None of this would have happened if he would have just let me find my own way home.
I threw my arm over my eyes and held back a scream.
It also wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t slept with Zephyr last night.
I wondered if everyone else was this rude to themselves when they talked to themselves. Most people don’t talk to themselves and then answer.
“Ugh,” I moaned. I rolled off the bed and stood.
It was one night, and it wasn’t going to happen again.
Hell, who even knew if I would ever see Zephyr again. I only saw him because of Queenie, and it wasn’t like we normally hung out. She had invited Robyn and me to Brick’s prison release party to be nice. As far as I knew, there weren’t going to be any other parties like that.
I grabbed a hair tie off my nightstand and piled my hair on top of my head.
Last night was enough excitement to last me for a decade.
Back to old Lynn.
Work, help Dad, and sleep. That was what I did, and that was what I was going to go back to doing. No more hanging out at MC clubhouses and making rash decisions after drinking a bottle of whiskey.
“I was wondering if I was going to have to yell for you again.” Dad sat at the kitchen table with his pill containers in front of him and his pillbox with the little compartments flipped open.
“And give you a reason to give me shit for something?” I plopped down in the chair next to him and grabbed the pillbox. “Have a good visit with your new friend?”
Dad scoffed. “Pretty sure that man is your friend, Lynn.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a bottle of pills. “Not friends, Dad. He’s just someone who knows someone I know.”
“Isn’t that how we all know people?”
I popped open the bottle of pills and started filling each little compartment. I could fill Dad’s pillbox in my sleep. “Are we really going to talk about this? If we are, you can leave and come pick up your pillbox later.”
Dad chuckled. “This Zephyr must be under your skin. Funny how I have never heard of the guy.”
“You haven’t heard of him because there wasn’t anything to tell.” I finished dropping one pill in the morning slot of each day and screwed the lid back on the bottle.
“Come on, Lynn. This is the first guy you’ve ever brought home.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed another bottle of pills. “It’s actually not the first guy I’ve brought home, Dad. Though to you, it might seem like it is because all of the other guys I brought home, you were either too drunk or just not around to remember.” I shouldn’t throw that in his face, but dammit, knowing what the right thing was and then actually doing the right thing was hard as hell. I could talk about supporting someone’s recovery ‘til I was blue in the face, but when it was about my own dad, I was petty and did everything I shouldn’t.
“I remember the guys Steph brought home, but not yours,” he murmured.
I dropped two of the pills from the bottle into the lunchtime compartment on Sunday. “And the ones you remember aren’t even around anymore, but you at least remember something about Steph growing up.” Not like any of the guys I had dated were around anymore, but it was just another thing to annoy me that Dad remembered about Steph and couldn’t about me.
“Are we going to do this today?” he drawled.
I scoffed and finished filling the lunch slot with the pills, then snapped the lid onto the bottle and grabbed the next one. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Dad.”
That was a lie. I knew what he was talking about. We hadn’t argued about his twelve-year addiction to booze and pills for at least six months. Normally, we were able to go about six or seven months without a word about it. Then we would have a blowup and I would go back to acting like nothing was wrong or bothering me.
It was a fucked-up cycle that I wanted to break, but I just couldn’t get over it. Again, I knew exactly what I needed to do and say to get over it, but I just couldn’t fucking do it. Some therapist I was.
“I’m sorry for what I did, Lynn. I’ll keep saying it ‘til the day you can accept it.”
“You don’t need to apologize again, Dad.” I grabbed the next bottle and twisted off the lid. “My problem isn’t your problem to deal with. I need to get over it.” Again, easier said than done.
“Anything that has to do with you has to do with me.”
If only he had felt that way all those years ago. He had missed out on a huge chunk of me growing up because he hadn’t been able to handle Mom’s death without a bottle in his hand or pills in his mouth.
I had raised Steph. For the first twelve years of her life, I had been the one who was always there for her. Not our mom or dad. Not like it was Mom’s fault that she wasn’t there, but if things would have gone differently the day Steph was born, I firmly believed my life would have been vastly altered and better.
“You’re going to need your metformin refilled this week. I’ll call the pharmacy and get it filled.” I dropped a pill in each morning and supper time slot. “If Steph can’t get to the pharmacy to pick it up, let me know, and I’ll grab it on my way home from work.”
“I can get them.”
I didn’t say anything. Of course, Dad would get it because Steph would be too busy doing whatever the hell it was she did.
Growing up, Steph and I had been super close, but once Dad got sober, the fact I took on the mother role for her didn’t sit well anymore. Once I saw that Dad was back on track, I moved out, and Steph and I grew farther and farther apart. Now that she was twenty, living in her own loft, I only saw her on holidays or birthdays. I should be the bigger person and try to bridge the gap between us, but I was sick of being the bigger person. Everyone else got to be petty and think of only themselves. Maybe it was my turn to start acting like that.
As if I could be that selfish. I was always thinking of everyone else and never about myself.
“You know I don’t like you driving around. I can get them.”
Dad sat back in his chair and huffed. “Pretty sure I just drove myself here with no problem.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wonder how many scared children in crosswalks and scuffed parked cars you left in your wake?”
He wagged his fingers at me. “How many times do I have to tell you that parked car was not there when I looked?”
I shook some pills into my hand. “Because parked cars appear out of nowhere all of the time.”
“They do, just like kids run into the road without looking where they are going.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Even the officer knew I wasn’t at fault that time. Besides, I was quick enough to avoid hitting the kid and just cracked one of those huge flower pots they have over at the park.”
“A flower pot that is almost a hundred feet off the road, Dad. It was like you swerved to avoid the kid and decided you would just keep driving on the playground.”
“The brake stuck.”
He was so defensive because he knew I was right. I had talked to the officer. He had told me I might want to see if Dad was even capable of being behind the wheel anymore.
“If the brake was stuck, you would have stopped!” I couldn’t tell you how many times Dad and I had gone back and forth about this. Four months ago, he had been driving to the DMV to renew his license and had a run-in with a ten-year-old, the kid's mother, and a huge flower pot. Since then, I hated the idea of him driving. He was well into his seventies, and his reflexes were nowhere near what they used to be. His vision either.