Pick a fucking reason.
I sighed. “Does it matter? Do you really give a fuck?”
“I told you to watch your goddamn mouth!”
My hands fisted on my thighs. “Apologies, Dad.” My sarcasm was thick as syrup and there was no way he could miss it.
He pinned me with an assessing gaze but his chair remained facing the window. I didn’t merit his full attention, even now. Hurt curled into a hard knot in my gut. “What happens to all the money I deposit into your account?”
“Half goes to the children’s hospital—yes, that one—and the other half funds a scholarship to Rodner for a student who’s had cancer.” And beaten it, I added silently.
Dad’s jaw worked back and forth before he twisted back to the window. I wondered what he’d do if I marched over to it and touched it, smeared my handprint right down the center and marred the spotless glass. I was half-tempted to try it.
“And how do you pay your bills? Your tuition? You selling drugs now?”
No, but he wasn’t going to like the real answer any better. I rolled my neck, hating how tense I always got in his presence. “Remember all those video games I played as a kid? The ones you hated so much? They paid off. I designed two popular game apps and live off the royalties from the download price and the in-app purchases.”
His face twisted like he’d accidentally eaten a piece of gristle.
“In fact,” I continued, “I’m almost done developing my third. It should hit the market before I graduate.”
He clutched his stomach like he might be physically ill.
“Why?” he boomed. “Why would you waste all your intellect and ambition on something as trite as an app? You could be curing cancer in a few years!” He vibrated in rage as his chair rotated to face me.
I didn’t back down from the fury in his pinched eyes. “You’re right. I am smart, and I did the research. The problem with pediatric cancer treatment isn’t a shortage of doctors willing to put in the time and effort to find a cure. It’s a lack of funding. They need money. I’m going to raise it for them.”
He shot to his feet. “I donate thousands of dollars each year toward that very goal!”
“They need more.”
“And that’s your big solution? Throwing money at the problem?” He gesticulated wildly.
“No. That’s only part of it. The other part I’m working on is for the kids themselves. Kids like video games.” I said it like I was revealing the location of Atlantis after centuries of searching. “Kids fucking love video games.”
“Watch your goddamn mouth!”
“But nobody,” I ignored him and kept talking, “has taken the time to create a game specifically designed for the needs of a pediatric cancer patient. One that keeps their attention, but also, through biofeedback, assists them through the treatment process by helping them manage their own pain. That’s the app I’m working on developing now.”
He blinked at me and his face wobbled as he fought to hide his surprise. He licked his lips and ran a shaky hand through his hair. Though it was still thick, it was more gray than brown these days.