Chapter Six
HOPE
“Ithink it’s wonderful, dear. Finding someone you can spend your time with is an incredible thing,” Mom says. It’s not the reaction I was expecting to hear, and my attempt at shattering her walls with my inevitable independence goes unnoticed.
I blush at the thought of Wilson being an incredible thing. I can still feel the sting of his belt on my ass every time I adjust against the counter, and it serves to make me giddier for our afternoon out.
Mom’s standing over the kitchen sink, scrubbing a pot from last night’s dinner.
Frail fingers clutch a green sponge, wiping away grime with expert precision.
Paper-thin, leathery skin stretches across her tiny body.
It adds a decade to her thirty-eight years, most noticeable around her lips and eyes.
Even her black hair is greying far too early.
But Mom’s never been the real problem. It’s the man she’s shacked up with, the man I call Dad, by title alone, who’s the issue. Like some demon cast in pestilence and famine, he takes and takes, never giving even a scrap.
“Where’s he going to take you?” she asks, rinsing the suds off the pot under the faucet.
“We haven’t really spoken about it,” I say. Wilson’s a reserved man, and from what I can tell, he’d much rather show than tell. It adds a sense of mystery and excitement to our first date out in the world.
The only thing I can truly be certain about is how our date’s going to end. Not so much what happens in between.
“He’s keeping it a surprise? It’s going to be good then,” Mom says.
She finishes off the remaining dishes, three plates, and three sets of knives and forks, drying her hands on a dishcloth.
There’s a fondness in her eyes as if she’s been whisked away on some mental journey to her youth.
In the past, she’s hinted at the good times she shared with my father.
How he drove a red muscle car, had stars in his eyes, and the drive to conquer this world.
My birth, a year and three months after their second date, shattered his aspirations.
And right on cue, it seems he wants to do the same to me.
“You’re not going to be dating while you’re under my roof,” Dad’s voice comes from the living room beside the kitchen.
It’s stern, paternal, and if I didn’t know his intentions were sinister, I might’ve thought him caring.
“Too young, too much going on, and I won’t let you lose your path to some prick… Figuratively and literally.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Mom whispers so he can’t hear, folding up the dishcloth and hanging it over the side of the kitchen counter. “You go out and enjoy yourself.”
Screw that. I’m not going to keep playing into this bullshit anymore.
If the last few days taunting and tempting Wilson has taught me anything, it’s that I hold more power than I care to admit.
If I can break him, then I sure as shit am not going to stand here and be whipped around by a father who doesn’t deserve to carry the title.
“Mom was my age when you started seeing each other,” I say.
It brings an instant flash of sadness to Mom’s eye.
“Look how that ended,” Dad shouts. “Twenty years on with a daughter following in her fuck-up footsteps.”
This hurts her more than my insistence on fighting it.
I step through the doorway leading into the living room, and there he is. Dad’s sitting in a pair of stained boxers, with his withering frame jutting out of them. Twig-like arms and legs don’t match the belly he carries. Somehow, poverty’s treated him well while the rest of us suffered.
Clutched in his grip, the tip of a dark blue glass bong hovers in front of his mouth. A wad of green sticks out the bottom, and he’s holding an unlit lighter against it. Two black dots peer at me through the slivers of his narrow eyelids.
It’s good to know my money’s being well spent.
“Christ, look at you,” Dad spits. “You’re not even covered up. What do you think parading yourself like a whore is going to put in this guy’s head? Working at that club has muddled your judgment.”
His eyes trail my body. I’ve grown accustomed to wearing skimpy outfits for Wilson, and I don’t plan on changing it now. One way or another, I’m going to have him today.
“At least it’s a job,” I say. “I’m not sitting on my ass, getting high or drunk before lunchtime.”
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Dad launches out of his chair.
Mom intervenes, stepping between us and waving her hands through the air, doing her best to calm the situation.
“Sit down, Luke,” she demands. “We don’t have to make a fight out of this.”
But Dad doesn’t listen. He’s in beat-down mode, and won’t be calmed until he’s delivered some sort of punishment. Rather me than Mom… However fucked up that sounds. She carries years of his abusive antics on her shoulders.
“I’m not going to be disrespected in my own home,” Dad spits. “I’m going to teach this brat a lesson.”
A home you haven’t lifted a finger to help with since I was old enough to work. I hold back on saying it, knowing he’d fly into a fit of blind rage.
Dad approaches me, but Mom gets in the way of him again. She blocks with a hard shove, sending him a few steps back. A balled fist tenses at his side.
“Get out of my way, Marge,” he says in a sneering whisper.
Fear. That’s the logical response to my situation, but I don’t feel any. I’m angry, disappointed, and ready to go to war. I’ve been the lapdog for too long now, and enough is enough.
“Get out of my way,” Dad yells, flinging his hands onto Mom’s shoulders. With a hard shove, she flies to the side. Her dainty frame topples into the coffee table, and she collapses to the floor.
Dad approaches me with cold intensity. I recoil, blocking my face from whatever strike he’s about to throw. But we don’t get that far; not before I hear Wilson Delaney’s voice from the entryway.
“Giving your daughter a hug goodbye?” Wilson asks. “Because that better be what I’m seeing.”
Dad stops dead in his tracks to lock eyes on the stranger inside his house. “Who the hell are you?”
“I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in. The door was wide open,” Wilson ignores Dad’s question. He’s fiddling with a golden ring on the middle finger of his right hand. “I’m here to pick up Hope. We’ve got a day out planned.”
Wilson’s menacing form steps into the living room, and he helps my mother to her feet. She apologizes and thanks him. Mom has no reason to be sorry. She hasn’t done anything wrong. Life with a man like my father has conditioned her to be submissive and apologetic, and it makes me deeply sad.
Dad stands gawking at Wilson’s enormous frame, while Mom pats down her ill-fitting summer dress.
“Marge, is it? Hope’s told me so much about you,” Wilson says, turning his attention back to Dad. “I hear you’re having trouble with your health. If there’s anything I can do to make it easier, let me know.”
Mom thanks him again.
“We don’t need no help from you.” Dad waggles a finger at Wilson.
“I wasn’t offering any to you,” he says. “You’re a self-sufficient man, aren’t you? Strong enough to hold your own and care for your family. I’m sure this altercation is about the stench of marijuana flooding your home. Hope’s been a very naughty girl.”
Even in this tense situation, those words and the memory of last night, have butterflies exploding in my belly.
“I’ll have to have a chat with her about this behavior. It certainly can’t go unchecked. That is unless you have something to tell me, Luke. Something that requires my judgment,” he continues.
Calm, cool, and calculated, Wilson stands squarely against my Dad. Intimidation is an understatement. Without having to make any real threats, he’s left my dad as a nervous, shaking puddle.
“N… no,” Dad stutters the word out. “We’re all fine and dandy here, Mr.—“
“Delaney.”
Dad nods nervously. “Yup, everything’s fine here. I’ll leave Hope to you. Maybe you can talk some sense into this girl’s head.”
Dad doesn’t turn to face me while he speaks, staring wide-eyed at Wilson instead.
“And let’s pray for your sake that there isn’t any trouble with Marge when I get back either. My leniency only stretches so far. Do you understand?”
Dad’s head starts bobbing frantically again.
“Good. Then it’s settled. Let’s go, Hope. Our reservation is in an hour.”
Together, Wilson and I leave, hand in hand, and I’ve never felt more attracted to him.