Page 69 of Dizzy

“She could if she wanted. I’d rather her work around the house, but that’s up to her.”

“If she decided to stay home, could I come live with you?”

Whoa. Did not see that coming. “Why do you ask that, bud?”

I’m playing for time. I know Parker gets real hinky when it’s time to go back to Steve’s. It can’t be easy livin’ with one foot in one place, the other somewhere else. It sucks. Carson rolls with it a lot better.

“If I lived here, we could finish the rebuilds a lot quicker.”

True. Parker and I rebuild old dirt bikes we find on the internet and donate them to local families who have kids who want to ride and can’t afford it. It’s a great way to teach him about engines. We’ve done 2-strokes, 4-strokes, you name it.

“We ain’t under a deadline.”

“But if Carson and I stayed here, we could do all sorts of stuff more. Like, um—Like just be here. With you. At Steve’s place, we’re alone all the time.”

I school my face. Make sure he can’t see the ugliness I got inside when it comes to this.

My dad never said a bad word about my mother in his life. I distinctly remember her driving him insane, bitchin’ about him getting grease on the towels or her carpet, and he’d get so pissed. He’d stomp out to the garage, bang shit around for a few hours. Then he’d come in for dinner and kiss her. She’d have made his favorite—fried chicken or cobbler—and that was the end of it.

Sharon and I ain’t together, but I want my boys to understand that’s how it goes. Behind closed doors, shit gets real. But around other people, a man treats his woman with respect. Full stop.

So I don’t say what I’m thinkin’ about his mother. Instead, I say, “Your mom says she’s got a work thing. In a little bit, y’all are gonna be staying with me for a few weeks while she’s out of town.”

“I’m not talking about a few weeks. I mean, like, for real.”

I sigh, grit my teeth. “Your mom and I have a setup. You know that.”

“Mom won’t care.” His voice is bitter.

“Why do you say that?”

I ain’t thick. I know he’s noticed how things have been going. A few hours turning into a few days. A weekend turning into a week. Sharon’s doing well for herself, and selling houses takes a lot of time. The hours ain’t regular. I try not to judge.

But she was so damn hot to make sure I didn’t get no more visitation than the minimum when we first split, though. I try not to dwell on it. But every time she asks me to “watch” my own kids—when back then, she swore to the judge I was a piece of shit—it’s a raw wound.

“She’s always showing houses. If someone’s home, it’s Steve, and he don’t want us around.”

Fuck. I wasn’t prepared for a heavy conversation when I came down. I probably should have been. Parker’s clearly been working himself up to this for a while.

“Yeah? He always seems like a friendly guy.”

Steve’s a dick. Smiles like a used car salesman and talks like a sports announcer.Play one game at a time, right? Slam dunk. Got to keep your eye on the ball.

He always comes across as smug to me, as if he’s proud of himself for fuckin’ my wife. But he’s got it twisted. As soon as she gave it up to him, I didn’t want her no more. Truth be told, it was a relief. I’d been mostly hanging around for the boys for a while before she stepped out.

“Steve’s fake as shit.”

I can’t argue with that. Hold up. Exactly how fake is Steve’s nice guy routine?

“He don’t hit you or nothin’?” I’ll put him in the ground.

“No. He huffs around, bitchin’ all the time about how we make a mess and cost him so much money.”

Bullshit. Sharon gets way more than the court-ordered support. And anytime she asks, I write a check. The mess, though. Steve’s got a point.

“You kids are terrible at cleaning up after yourselves.”

“I know. But he’s such a dick about it. He hates us.”

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