"How's school?" Our dinners are always the same. Same conversation, same food, same run down sushi restaurant.
"It's great, dad." I lie. Who am I kidding, no one likes school. Decent dads would know not to ask that question. The fake smile on my face vanished, and I continue to nibble from the roll I began eating.
It's the first dinner since dad came back from his two month long trip to Jersey, exploring or some shit. I stayed with mom and her crappy boyfriend, listening to their weird conversations about remodeling bathrooms, or babysitting Alexander while they go to 'couples hot yoga', whatever the fuck that is.
Being with dad now is different, being with dad is comfortable. Eating pre-made ramen on the couch, mocking the stupid comics in the newspaper, watching a local band at Karlie's bar on Friday nights, all of those are our traditions.
Being with Karl and mom, is tense, they expect only the finest of expectations. I don't do a lot of things with them when I'm over there, since they already have Alexander, a small tiny kid who's allergic to literally everything in sight. I guess mom and Karl took me to that book signing once, which was 4 hours away, and that was nice, but I can't recall one tradition we've ever had.
"How was mom's?" He asks, wiping some wasabi off his beard. I press my lips into a thin line, raising my eyebrows.
"Do you really want to know?" I ask. He shakes his head, "you're right, I actually don't." He chuckles. We laugh about that for a while, one of our many inside jokes.
"So, what did Karl pull this time?"
"You're not going to believe it."
"Shoot your shot."
"He asked me what Harry Potter was about." Dad laughs at that. Dad laughs at anything that includes Karl being Karl.
"Any boys I need to be worrying about?"
I almost choke on my food.
"N-no." I chuckle, stuttering between laughs.
I know he's joking, and I probably won't ever get a boyfriend,
but just why does it hurt so bad when I think about it?
𝐓.𝐁.𝐂
