17

It’s been two months since I’ve seen my dad, although he only lives twelve miles away. Like most realtors, he shows open houses on the weekends, and I can’t say I’ve felt much of an urge to see him, anyway. Until now, that is.

Over the last two weeks my life has taken several strange turns for the better, but I can’t share the good news with the two people I talk to the most: Mom and Abby. They’d both freak out and they’d both hate me and I’d still have to face them every day. This is just the kind of situation where absent, adulterous fathers come in handy.

He’s supposed to pick me up at lunchtime, but lunchtime comes and goes and we don’t hear from him. Mom pretends that nothing is out of the ordinary because she tries not to badmouth Dad to my face, but by four o’clock I call his cell phone to tell him that she’s dropping me off at his house. He doesn’t answer, which means he’s ignoring me because he always keeps his cell phone on. I leave a message telling him I’ll be there in half an hour.

I know it kills Mom to have to drive me over to his new home. It’s actually his girlfriend’s house, but by the time he admitted to his extracurricular activities, he’d pretty much moved in there already. It’s in a new, suburban gated community for middle-class people who believe that everyone’s out to get them. Dad must feel quite at home.

When we pull up to the gates, I’m surprised to see that he’s already waiting for me. He waves halfheartedly and wanders over to our car. Mom gets out before I can stop her.

“Hey, Kevin,” says Dad. “We’ll be heading right out, okay? Things to see, people to do, you know.” He laughs at his own wit. “Hello, Maggie.”

He swoops in to peck Mom on the cheek, but as he does she sniffs the air suspiciously.

“Have you been drinking, Darrell?”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Just drop it, okay?”

“No, I won’t drop it. You know I don’t like you driving when you’ve been drinking.”

“It’s just one drink—”

They continue to bicker, but I’ve already heard enough, so I pick up my bag and let myself into the passenger side of Dad’s car. Mom doesn’t realize what I’ve done, but Dad notices and as soon as I’m inside he waves goodbye and hustles over to join me. Before Mom can protest further, we’re pulling out into traffic.

“Christ, that was annoying.” Dad slaps the steering wheel for effect.

“Well, we haven’t had many of these family reunions yet. Maybe it’ll get easier over time.”

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts. “And maybe she’ll buy herself some clothes that actually look decent, and dye her hair like every other woman.”

I laugh in spite of myself. I suppose I’d never realized that Mom’s appearance bugged him too.

Dad notices me laughing and looks over. He has a wicked grin on his face. “See, we both know some things’ll never change.”

“I guess not.”

“I know not.”

Dad looks different than I remember. He’s dyed his hair black, and there seems to be more of it than before. He’s even wearing a new tan leather jacket, which makes him look trendier, more youthful. I’m glad that at least one of my parents is taking care of themselves.

We pull into an ugly, concrete apartment complex, where an ostentatiously large sign proudly proclaims that these are The Grovington Apartments. A part of me wants to know what we’re doing here, but another part of me certainly doesn’t, so I remain mute and follow him out of the car. Dad steps up to the nearest first-floor apartment and unlocks the door with one of the keys on his chain. He walks in and beckons me to follow.

“Ta-da!” he booms, as though I’m supposed to be impressed by the stained, cream-colored walls and the worn sofa facing an ancient TV propped up on a beer crate.

“Um, what’s going on, Dad?”

Dad shoots me a confused look. “It’s my new place,” he explains with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“But Mom took me to your new place … that gated community.”

Dad shakes his head and smiles. “No. Things didn’t work out with Kimberly, see?”

I’m trying to process this, but it requires some serious work. He left his wife of twenty-two years for this woman, and now, barely eight months later, he acts like it’s no big deal that it didn’t work out.

Dad pulls a couple cans of beer from a crate beside the sofa and hands one to me. I wait for him to take it back, say he’s kidding, but he’s already focused on his own. I hold the can tightly in both hands—it’s warm, but it’s beer so I’ll drink it anyway.

