The Art of Being a F*ck Up

15. Daddy Issues

Change has never been easy for me, for so many reasons. When I was a kid there were plenty of nights my dad didn't come home and I would have to figure out how to fend for myself while he was passed out in a gutter somewhere. I never really had much to rely on back then, and I guess I put a lot of stock into having more predictability now. Whoever said routine is boring has obviously never had to wonder where their next meal would come from, or worry about their power getting shut off. I don't like it when I can't be sure what to expect—I still don't like the unknown. Makes sense that's why I'm fighting to wrap my head around this whole test thing.

No one wants to feel stupid regardless, and I can maybe see some of the points Lilah and Maddy both made, but what happens if I do this? What does my life look like then? Devin would probably laugh his ass off at me, and I have no clue what Bill would think. Worse, what about Jonah? I've only been at work for a couple hours and the whole time I've just been staring at my phone obsessively, studying every detail of the appointment Lilah had set up with her friend.

I know she only did this because she cares, and oddly enough it seems like Maddy reached out to her for much the same reason. Even so, I'm still not sure how I feel about it, and next to overthinking this appointment I've also been going back and forth on whether I should text Maddy. Ultimately I decide to text Jonah instead, to see what he thinks about it, but all I get in return is radio silence—the same as it has been. I might even be disappointed, if I hadn't already thought to expect it. That, and my dad hollers for me from the office before I can debate about it any further.

"Brent! Get in here!" He yells, frustrated, and I immediately go to him. What choice do I have? No matter which way Bill tries to dress it up, he's the boss now, and he's certainly wasted no time settling into his brother's office. I spot him hunched over one of the filing cabinets that he's already nearly gutted, "I'm trying to find some goddamn files but I can't figure how you organized this thing. Grab that list off the desk and help me, would you?"

"Let me look, here," after I grab the list in question I come up beside him to offer my assistance, but apparently it's too close for comfort. When my elbow brushes up against him he pulls back completely and retreats to the opposite side of the office, crossing his arms. I try not to take that too personally as I continue looking, and instead I use the subtle opportunity to pry. "If you need anything you should probably just save yourself the trouble and ask me, Bill has a really weird system for filing. How is he anyway? He hasn't been here in a few days."

"And he won't be in for a few more either. He's got a couple more doctors to see, so he'll likely be out another week or two." My dad answers, not wise enough to realize my intent. But then, glancing at him over my shoulder, I get the feeling that maybe the plain worry written across his face might be distracting him. So far he hasn't been too bad—granted this whole situation hasn't been going on that long—but mostly we just keep to ourselves. I'm not too keen on testing the longevity of it though, and the thought of spending the rest of the month like this makes my skin crawl. Eventually he notices, "what the hell's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, I've got a lot on my mind. You know, I've been worried about Bill and there's this thing with school. It's not important," I find all the files he was looking for and stand, going to deliver them to him. As true as it is I don't really think much about what I'm saying, it seems innocent and vague enough, but he hones in nonetheless.

"That's your big problem? Some of us got real shit to deal with and you're over here worried about school? You were never meant for college, I told you that before, you're not smart enough." He takes the stack out of my hand.

"At least I'm trying to make something of myself, to be something." Mostly I mean it as an explanation, but from the fire that lights in his eyes I can tell my dad takes it more as an insult. At first I only go over to the door so I can leave him to his files, but it keeps eating at me what he said. Then it eats at me what Lilah said, and then what Maddy said too. I don't want to be like my dad, in any way, but sometimes if I stand still long enough I can see glimpses that remind me of him. Coward or not, there are some things that are worth changing. I turn back, speaking reluctantly, "that reminds me, I might need some time off."