Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 29

Elliot felt nervous. 

Not the nervous before an exam, but the nervous you get when there's a car driving too close to your own. You break check it, and it doesn't seem to slow down. 

He's just trying to find a way to slow everything down. Because driving fast is fun, but only if it's his choice. 

"Do you want me to meet your dad?" 

Emma was sitting in front of him. Grover was in her lap. She had never met Grover before, but with all things, she seemed to have a remarkably quick effect on getting on his good side. That being his back draped across her legs, tummy exposed. 

"I don't know." 

"Do you want to see your dad?"

"Not really." 

"Why?"

That was a difficult question. It came down quite a bit to what he had told his mom -- his dad didn't feel like a part of his unit. He cared, he had even cried over him, and he was sure that his dad loved him. 

It hurt him to admit it, but he didn't know what else he could say. "I don't know if I love my dad."

Emma's eyebrows perked up at that. She curled over Grover's body, leaned on her elbows. What he was grateful for, however, was that she didn't seem upset. 

"Oh?"

"Mmhmm." Elliot began to bite the sides of his fingers. A habit he wasn't sure when he picked up, but he wished he had a pencil in his hand so he could draw out the jitters. "It's just, it's been so long. I don't feel. I mean, he contributes. I know it's not fair to him." 

He's said it out loud. He never had before, not really, not truthfully. In fits, tantrums, cries he may have said such words to his mother, but they weren't calculated. These words were thought through, methodical. He had said them, and they could not be taken back. 

There was an echo of panic ringing in the distance. If those words were heard by his father, Elliot knew the ramifications. More time spent with him, more time spent alone with him, more story-telling and involvement. Smothering and smattering through and through until almost everything he had become routine to would be crushed by the heavy hand of his father's love. 

He didn't need that. Elliot wanted consistency, and his father couldn't give that and give his love. There was too much... stuff involved. Including a half-sister that he liked, but did not feel all that related to. 

"Hey, almond-boy, get out of your head."

It was one of those moments he hadn't realized he had been staring at the carpet for forever until his gaze snapped up to looking ahead. He had a better understanding of the white tangled tassels of his carpet than he did the expression on Emma's face. 

The dog was now around her back and she was on her knees, leaning forward. "Do you need me to fake an emergency when he shows up?" Grin wicked, teeth bright, breath wheezy. He laughed. 

"That'd go well with your mother."

"She's sure to understand."

"Your father?"

"Oh, he's been talking about getting a shotgun." 

Elliot smiled but wasn't sure if that was the appropriate response. Queasy smiles often needed explanation, but didn't get one. The only thing he could think to say was:

"Well if I'm not dying from my heart condition I doubt a shotgun would stop me."

Then Emma was close. Breaths close. Eyelashes almost batting dust on him, with her gaze so piercing, shadowed by her furrowed brow, that it almost made him lose his breath. The wicked grin was still on her face, however.