“Does it bother you that things didn’t work out?” I ask finally.

“Not really, no.” He forces a laugh. “Kimberly was a total bitch.”

I try to hide my shock, but “bitch” certainly wasn’t part of Dad’s vocabulary when he lived with us. Seems as though his drastic makeover wasn’t limited to clothes and hair.

“So . . . well, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” he mutters. “I mistook Kimberly for a smart woman—someone who’d let me be myself, without judging me the whole time. Stupid, aren’t I? First your mom, then her. I’m batting 0-for-two. Not a good average.”

“So what’s next?”

He swigs his beer and frowns. “Well, for one thing, I’m not going to get trapped again. See, I realize now that women are all about trapping guys. They talk about lack of commitment and stuff like that as if it’s some big character flaw, and so you feel all guilty and before you know it—BAM, you’re engaged, or married, and it’s all over.”

He chugs the whole beer and so I chug mine as well. Immediately my body erupts in a belch and tears sting my eyes. Dad barely seems to notice as he pulls out two more.

“See,” he continues earnestly, “there’s nothing wrong with being in a relationship per se, but you’ve got to stay on at least even terms, know what I mean? Like, if you want to have some girl, then have her.”

“I do,” I tell him, although it feels like it’s someone else saying it; the beer is already working its magic. “Twice this week I had dates with different girls.”

Dad raises his beer and knocks it against mine as a kind of masculine toast to my burgeoning libido. “That’s excellent, son. What’re they like?”

“Well, Paige is hot as hell, and Jessica’s kind of ditzy but she’s cute as well. Come to think of it, they’re both really sexy.”

I can’t believe I’m actually saying these things, but it feels good to open up at last, and I couldn’t ask for a more appreciative audience.

“So if this Paige girl is so hot, why’d you want to go out with Jessica?”

Hmmm, tricky one that, since I’m not exactly sure myself what happened there.

“I guess I didn’t want to get pinned down by her,” I say, improvising. “Although I must admit that I did feel kind of bad going out with Jessica so soon afterwards. And I didn’t have the guts to tell Paige that it was all over.”

“Hey, forget the guilt, okay?” Dad’s wagging his finger at me and looking stern. “It’s not like they wouldn’t put one over on you if they could. You know it.”

“Um, maybe.”

“Yeah, so … ” Dad polishes off another beer but this time I don’t think I can keep up with him. “So Paige wasn’t exactly Little Miss Perfect, huh?”

“No. She’s kind of vapid and self-obsessed—”

“Oh, you’ve got to watch the self-obsessed ones. They’re the worst. One moment all you can think about is how hot they are, the next you’re wondering why they completely rule your life. Take my advice—get whatever you want from whoever you want, then move on.”

“But isn’t that kind of cruel?”

He’s wagging his finger again. “Forget cruel. I played the part of dutiful husband for two decades, and let me tell you something, they don’t hand out any medals.” He shakes his head. “No sir, they weren’t lying when they said that nice guys finish last. So I say, stop trying. Just accept that it’s in a man’s nature to sow his oats.”

What has this man done with my father?

“Look,” he continues, gaining momentum with every sip of beer, “I’ve been reading this book that proves how men are genetically programmed to seek multiple partners; it’s all about evolution and survival of the fittest. So it’s really not our fault, ’cause it’s just in our nature to play the field. To deny that is to deny what makes us human.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “You wouldn’t want to deny what makes you a man, would you, Kevin?”

I hesitate. So much of what he’s saying is confusing, if not downright freaky, but I can’t deny that it’s reassuring to have my own experiences rationalized and justified.

“No, Dad. I wouldn’t want that.”

The corner of Dad’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “You’re a good kid, Kevin. I know I can trust you not to make the same mistakes I made.”

“Um, thanks.”

He nods vigorously, like he’s proud of me, like I impress him. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel wonderfully empowering.

I smile right back.