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Myrna
Part 3
It's not like I had a plan or anything. It's not like I woke up one morning and
thought, "I'll just mess with Justin until everyone gets the
message." It wasn't like that at all.
One day everything was normal, and the next day, everything about Justin was
just totally lame. Every question he asked, everything he said, everything he
did-it was just lame. And then, on top of that, like, all of a sudden he was
always asking me to do this stupid stuff, like read things to him, like he was
testing me or something! It was so annoying. Oh and forget driving anywhere.
Like, out of the blue, he was all environmental or something, and we had to
walk every fucking place we went unless my dad went with us. He didn't seem to
have any moral qualms about driving a car.
And then it was like Justin could never do anything without making me come and
help. And it was always stupid shit, like, okay, one night he was making
dinner, because of course he always cooked. He and my dad never even traded off
or anything, it was always Justin cooking. So Justin called me all the way up
from the lower level where I was watching a vid, and he pointed to the
vidscreen in the kitchen that was showing the recipe he was making, and he
said, "Hey, Gus, can you give me a hand here?" he asked. "Does
that say three cups or five?"
I stood there and gaped at him. He looked so...dumb standing there in my dad's
messy kitchen, wearing some lame pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and I couldn't
believe he'd made me come all the way upstairs for something so idiotic.
"Jesus, you called me up here for that?" I said, "Read it your
fucking self." I turned around and walked back down to the TV room, not quite
sure what to expect. My heart was pounding pretty fast-I didn't stir up trouble
all that often, so the feeling was kind of new.
Justin obviously didn't say anything to my dad because Dad was all normal while
we ate that night. And he didn't say anything when he drove me back home.
Before I got out of the car, I said, "How about next weekend just you and
me do something?"
My dad shrugged at me and said, "I thought Sarah was going to the Poconos
with her darling dads and the doting grandparents."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "She is, I meant just you and me do
stuff."
He shrugged again. "Whatever," and with most people that would have
been the end of the discussion, but the next second he said, "This whole
weekend was just us. How exactly is it going to be different next time?"
"It wasn't just you and me, it was you, me and Justin. It's always you, me
and Justin. I just want you and me sometimes."
He groaned and threw his head back. "Oh Christ, you are not going to ask
me about doin' it with women, are you? I already told you, I don't know
anything about that shit. You've gotta ask Grandpappy Carl or someone, not
me."
"Dad! God! I'm not gonna ask you sex stuff! God! I just don't see why
Justin always has to do stuff too. Why can't you and me just go somewhere or do
something?"
"Are you pissed at me 'cause I had to work yesterday?" He asked.
"I told you they were only going to be in town for a week. It's not like
fucking Japan is an airtrain pass away!"
My dad is the only guy in the fucking universe who would think me asking to
spend time with him was because I was pissed at him.
"God, forget it then! I just wanted to do something without Justin for
once in my whole God damned life, but if you're gonna make some stupid deal out
of it, forget it!"
Dad looked at me like I was some off-the-rack shirt. "You're so Mel,
Junior," he said. "Fine, we'll hold hands and take a walk in the park
or something, all right?"
I huffed again, but that was probably as much as I was going to get. I slammed
the car door shut and walked around to the driver side window. "Fine. But
if you have to cancel, call me before I trek all the way over to your place,
okay? I'll find something to do around here."
I thought maybe my dad would get the idea that I didn't want to hang out with
Justin all the time, but we just spent the next Saturday shopping (boring!) and
hanging out at one of Michael's stores (more boring!) and then going to one of
Dad's virtual lounges which didn't totally suck, but it's not like I could do
one of the college cheerleader routines when he was right there so it was,
like, flying a fighter jet and piloting a speed boat, which was kind of cool.
Not college cheerleader cool, but cool enough.
But that was just one time. From then on, it was back to the same old thing. I
was acting snottier and snottier when it was just me and Justin. I think I was
trying to force him into going to my dad about it because then it would be me
against him, and I knew my dad would totally side with me, but Justin would
just be all reasonable and lame and never say anything.
It was weird. Sometimes, I thought Justin was totally on to me. Like, how I
thought it was so queer that he always did the cooking and then the next thing
I knew, there was this personal chef coming in to cook for them all the time.
We were still doing that walking thing though. How fucking stupid did we look
walking all over the place? I mean, fine, he didn't want to drive the car, then
we could at least take the Segways, but he wouldn't even do that.
