Chapter 12 #2
The only response I got was a deep vocal breath. Jim and David side eyed each other as they picked up the menus, Jim handing me mine, our fingers touching. I quickly took it with a slight smile when my dad broke the silence asking, “What’s good?”
Without missing a beat, David started talking about how the burgers were the best in the city and how it’s not just his opinion even though his opinion counts the most. And the fresh carved steak sandwich, if we wanted something more.
My dad hummed, when a lovely girl my age walked up and asked what we would like to drink.
This is the most painful meal experience in my existence.
Not even David’s endless chatter about how they met couldn’t save it.
David and Jim have been friends ever since they met in the mine.
Jim thought he was the most annoying person he ever met, but David wore him down.
“Look, I know it’s rare I shut up but, who could really resist being friends with me, yeah?
” He told us some of the antics they got up to, and I tried to listen and pay attention to them, but I was a restless mess the entire meal.
At one point Jim reached under the table and placed his hand on my knee.
Clearly the bouncing was noticeable. When he needed his hand back to eat, he pressed his leg up against mine.
It made me feel comforted. But it also made me question Jim’s intentions. I have never met another man as comfortable with touch as he was. It’s considered taboo to touch another man unless it’s a handshake or a backslap. Even hugs were looked down upon.
Between my dad and those women who kept looking over at us, it was killing my mood.
When the women got up to leave, they had to walk by us which was when David finally noticed them, his mouth falling open.
He looked at Jim and mouthed ‘Oh my god’ without actually saying it, only making me want to know who the broads were more.
When they were finally out of ear shot I asked, “Okay, I have to know,” grabbing everyone’s attention. “Who were those women?”
David scrunched his lips and nose like he smelt something toxic. My dad squinted his eyes reading the situation, surely sensing something that would raise his blood pressure.
When David kept quiet, I looked at Jim, who finally answered. “The fake blonde one is Richard’s wife, Karen,” leaving it at that.
“Wait,” Dad pointed at David, “the same guy that did that to him? The one that tried to hit my kid?”
“I really need everyone to stop calling me that,” I said under my breath, then feeling a hand on my knee again. I looked up at Jim, but he was looking at David.
“The one and only,” David said, touching his face lightly with a little wince.
I bet it’s still sore even two days later.
“And the one that was walking out behind her was his sister, Patricia. But the most shocking of it all was, one of them was Mary,” his voice getting louder, like he was completely flabbergasted.
He looked at Jim, “When did that happen? Did you know she was associated with them?”
“Why or how would I know? You are the one that’s been pining over her,” he said sympathetically, adding, “But if you had any chance before, I think it just got flushed.”
We all finished our meals quickly, a thickness in the air now, with Dad, David and I having burgers with a side of their famous fried onions and Jim got the steak sandwich with Pittsburgh Slaw, because the citizens of the city just had to be different.
The server took our plates away leaving us with three empty pilsner glasses and my lonely Nehi Root Beer, and the one check. Jim reached for it and pulled his wallet out when dad jumped in. “Jim, no,” with nothing but seriousness, reaching his hand across the table. “Let’s have her split it.”
“It’s fine, Mike,” already pulling out three one-dollar bills and leaving them on the table with the check. Jim then got on his feet, motivating everyone else to follow. We said thank you to the server as we passed her on the way out and went up the stairs to the door.
On the street we awkwardly stood on the corner until Dad said, “We should probably head back.”
David pointed in the direction we needed to go, not saying a single word, his head hanging low, but his muscular body not letting him slouch.
I think he’s done with how unseasonable the meal turned out to be at the end.
He and Jim started walking, Jim whispering something to him, patting his back, leaving me with dad.
We walked two blocks down Grant Street, then turned onto Fourth Avenue to get to the Trolley Station before he broke the silence with a whisper, “What is going on with you and Jim?”
I tripped in surprise, arms flying out to regain balance, almost landing on my face. Out of everything, that was the last thing I was expecting to hear come from my dad, let alone right now, while in public. He probably couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Nothing,” I gasped back, scrunching my face, adding a layer of nonchalance. Dad was looking at me like he’s reading the headline of the newspaper, with the big bold letters clear as day across my face.
“You think you can hide shit from me, son, but you can’t.
I know you. Something is going on. I don’t know if it’s just on your side or if it’s reciprocated, but it needs to stop.
Squash it,” saying the last two words with finality.
Putting an end to the conversation before paying to get on the trolley to go back across the river, to the station located at the base of the mountain next to the incline.
I hung my head back with a big sigh.
This is painful as hell.