Page 11 of Love Defies Us

“OK, love,” my dad says, and the way he says love makes my flesh crawl. It shouldn’t surprise me that my father started dating someone after mom died because he’s always been a family man. He married my mom right after they graduated from high school and then went to college together and had me when they were both twenty-five years old.

Then she leaves the living room and my dad’s eyes glisten with sadness.

“I don’t care how pissed off you are that I moved on, but you will respect Patricia, you hear me, boy?” His tone is sharp. The lines on my dad’s forehead deepen and he furrows his brow.

“What-the-fuck-ever,” I mumble under my breath, but not loud enough for him to hear it. I’ll take their relationship serious when the world realizes that mayo doesn’t go on sandwiches. “You ready to get your ass beat in basketball?”

I change the subject. Me and dad have one thing in common: we’re both competitive.

“Yeah, I need to let off steam.”

“You did that already with Patricia,” I mumble under my breath.

When I glance around the room, there are no pictures of my mom anywhere. There used to be a picture on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, of my parents’ wedding day. And I notice he changed a few things around, my mom’s favorite fake plant is gone. It’s as if he’s trying to wipe every memory of her. My blood fucking boils, and I lace my fingers together as my knuckles turn white.

I get up from the comfy couch and head to the glass doors through the spacious kitchen and my dad follows suit. I don’t want to be reminded of this place where my mom took her last breath on this couch while watching one of her favorite reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.

When I go outside in the backyard, the sun beats the shit out of me with its heat. But that’s the south for you, leave it to the heat to be hotter than fish grease.

My dad had my old hoop from high school replaced with a new one that’s made out of metal. And next to it, we have a tennis court, followed by a swing from an oak tree that my mom used to love. He grabs the basketball and the sound of the ball bouncing against the concrete echoes through the humid air. We play for twenty minutes and he wins this round. My dad and I never bonded over music. I get my music talent from my mother. My dad and I bonded over basketball. Growing up, my childhood was different from the kids I grew up with. I didn’t have a chef to cook my food, nor did I have nannies. We did have a maid because the manor was too big for my mom to clean. My parents wanted me to have a normal childhood and to learn the value of people not material stuff.

We sit down on the white bench that’s next to the court and his new maid, Sarah, brings out fresh cold water and I drink some of it then I drench the rest on my hair. The water drips down my face. Fuck that feels good.

“Be right back,” he says, then disappears into the house. Moments later, he returns with a weird-looking white envelope. I think women call it eggshell or some shit. I tear the envelope open and it’s an invitation of Mae and Brody’s wedding. The same fucking venue where we were supposed to be wed, and the same day. I clench the invitation. Those two are on my fucking shit list. The knife in my back digs deeper and deeper into my flesh and fresh blood leaks from the wound that they created.

“I’m not going to that shit.” I wrinkle my mouth and my dad pins me with a look of pity.

I try to keep the anger from my tone, but this anger is growing faster than a disease.

Why the fuck are they trying to rub that shit in my face? They think I will go and be like “oh good luck and have a prosperous marriage.”

Fuck that and fuck them.

The press painted a picture to the world that I was the neglectful fiancé. For months, I didn’t go out in public unless I had to because paparazzi rode my dick harder than a strung out prostitute that needed money to get a fix Mind you that when I found out that she cheated on me, we had just done exclusive engagement photos with People Magazine. And that’s the thing about living in the spotlight. The world will attack and there’s nothing I could do about it.

“Are you going?” I ask and guilt nibbles on his face.

His eyes move back and forth, and he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

“Yeah. I’m the best man.” His tone is low. My anger is turning into rage. He’s fucking supporting them.

“I thought your loyalty was to me.” I raise my voice. I stand up and poke him in the chest.

“It is.”

“Then why go support him?”

His decision shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always sticking up for his younger brother. Brody can do no fucking wrong. My dad acts Brody is Jesus. Fuck both of them.

“This marriage isn’t going to last; you know how Brody is. Once Mae gets older and he’s loaded her up with his babies. Then he’ll dump her, just like the last three wives.” He exhales and I move into the shade of the oak tree, putting some distance between us. “This whole thing is a shit show.”

“He took advantage of Mae,” I blurt out. Mae is very naive and if any guy promises her the world, she’ll hop on the gravy train. How did I manage to stay with her for four years? Honestly, it was because I was lonely. Being a rock star can be lonely and not having someone to understand the lifestyle is really hard, is as rare as the sky turning the shade of green grass. All me and Mae did was fight once the band hit it big. I got super busy and I couldn’t give her the attention she needed.

He scrunches up his nose and his breathing slows down to normal.

“Yeah, but she could have kept her legs closed. She was a whore. I knew something wasn’t right with that girl.”

“Don’t blame this all on Mae. They were both wrong as fuck and you know it.” I pause. “Brody and Mae knew what they were doing and honestly, I’m sick of you defending him,” I yell and my pulse thumping like a rabbit thumping its foot on a log.

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