It came to a head one day that had started badly when we had to walk to the
grocery store. I couldn't believe how totally embarrassing that was. Okay,
granted, the store was only, like, four blocks away, but it was just so stupid.
Justin's car was fine, the Segways were fine, but Justin just acted like those
were dumb ideas.
Well, fine then. I said I'd stay home, and Justin could walk to the store all
by his dumb, stupid self. Dad was leaving for work, and usually he wouldn't
even pay attention to that kind of shit, but right then he was all, like,
"Just go with Justin to the store. Help carry the bags back."
And I was like, "If he'd just take the stupid car, no one would have to
carry any bags anywhere!"
And I could tell there was this whole other conversation going on between Dad and
Justin, and I hate it when they do that! God, I hate it! They were trading
these looks back and forth and I knew something was fucking going on.
Well whatever conversation they were having, my dad was losing because he got
all irritated and without looking at either one of us said, "Gus, fucking
suck it up and go to the store with Justin. You get to sit around here all
weekend like some pampered little prince, you can do one thing without giving
me shit."
Which was so totally unfair, because I wasn't giving *him* any shit about
anything!
"Brian," Justin started to say, and it made me so pissed that he was
going to try to, like, stick up for me. Like I needed him to say anything!
Apparently it pissed off my dad too, because he pointed a finger at Justin and
snapped, "Don't," then he snatched up his brief case and without
saying another word to either one of us, he left.
I went to the store with Justin mostly because my dad would have been shitty
about it if I hadn't, but I wasn't exactly a good sport about it. I complained
the whole way there about having to walk, and he was always, like, grabbing my
arm when we stepped off a curb. "God, would you quit it!" I said,
shrugging him off for the last time and putting a good two or three feet between
us. He kind of tripped over the last curb, but I managed not to laugh. At least
not too loudly anyway.
Shopping took fucking forever, and fuck if Justin didn't keep punching the
automated price checks. It was like shopping with a fucking ninety year old.
Gran never even used those lame-ass things, but Justin hit, like, every single
one of them.
We were about half-way done when we ran into a couple of guys from my school.
Literally. Justin fucking rammed the cart into Derek Vaughn and was all,
"Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."
Derek was there with Austin Foley, and they gave me the eye as Justin and I
passed, and then they started following us. God, I was so fucking embarrassed.
They were following us, and Justin was setting off the price checks every two
inches, and I could hear them laughing and making kissing noises. I was stuck
at the end of one aisle, and they were at the other and Derek had a couple of
rolls of toilet paper he was holding up like they were boobs and he was, like,
pointing at Justin and pretending to walk around like some fucking girl.
God, why couldn't my dad not work for, like, one fucking weekend of my whole
god damned stupid life? It wasn't fair, because if I'd been there with my dad,
they wouldn't have been acting like such fucking idiots and ignoring them would
have felt so fucking fantastic because no one can make you feel like you so
totally don't exist the way my dad can.
Justin just acted like they weren't there, but I knew they were bothering him,
or something was. He knocked into another lady in the produce section and,
like, three times totally missed the cart when he went to toss something in
there.
On our way to the checkout, he rounded a corner and rammed the cart into a
newspaper stand. The papers spilled out onto the floor, and one of the managers
came over and laughed when Justin apologized. She said it was their fault for
putting the papers there to begin with.
I swear to God, I thought he was going to, like, start crying or something!
What a fucking loser! I thought to myself. What a fucking pansy-ass girl,
crying over bumping into something!
After another hundred years, we finally checked out and walked back home. We
didn't say anything during the walk back, and when we got home, I threw the
bags I was carrying on the counter, maliciously hoping the eggs were in one of
my bags, then went downstairs to play some vids.
Usually Justin would call me up to do something else after I'd been playing for
awhile, but it got later and later without him saying anything or even coming
down to see what I was doing.
Around 6:30, I stomped upstairs, and Justin was sitting at the kitchen table in
the dark. Just, like, sitting there, staring straight ahead. 'What a loser,' I
thought for, like, the hundredth time that day. What, like a trip to the
grocery store was so fucking hard or something he had to come back here and,
like, melt down or something? God.
"So, like, are we gonna eat some time today or what?" I asked.
Justin kind of started and turned to look at me. "What?"
I sighed. "Dinner," I said very, very slowly so maybe he could
understand. "I'm hungry."
"Oh, yeah." Justin stood up and moved over to the vidphone.
