Page 10 of Love Defies Us

When I type in the code to my old childhood manor, I slowly push the oak door open.

I’m spending the day with my dad and I haven’t seen him since my mom’s death.

I take off my shoes because my dad will have a bitch fit about someone walking on his precious white marble floors. And I haven’t been here in months. The faint smell of honey still lingers here, the way my mom used to smell. Her presence is slowly fading and fading.

Memories of me running up and down the foyer and my mom yelling from the kitchen to stop lollygagging.

Death steals everything from you. It steals joy. Death is a nasty bitch that doesn’t care where you’re at in life. She doesn’t care that you have family and friends that love you. All she does is take and take and take. And the sad thing about it, there isn’t shit you can do about it. You just have to wait until she’s knocking on your door.

Every time I come here something has change… I twist my head and glance around the foyer. What the fuck is that weird-ass noise? It sounds like a whale is dying.

I stroll pass the foyer and open the door to my dad’s office which is located next to the living room. And I want to rinse my eyes out with soap. My dad sits on top of the oak desk with his shorts hanging off his ankle, with his eyes closed and a woman with jet black hair sucking the life out of his dick. Bile burns the back of my throat and I want to vomit on the red rug. Finally, my dad eyes connect with mine. Shock and embarrassment warp in his cornflower eyes, then he pushes the woman off of him and I get the hell out of there as if my ass is on fire.

I rush to the living room and sit on the white couch and prop my feet on the coffee table.

When did Dad started seeing a chick? And why would he want to see another chick so soon after mom died?

I clench my fist as I grip the cushion. Me seeing him with another woman makes my blood boil. Mom has been dead for eight months and he’s already balls deep into someone else. Prick.

He rushes out the office, with flushed skin and swollen lips. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and brown baseball shorts.

“Why are you here so early? You were supposed to show up an hour later.” Irritation laces his tone and I clench my fist.

What? He’s mad that I interrupted his fuck feast.

He rubs the back of his head and flops on the couch smelling like he drowned in expensive perfume. I cough a few times, trying to clear my airways.

“We were supposed to play basketball.” I sit up forward, digging my nails in the navy-blue cushion. “But I guess you had other plans.”

He crosses his leg on his knee and run his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. My dad looks like a knock-off version of Johnny Depp. He’s a few inches shorter than me and his skin is tan and rubbery. He’s fit, though. And not like most men his age. He doesn’t have a beer belly hanging over his pants. And he sometimes dresses like an eighties rock star. Leather shirt. Leather pants.

Thank the Heavens he isn’t dressed like it now.

I tap my foot to a tuneless beat. “You move on fast, Momma’s been dead barely a year and you got someone to deepthroat your dick. Real classy, Dad.”I can’t keep the sarcasm out my tone, and the way he glares at me tells me he hates my remark. His face shows a new kind of emotion—guilt. Maybe he feels guilty for moving on. Maybe he feels guilty because I caught him with another woman. Either way, I don’t give a shit.

“You watch your fucking tone with me. Just because you’re grown doesn’t mean you can disrespect me.” His words don’t sting so instead I ignore him.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Your mother wanted this. She wanted me to be happy.”

“Yeah, Mom wanted you to get your dicked suck as soon as she was buried in the ground.”

He grinds his molars at my words. “We’re serious, so get used to seeing her around.” He sighs. “Just because I found love again, that doesn’t mean I’m replacing your mom or that I loved her any less. She was my first love and will always be my first love. What we had was special. But I’m not going to wallow in my grief. I have to move forward. No matter what you do, son. Always move forward.” His words strike me like lightning, and I understand what he’s saying. The love my dad had for my mom, you hear about in country music. It’s Disney fairy tale shit. If I didn’t witness the love that my parents had, then I wouldn’t believe it existed.

My dad’s plaything strolls in, her face clean from makeup. She’s tiny and thin as a rail and her eyes are the color of seafoam. Completely opposite from how my mother looked before the breast cancer took away her strength and her beauty. My mother was naturally tan and had blonde hair and she always wore a pixie cut. She didn’t dress in designer clothes but shopped at the thrift store. My mom brightened the room with one smile and greeted everyone. This woman looks composed and graceful, but cold and dead. She reminds me of Maleficent.

She peers between me and my dad with nervousness in her eyes. The kind of nervousness that someone is waiting for approval. If that’s what she’s looking for, then she isn’t getting it from me. I don’t know her from a can of paint and she’s already leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Who finds it okay to try to date a man who is still in the grieving process of losing their wife? It’s not my job to play Sherlock Holmes so if Dad doesn’t want to find out why this woman is sticking around, then that’s his problem not mine. I don’t dabble in personal business.

She sits next to him and their fingers entwine. I roll my eyes. Their relationship is a joke.

“My name is Patricia.” And she holds out her hand. “You’re Felix. Your dad can’t stop bragging about you.”

“Funny, I haven’t heard jack shit about you.” Her eyes widen to the size of saucers and she laughs nervously. And I stare at her hand then she puts it by her side awkwardly.

My dad glares at me, giving me his ‘you better fucking behave’ look, the same look he used to give me as a child. Yeah, that glare doesn’t work on me. I’m a twenty-four-year-old man. What’s he going to do, ground me?

“I have to go.” She stands up, brushes off her pencil skirt.

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