Lefty's ✓

twelve.

August

Time with my dad has never felt more awkward. He knows I've been leaving the house way too often. He knows I've been meeting up with someone. He knows there are things I haven't told him.

But he never asks me anything about it. He doesn't even look my way when I walk into the house right as he leaves for work at six in the morning after I've being gone all night.

I guess it's partially my fault. I could've confronted him about everything. For me, it's too awkward. Him and I have never been close and the move has just pushed us further apart. A part of me tells me to go talk to him. I don't want to lose another parent; I just can't.

____

"Hey," I whisper to my dad. I lean back on the cold counter and watch him put his book down on the counter.

"I'm surprised your actually home."

I guess I deserved that.

We make eye contact for a brief second before I look away. Eye contact has always freaked me out. It makes me feel like I'm invading their privacy. Their eyes are full of emotions they may or may not want to portray on the outside. I feel guilty for seeing that emotion when I'm not supposed to.

"What are we doing here, Jasper?" My dad asks, exasperated.

His once bright blue eyes are now dull. Time has taken its toll on my father and it pains me to watch it happening live in front of me. Wrinkles that weren't there a couple years ago have sneakily made their way onto my dad's face, forever reminding him of what he's been through.

I straighten up on the counter and clear my throat, crossing my arms in the process. "Talking, Dad. We're talking."

Those same eyes look up at me, full of sadness and disappointment. "No we're not, son," He whispers. "You and I haven't been talking for the last seventeen years."