Page 83 of Rhet

I shake my head and make my way to the main dining room. As I enter the dining room a polished wrought iron arch greets me. The piano plays in the background, the dishes clank and there is a low hum of conversation. The smell of bacon and coffee intermingle in the air and my belly rumbles.

“Here you go,” the host says.

I sit, taking the menu “Can you get me coffee black, three sugars please?”

She nods and walks away. Setting the menu on the table I pull my phone out to call Zeeta. I wonder what she was up to. Maybe by now she is finishing the filing from last Friday. Part of me is itching to call her, however I don’t. I place the phone on the table.

The white linen tablecloths and stainless-steel cutlery creates a cozy refined feel. I feel a heavy hand tap my shoulder.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I know it is my father.

“Every time, I step into Le Jardin, I feel as if I accomplished something in my life,” he pulls out the white and gold upholstered chair and sits. He fixes his tan jacket and brushes his hands down his white shirt.

“I will have my usual,” he says, never turning to the host, his eyes are on me.

He is unusually happy this morning.

“What do you want?” I ask, not wanting to prolong this conversation.

“I have someone I want you to meet?” My father reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and begins texting someone, his fingers move fast across the screen and places it on the table.

“I am not in the mood to meet your new play toy dad; it’s disrespectful to Ma,” My thoughts are cut as I see the guy from the front walking toward our table. As he draws closer, I really take him in. He’s about 6’4, lean muscles, tattoos crawl all the way to the fade at the back of his skull. His hair is pulled back from his face. His jaw is firm. He walks like authority is in his DNA.

My father jumps to hug him, he pulls him into his arms. Tattooed and moody doesn’t return the hug. His arms hang to the side, his eyes are focused on me.

“Come, sit I want to you meet someone,” my father, sits with a huge smile on his face. I look towards the guy, at the way he stands and rolls his shoulders and looks at everyone in the room. As he sits I know who he reminds me of. He looks like me, just better looking.

“Did you just bring me here to introduce me to your surviving cumshot,” I can feel myself getting irritated.

“Who the fuck are you calling a cumshot?” He grips his tattooed hands on the table like he was ready to fight.

“You. Want me to call you population paste instead? You’re not my brother,” I pick my phone up symbolizing that I had enough.

“I don’t wanna be what was his name, yeah Trent, I wanna live past thirty,” he crosses his arm over his chest.

My temper rises and we booth shoot to our feet. I make it around to his seat, without missing a beat, I pull back my fist and knocked him straight in his eye. He stumbles to the floor but rises back up. As he is about to rush me my father stands between us.

“Keep my brothers’ name out your fucking mouth,” I sneer.

“Boys” My father shouts. His voice brings the whole restaurant to holt. My breathing is calm despite the fact I want to destroy this little shit snake.

My father smiles shyly, bowing to everyone around us “Sorry please continue, breakfast is on the house.” The crowd cheers, free breakfast from Le Jardin was a rare treat. My father places his hands on both of our shoulders.

“Please sit down the both of you,” he begs.

I shift my shoulders away from my father’s touch and sit down.

The post term abortion touches his eye that is slowly swelling. My father puts his hand proudly on the guy’s back.

“Rhet this is Draven he is,”

“Jizz his mother should have swallowed.” I reply. Maybe under different circumstances this could have been a beautiful introduction but it’s not. I feel like my father is trying to fill the hole that Trent left behind. That’s driving me crazy.

“Rhet! Draven’s mom passed away recently and now he is staying in one of my condos.”

I should feel sorry about this kid’s mom passing but I don’t.

“This is not the way I envisioned this happening?” My father whispers.

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