"Pizza okay?" he asked, punching up the numbers.
"Again? We wouldn't be eating pizza if my dad was here."
"Well then what would you like?" Even though it was dark in the
kitchen, I could tell he was gritting his teeth.
"Whatever," I said, flicking on the overhead light.
Justin flinched and started blinking all dramatically. I rolled my eyes and
plopped down at the kitchen table. Justin opened the refrigerator and started
pulling out some vegetables and some chicken. "I'll make a chicken
casserole," he said, like I gave a shit.
"Dad says your casseroles taste like horse shit," I said helpfully.
Justin slammed the fridge shut and said, "Your Dad says a lot of things,
and most of them are as fucked up as he is when he's saying them."
"Fuck. You!" I said, pushing up from the table. "Fuck you! He's
the rich one! He's the one who pays for all this shit so you can, like, flounce
around in your fucking little studio and paint your fuckin' faggotty shit! Fuck
you! You have no right to say any fucking thing about him, do you hear me, no
fucking right!"
Justin looked as shocked as I was. "What the fuck?" he asked in a
bewildered voice. "What's going on? Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying!" I screamed. "Just shut up! Leave me alone!
I...God, I want out of here!"
Justin came toward me. "Just tell me what's wrong," he said, his
voice oozing all this caring and concern.
Then he moved to, like, hug me or something, and I went crazy. I shoved him,
pushed him as hard as I could into the counter and screamed the most horrible
awful thing I could think of. "Get away from me you fucking, fucking
faggot! Don't you touch me you fucker! I swear to God if I had my bat with me,
I'd fucking clock you in the head myself, you faggot! You fucking faggot! You
deserved to be hit! Do you hear me? You deserved it, and I'd do it too if I
could! I hate you! I hate you so fucking much I can't stand it!"
"Stop."
The word came softly, barely above a whisper, but not from Justin. It came from
behind me, and I stood there, frozen, and Justin's face which had been fairly
blank, maybe a little shocked, suddenly flushed and his eyes, as he looked over
my shoulder at my father, suddenly clouded with misery.
"It's okay," Justin said to my father. "Just...it's okay."
"Jesus Christ!" Dad yelled. "Would you just fucking give up
already? It's not okay! This is just another fucking thing in the fucking
endless list of shit that is not okay!"
"Well let's all just fucking flip out in the kitchen and see if that makes
everything better!" Justin snapped back.
"No," my dad said, and suddenly his voice was creepy and soft.
"No. I think maybe it's time for a little of that one-on-one with Dad
little Gus has been craving lately, that's what I think."
He and Justin stared at each other for a few seconds, and I was just kind of
frozen, sort of horrified at what I'd said and yet feeling kind of...justified
or, like, relieved or something.
Justin sighed and said, "Yeah, maybe I'll go drive around for
awhile."
It was quiet while Justin grabbed his keys off the counter and opened the door.
My dad stopped him, saying in a really odd, kind of questioning tone, "Justin."
Justin stopped at the door and rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, I'm not
taking the car, Brian. Jesus!"
My dad shrugged, and if I wasn't in such deep shit already, I would have asked
if Justin was grounded.
After the door closed, it was quiet for a few more minutes, and I realized as I
waited for my father to react that I'd never seen my father angry before that
moment. I'd seen him irritated and annoyed a thousand times. I'd seen him bored
and short-tempered, but not angry.
"The first thing that's going to happen," he said, speaking slowly
and distinctly, "Is that I'm going to stand there while you recount to
your mothers word for word what went down. You skip an 'and,' 'but,' or 'um,'
and I will stop you and make you start over from the beginning, and if we're
still there next week so fucking be it. That's the first thing."
"Dad, you don't know..."
"Shut up!" he barked. "If you think you are going to prance into
MY home and speak to MY partner that way, then your head has been stuck up your
ass so fucking long the shit you're breathing has permanently fucked up your
brain! Now you listen to me--you don't have to like him, you don't have to
agree with what he thinks or how he feels about a damn thing, but until you are
given a legitimate reason to disrespect him, you will God damned fucking tow
the line! Do you hear me?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Get in the car," my dad said, and for the next fifteen minutes I was
totally invisible to him. It felt like fifteen years, like maybe I really was
going to be invisible, and I was kind of scared and pissed and in this ugly
part of me, kind of...victorious. Like, proud of myself or something that it
was all out in the open.
Mostly I was scared.
