Page 36 of The Expiration Date

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My hands clench the steering wheel. My jaw hurts from locking it the whole drive to Connecticut.

You don’t have to go in. He doesn’t deserve your fucking time.

But at the same time, I can’t help but think: but he’s your father. He may be a bastard, but he’s my father. No matter how hard I try to get away from him and his bullshit, I can’t escape the fact that the same blood runs through our veins. He has that hold on me for life and it’s a hold that I wish I could sever forever. Especially for my mom’s sake.

It’s kind of hard to lie about your whereabouts when it’s plastered on every website and E! News. I got the call a couple hours ago. Luckily, there are no more events until this evening with the last-minute bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Haley already had plans to hang out with Anna this afternoon.

Let’s just get this over with.

I turn off the ignition and head inside the diner. My dad said he would meet me here at three. It is 3:01 when I walk in and hear the door chime above me. I spot the back of my dad’s head right away. My dad is never late. I pull down my hat a little so that hopefully no one will recognize me. I can already feel my nostrils flaring out of annoyance and anger. I sit down in the booth, still not giving my father the satisfaction of looking him in the eyes. That is one trait that I’m glad I didn’t get from my father: his eyes. I have my mother’s eyes and I am infinitely more grateful since they are kind–directly reflecting who she is as a person. My dad doesn’t have a flicker of kindness. Never has and never will.

“Hello, son.”

I finally look up at my dad. He looks like a haunted man. His eyes are sunken in, his skin looks weathered and dry–a side effect of years of drinking. I expect to feel happy about that, but instead it makes me even more sad. He ruined a perfectly good life the moment he drank his first drop of alcohol.

“Well, this should be interesting. I haven’t heard from you in almost ten years and now you reach out to me. What do you want?”

“What? I can’t have lunch with my son?”

“No, Dad, unfortunately you can’t.”

The waitress comes over and asks, “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have water, thank you.”

She nods. “Anything to eat, hun?”

“Just the water,” I respond, probably a little too curtly.

“Got it. Another for you, sir?”

It’s then I realize that my father is drinking a beer yet again. I wonder what number that is today.

My father clears his throat, picking up on my obvious disappointment. “I’ll switch to water. No food for me either.” He runs his hand through his graying hair. He’s let it grow long. If this was a couple of weeks ago, the only way people would be able to tell us apart from a distance would be the color of our hair, since mine was practically the same length. Even though he is still sitting tall, I can tell he is shriveling inside. I don’t care.

“Look Aidan, I just wanted to see you to tell you how sorry I am for everything. If I hurt you when you were young…”

I scoff. “If? You got a lot of nerve using that word, Dad.”

“You’re right. It’s not an if. I did hurt you…and your mother… and I am truly sorry for that.”

This again? I adjust in my seat, pull the bill of my cap down a little further. “Are you in rehab again? Is this what all of this is about? Well, I can save us both a lot of time and energy and tell you that there is nothing you can say to me right now that will change how I feel about you.”

My dad’s eyes shift toward the window. “And your mom? How is she…?”

“Don’t ask about Mom. You don’t deserve to know. You lost that right a long-ass time ago. The moment you laid your fucking hands on her, you lost that right to know anything about her.”

My dad starts fiddling with his thumbs, a nervous habit I first detected when I was young. His eyes keep shifting back and forth, from outside to me. What the hell is he looking at? I glance out the window myself and notice some cameras sticking out of bushes. Paparazzi. I fucking knew it. Unbelievable.

“What’s your cut?” I ask.

“What?”

“Your cut, Dad. How much are you getting from the paparazzi for photos of me?”

My dad doesn’t answer.

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