wait// joshler

5

word count: 370

mom didn't make the food. yet she claims she does. i can tell by the texture of the food that it's old kfc. she probably ordered it right before i came home and stashed it in the fridge. as she does.

"sorry it's terrible," she says, noticing me poking at it with my fork. "i can't cook as i used to... given my condition."

i feel awful, immediately. i shovel two spoonfuls down my throat. they feel like gravel.

"it's wonderful, mom," i reply.

she smiles immediately.

"oh good."

there's minimal conversation between any of us. just a few words muttered back and forth when the silence is deemed too awkward by one of us.

when dinner is over, i collect the plates and dad wheels mom to their bedroom. i hum a song while doing the dishes, looking out into the backyard every once in a while.

i finish the dishes when my hands are soggy and pink. to think, they'll just get worse when i get to get in the shower.

my abdomen is soaked with water, as it always is when i do dishes. i sigh.

i hear steps behind me. i know it's dad, seeing as how other than me, he's the only one that can walk.

"tyler.."

i look at his brown eyes, they're tired. they look how i feel.

"you know.."

"mom's sick. i know."

"but she.. does care for you."

"really? because she doesn't act like it."

"tyler..."

"you know just as well as i do. she didn't cook that damn meal."

"she tries."

"she controls every aspect of my life."

he starts to cry a little bit.

"dad... i just want a normal life."

"i know."

i collapse into his arms.

"im sorry..." he says into my head.

"for what?" i say into his chest.

"for always working."

"no.. dad," i look at his eyes, they're red now, his face tear stained.

"tyler."

"dad, you're great. i know you have to work... but it's... i know. okay? i know you love me. and i just... i know."

he smiles weakly.

"i love you, tyler."

"i love you too dad."

"go get a shower, ty-guy."

"loser," i mutter.

"no you," he says back.

i laugh and go into the bathroom, striping my clothes off and turning on the shower. when i step in, i feel all my worries melt away. 

a/n: one word

guilt.