We drove sort of recklessly back home, and my dad still didn't look at me as he
got out of the car and slammed the door so hard the car shook and left my ears
ringing. He plowed in the back door, glaring at Ma and shouting, "Lindsay!
Get in here!"
Ma's initial reaction with my dad is usually irritation, but something about
the way he looked or the way I looked or whatever, made her kind of stop short.
"What's wrong?" she asked, then a little more forcefully,
"What's going on?"
Mom had come in by then, wiping clay-covered fingers on a towel. Her smile of
welcome faded as she took in the scene. "Gus, honey?" she asked.
"Talk," my dad ordered.
"I yelled at Justin," I mumbled, knowing full well my dad wasn't
going to let that fly.
"Try again," he said.
"I called him a faggot," I finally said, and God, my mom looked so,
like, tragically hysterical at that, that I got so pissed off at my dad. If he
wasn't with Justin none of this would have happened, and I knew deep down he
was loving all of this stupid drama and shit, and I just was so fucking pissed
off! My father had always been about how hypocrisy was total bullshit and
buying into all that political correctness crap was for losers, but it turns
out he was as totally lame as everybody else. I was just so pissed!
"I'll stand here all fuckin' night, Gus," my dad said warningly.
"Tell your mothers what went down."
"No!" I shouted and threw my backpack across the kitchen. "You
want them to know so bad, you tell 'em!" I shoved past all three of them
and started up to my room, but then I was like, *fuck it, I'm not ashamed of
what I said,* and I stomped back into the kitchen. "Fine! You wanna know
what I said, I said he was a faggot, and I said I hated him, and I said I was
glad he got bashed in the head, and if I had a bat handy, I'd hit him too! I
hate him! I fucking hate him, and I don't care who knows it!"
I ran out of the room and upstairs, ignoring Mom's shout to come back. I threw
myself on my bed, feeling more nauseous than the time Ma gave me food
poisoning.
I hid my face in my pillow, but a second later lifted my head and even cocked
an ear to the side. They weren't yelling or screaming or anything. Whenever I
fucked up before, the three of them always ended up yelling at each other about
it. And by fucked up, I mean, like, getting a C on my math midterm or refusing
to invite Shelby Hornsby to my eleventh birthday party because he was funny
looking and smelled like onions. Dad was always on my side about that stuff.
Now it was just quiet. Maybe Dad was pissed at my moms now, too. Or maybe all
three of them were just really pissed at me.
It was hours later when Ma knocked on my door and came in. I was expecting her
to yell and ground me until I was in my forties, but she just put a sandwich
down on my desk and sat down, looking at me. Just looking at me.
I sighed and rolled my eyes and grabbed the sandwich and took a bite and sat
there chewing until she finally said something.
"Do you wish Mom was with some frilly little dress-wearing honey?"
she asked, "That she was married to some sweet girly girl with a bow in
her hair?"
"No!" I said irritably. "Ma, you don't understand. You can't
understand, 'cause you're not a guy. But he's...it's embarrassing to be out
with him. He's all...just the way he gestures and laughs and...and sounds
it's...it's too..."
"Gay?" Ma finished for me.
"No! That's not it. I don't care about that, but he doesn't have to be
so..."
"Gay?" Ma said again.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. God, everyone everywhere you looked was so fucking
lame! "It's not like Michael is this huge, strong guy or anything, but
even his partner is like, really ripped and tough and stuff. Why is my dad with
someone like Justin? I don't get it."
Ma nodded, like she was really listening, but she was totally playing 'lawyer.'
"When you say 'someone like Justin,' what exactly do you mean? Someone
smart? Successful? Talented? Sweet? Caring? Cute..."
"Great--sweet and cute. Two qualities you totally want your dad's
boyfriend to have." I slumped back on the bed, my arms crossed, wishing
there'd been potato chips on the plate and some chocolate chip cookies too.
Ma leaned forward in the chair and said, "Is your problem that Justin
isn't the kind of man you want your dad to be with or that Justin is the *man*
that your father is with?"
I sighed and rolled my eyes at her. "I don't care that Dad's gay," I
said. "I just don't see why he's with someone..."
"Who's gay?" Ma finished for me again.
I glared at her. "No! That's not it. You just... you can't
understand."
