The Tutor

(5) Misconception

Misconception . . .

I turned into the driveway and parked my car next to the newer model, white Nissan Altima. I stared at it for a few moments, annoyance slowly seeping in and taking over my body. Groaning, I pulled my keys from the ignition and got out.

I walked up the driveway and towards the front door. I paused before opening it, slightly thinking this was a bad idea and that I should just go back to Levi's house for a while. Sighing from defeat, I opened the front door and went in.

The thick aroma of some kind of sauce struck me as soon as I stepped inside. Pots and pans banged around, coming from the kitchen. Curiously, I closed the door behind me and made my way down the short hallway, going towards the kitchen. A chuckle escaped once I got there, and I continued to stare at the scene before me with one eyebrow raised.

"Mom," I asked slowly after a few moments of staring at her with an astonished expression.

She turned away from the stove, a wide smile quickly spreading across her face. Picking up a hand towel, she began drying her hands and walking towards me.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," she said, discarding the towel onto the counter and opening her arms in a gesture for me to hug her.

I chuckled a little and walked into her outstretched arms, me having to lean down to wrap my arms around her shoulders.

She pulled away first and held me at arms' length, an admirable expression on her face; as if silently saying that she was proud that I'm her son. "You can go wash up, dinner will be ready soon," she told me, rubbing my arm before letting me go and walking back over to the stove.

I nodded, still sort of surprised that she was cooking... On a Monday. She usually just ordered something. Shrugging, I turned away from her and started for the stairs.

I was stopped short by the lean figure standing at the top of the stairs. Frozen in place, I was too shocked to move. I continued to stare up at him, not willing myself to do anything else.

The expression he wore was calm, almost as if he didn't hold a care in the world. I watched his lips curve into a half-smile, which I quickly realized was a taunt aimed at me. Then he started to walk down the stairs.

David Stevenson, the name that will always seem to haunt me wherever I go. It doesn't help in the slightest that he's my father, but I would never refer to him as that anymore. A more accurate title would have to be "sperm donor", since he stopped acting like a real father by the time I was six.

The resemblance between us would be impossible to miss, since I barely got any features from my mother. We both had the dark, almost curly, brown hair and the striking blue eyes. The eyes were one thing you definitely couldn't miss. The details in our face were scary similar too; from the angular, defined jaw to the slightly curved chin. I could be considered a younger replica of him at first glance.

But one thing I didn't inherit from him is my personality. I got that from my mom, and I noticed this a long time ago. Both of us are too determined to give up on anything we really put our minds to, and taking "no" for an answer was never an option. We're stubborn, wanting things to go our way, or no way at all. Behind that hard coating, though, there's a softer inside, and we try to look for the best in every situation. Sometimes.

There may be an anger problem on my side, though, and guess where I got that from?

He was somewhat bounding down the stairs by now, each step he took causing a bounce to surface. That stupid smile still playing on his lips, he locked eyes with me but it didn't match the rest of his expression. His eyes were hard and cold, silently telling me something that I honestly didn't want to know.