Page 32 of Embody

Eleven

JT

“HEY MOM,” Iwalk in my parents’ house on Sunday, hell-bent on having a talk with the mastermind himself. “Dad around?”

“He’s in the den, why?” Not surprisingly, she has a little pout on her face.

“I just need to talk to him.”

“You can’t talk to me?” The little pout grows into full-on, make me feel guilty, sorrow.

“Sorry, I need him on this one. But you know I love you most,” I wink.

“Don’t say that…out loud. You love us equal.”

“I do,” I laugh, “but your sad face is killin’ me. Make up your mind.”

“Just gimme a hug and go talk to your dad. He’ll tell me what you say anyway.”

I hug her and kiss her forehead, then go find my father, lounged back on the couch—watching the Asian stock market report or some such shit. Actually watching it; with interest…on purpose.

“Hey Dad,” I flop down on the couch beside him. “How goes the exhilarating world of overseas commerce?”

“Well, I couldn’t find any channel reporting on Beyoncé and what’s his name’s latest fiasco, so I was stuck with this. There’s no words to describe my disappointment.” He gives me a smug side glance.

“Good one,” I slap his leg. “Proud of you.”

“Thank God, I was afraid I’d lose points for not knowing her husband’s name. So, what can I do for you, son?”

“I…uh…need to talk to you about some personal stuff.”

His eyes double in size. “Is your mother on the phone?”

“No.”

“In the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Missing? Kidnapped?Mad at you?” He grins.

“No.”

“And you’re coming to me?”

“Yes,” I snarl. “Can you stop with the big production? I seriously need your advice.”

“Well okay,” he rises, trying to hide his pleased smile. “Let me get a cigar and pour a Scotch. I have a feeling I’ll need both.”

“Mom will kill you if you light a cigar in the house,” I chuckle.

“Gazebo it is then, meet you there in ten.”

Great idea,since it’s not hot as fuck outside or anything. I get up and head out the front door and to the side of the house, taking a seat in the gazebo, my dad not far behind, already walking toward me.

“Now,” he sits down and lights his cigar, blowing out a huge cloud of smoke. “How can I help?”

I’m glad I chose him. Even though he’s doing his best to act all nonchalant about it, I can tell he’s happy I’ve come to him—something I seldom do. I usually connect better with my mom because my father is so critical of me.

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