She shrugged, studying me with a sour look on her face. "Fine, I can't
understand. Let's cut to something we both understand. The language, we have to
let go, because you've got no fucking example set for you there. Your hate
speech, though, that earns you one month straight home from school or practice,
no TV, no stereo, and computer use at the kitchen table only. I oughta add
another two weeks for making me agree with your father about anything. I don't
give a shit that you don't like Justin or think he's 'suitable' for your
father. You'll be respectful, because he's never given you any reason to be
otherwise. Understand?"
"Yes," I said, staring at my bedspread.
"You look at me and tell me you understand."
I looked up at her, feeling even sicker than before. "I understand."
"Gus, I don't ever, *ever* want to hear you threatening somebody with
physical harm, do you understand? That is totally unacceptable, and your mother
and I won't have it. I never thought I'd be as ashamed of you as I am right
now, and I sure as hell never thought this was a conversation you and I would
have to have. You're going to apologize to Justin for that..."
"Ma, come on!"
"Don't you 'come on' me."
"God, he'll laugh in my face or yell at me and tell me I'm, like, a total
worthless shit! Is that what you want?"
Ma slowly shook her head at me. "This isn't a discussion. You're gonna
apologize to Justin tomorrow, and every sour look about that, every muttered
curse, every tiny complaint will get you another week grounded, got it?"
"Got it," I said.
Apologizing to Justin wasn't too bad. It was humiliating mostly because Ma or
my dad had obviously told him how I felt about him.
After I told him I was sorry for saying I wanted to hit him, Justin said,
"I shouldn't have bad-mouthed your father to you. I apologize for that,
and I'm not going to do it anymore." He smiled slightly. "Well, I'm
gonna try real hard not to anyway. That's all I've got though, all right? I
look the way I look and I act the way I act, and that's not going to change. So
if we have to lay low from each other for awhile, then, I guess we have to lay
low."
I wish I could have been a better kid, but it's not like all of a sudden I
thought he was great. I was really, truly ashamed of what I'd said to him, of
the way I'd acted, I really was. But I still didn't think he and my dad should
be together. I still didn't want to be out with him and have kids from my
school make fun of me. I just shrugged at him and mumbled, "My dad's gonna
take me back home now."
I could tell my dad was still pissed. He wouldn't look at me again as he drove
home. He was ashamed of me. That had never really happened before. Sometimes
he'd get irritated if I wasn't trying hard enough at something or if I wasn't
really paying attention when he was trying to teach me something, but he'd
never acted like he could hardly stand to look at me.
I bawled quietly the whole way home, and when my dad pulled into the driveway,
I said, "So are you gonna, like, be working all the time and miss all my
games and shit?"
My dad sighed and turned off the engine and just sat there for what felt like a
really long time. "I'm your father," he said finally. "I'll
always be your father, all right? Nothing changes that, it doesn't stop, ever.
But that doesn't mean I'll always like you or the choices you make. You've disappointed
me, Gus."
"I'm sorry!" I wailed. "I can't help how I feel!"
He held up a hand to shut me up. "This is how it's gonna work. You don't
want to hang with Justin, fine. I'll come to your ball games without him, I'll
take you and Sarah to dinner and shit like that all by my little old self. But
that's it. Family dinners at your Gran's, all the queer little get-togethers
forced on us, Justin's there. And you will behave civilly and respectfully
toward him. And don't you for one God damned minute think he's not going to be
around when you come over to the loft."
"I'm sorry," I said again.
My dad shrugged. "Yeah, well, sorry doesn't change anything, does it? I
want you to understand one last thing. All of this accommodating of poor little
Gussy's feelings is because Justin respects your right to this shit, not
because I do. I think it's a bunch of bullshit and you should fucking get over
yourself already."
"Maybe you should get over your fucking self," I said. Well, okay, I
just thought it, but the way my dad slowly turned his head and met my eyes said
he knew what I was thinking.
"So you'll be at my game Thursday?" I mumbled.
"I'll be there," Dad said.
Usually we'd be joking around or making fun of somebody or something. Instead
it was this strained, like, almost polite conversation and it felt so shitty.
"When will it be the same again?" I asked.
My dad just shrugged and shook his head, then nodded toward the house. "Go
on," he said. "You moms have dinner waiting."
Before I would have made a crack or two about that. Both of my moms are really
crappy cooks. It was, like, the best day in the world when Sarah grew tall
enough to reach the stove. She took over most of the cooking duties at home,
and the threat of us all starving to death was finally quashed. Gran says it's
all the time Sarah spent with her in the kitchen of the diner when she was a
kid that did it. After my dad bought the Liberty Diner for her, there was no
one to tell her to keep her God damned grandkids out of the kitchen, so we hung
out there a lot. I do an awesome grilled cheese sandwich and can make a pretty
decent omelet, too, but that's the extent of my talent.
