Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I don’t—I don’t get it,” Brian says finally.
“It’s not a joke,” Sam says. His voice is poisonous.
“I—Sam—” I start.
“No, I get it,” Sam says. Standing here, in this kitchen, he looks so much like Pop. He and Brian both have Pop’s dark hair and eyes. And the expression on Sam’s face—a kind of irritated contempt—looks so much like Pop’s that for a moment it’s like having him back. “Pop’s dead so now you can finally spread your goddamned wings and soar like a butterfly, right?” My heart lurches into my throat. “You’ll just change the shop to the way you’ve always wanted it to be. Prance off to the Pride parade like nothing ever happened. Great. Just fucking great. Lucky you. It’s like he never existed at all.”
“I don’t—what?” I say.
“Jesus, man, you think I didn’t know you liked dick?” He lets out a disgusted, vicious little laugh. “Come on, Colin. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” He’s counting things off on his fingers. “You never talk to women. Even in high school, you never went out on dates, just hung out with your football friends. All you ever wanted was Pop’s approval and to hang out with all his friends. Then Daniel came out and it was like you hated him. You made it your mission to shit on everything that made him happy. Anytime anything about him being gay came up, you stomped on it in a total panic. And Jesus save him if he said anything about it in front of Pop. It’s like you thought you needed to protect Pop from it all, like he was the kid and Daniel was the one doing something nasty.”
“I—but… I….”
“Fucking pathetic, man. It was goddamned depressing to watch you. I was so relieved when you finally moved out. Thought maybe you’d grow a pair and stop squirming under Pop’s thumb.”
“Me!” I yell, the anger finally breaking through the shock and shame. “What about you? You were always too fucking scared of Pop to say one word against him!”
“No, brother,” he spits out. “That’s where you’re wrong, as fucking usual. I wasn’t scared to speak against him. I just. Didn’t. Care.” He bites off each word like he’s going to spit it at me. “Because this business is just a job to me. A job I like, but a job.” He snorts. “Shit, Pop was miserable after Mom died. He was gonna be miserable no matter what. So I didn’t get my damn feelings hurt when Pop shot down an idea, because I didn’t fucking care. I’ve got my own life and my own shit to take care of, so Pop could run this place however he wanted. But you…. Oh, man, you practically dug your own grave every time he shot you down. Pop and I got along fine because he knew to keep his nose out of my business. But, Jesus, Colin, you two were wrapped up tighter than a square knot.”
“I… so… but—” I stammer.
“I don’t give a shit who you sleep with, man. I really don’t. You never cared about anyone but yourself anyway, so I don’t know why I’d think that’ll change now. Never cared what anyone but Pop thought, anyway.”
“Sam, I….”
“You what, man? You don’t care, so why don’t you just admit it?” Sam bites his lip. “How many times has Liza invited you over for dinner but you never come. You never ask about anything outside of the shop. Ever.”
Sam’s face is angry but his eyes are hurt. He looks really, really tired.
“Are you—did something… happen?” I ask, a shot in the dark.
“Yeah,” he says, biting his lip. “Yeah, something fucking did happen, actually. Liza was pregnant and she lost the baby last week.” Sam’s lip is trembling and he looks down at the floor.
“Fuck, Sam. Shit, I’m so sorry.”
He pours his coffee down the drain and sighs. “Thanks.”
“No, seriously. I’m sorry. About… Liza and the baby and about being so… whatever. It’s been… made really clear to me lately that I’m not good at seeing what the hell’s going on, so….”
“B-b-but….” I hear from behind me. I’d almost forgotten Brian was here. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” His voice is small, like when he was a kid. Like when Pop died. “I don’t…. If you’re… if you… but then why were you so mean to Dan? Why did you…?”
Brian’s shaking. His wet hair is dripping onto his bare shoulders and he’s covered in goose bumps. He’s hugging himself against the chill, his eyes darting from me to Sam and back again.
“I, um, I apologized to him,” I say lamely.
Brian’s eyes are wide.
“But… but I was horrible to him. I was fucking horrible to him because I thought that’s what you wanted! You were always so miserable and it was, like, the only thing I could do that seemed to make you feel better was tease him. And so I-I-I did. And now… you—and…. Fuck!”