So okay, get this. All that screaming and yelling and crying and stupid ass
talking-all that shit, and you know what? The whole thing lasted a month, maybe
two. Looking back-and I don't mean, like, five years later looking back, I mean
looking back right after it all blew over, it was all so dumb. Everyone was
bent out of shape-Gran was going nuts because she knew something was up but
didn't know the details, and she's totally uncontrollable when that happens,
and Sarah knew something was up and was pissed at me because instead of hanging
at the loft, where there was an indoor pool on the lower level and six million
TV channels and parents who didn't care what you were watching so long as you
didn't wake them up at three in the morning because you heard a weird noise,
instead of that we were sitting down to nice, boring dinners at Bergdorf's or
The Inn on Main.
Dad and Justin's place-aside from all of the totally awesome amenities, and
believe me they are so totally awesome-but aside from that, it's a really cool
place to, like, unwind or decompress or whatever.
I'm not saying there's anything wrong with home or Mom and Ma. But it's all,
you know, rules and regulations and do this and don't do that and mind this and
all that shit. And Michael and Ben are like so fucking sincere and nurturing
and THERE for you that it's...well even Sarah thinks it can be a little
tiresome--and she'll put up with, like, anything. And Gran and Gramps are
absolutely the best people in the universe but Gran is this total force and
"relaxing" is the last thing that comes to mind. I'm 17, and she
still buys me and Sarah these educational...games or toys or something. I don't
know where she gets them, probably off of one of the shopping channels, just
not one of Dad's because he would never carry shit like that in a million
years. Hey, Gran's, like, my favorite person ever, but her sense of taste and fashion
are non-existent.
Justin and Dad are-well, Ma calls them lax, I'd say laid back. It's like here's
the rules, mind your shit and everything's cool.
So, like, Sarah was pissed at me that the loft was suddenly off limits or
whatever.
And, I've already said I thought my dad was cool and everything. When I was 13,
I thought he was the most awesome person I knew. I think now that Justin sort
of helped foster that. And by "helped," I mean, "actively
encouraged." Without Justin around, I started to realize my dad was kind
of difficult.
I mean, I'd tell him stuff and half the time there was like, no reaction at
all. Maybe a grunt or a "hmm," if I was lucky. And then sometimes I
wished for no reaction because he'd kind of act like I was an idiot for telling
him whatever I was telling him. He gets this look on his face that totally
says, "And I care, why?" and I'd feel about two feet tall. He could
be so preoccupied with work or some dumb guy across the room or a phone call or
whatever, and I'd wonder why he'd even bothered to show up. And whenever I had
a great game or got a good grade on something, he never acted like it was some
big deal. It's like, when I fucked up, he knew I could do better, but when I
did great, I was just doing what he expected. I guess that's good because
praise from my father always stuck with me since it was hard-earned, but a
little celebration every now and then wouldn't have killed him.
Justin always acted like that stuff-good grades, an amazing game-was so great.
And he did it in this way, that was like-he was really glad for me, but not
surprised by it, you know? And he'd always tell the others about it. My dad,
swear to God, forgot everything ten seconds after it happened, but Justin would
be all, "You should have seen Gus at his game. He made the most amazing
catch down the third base line..." or whatever.
Ask my dad what happened at a game, and he'd act all bored and put out and say
something like, "They pitch, they hit, teenage girls squee. It's a
beautiful thing."
Yeah. Whatever.
Justin makes my dad more normal. And given the opportunity to spend more
quality time with my dad, I realized pretty quickly that he really needed to be
more normal.
In true Kinney fashion, I decided to act like nothing had ever really gone down,
and one Sunday night at Gran's, I just caught Justin's attention across the
table and said, all accusingly, "So, like, are you *ever* going to come to
another one of games again or what?" I ducked my head and acted all
interested in the spaghetti on my plate, but looked up at Justin out of the
corner of my eye.
I could hear my dad snickering, and Michael started coughing into napkin, but
Justin just reached for the breadsticks and said, "I'm coming
Thursday," like I already knew that anyway.
I grinned and shrugged at him and he shook his head and rolled his eyes, and it
was sort of like it never happened.