His (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance)(24)
I knock on the door to my dad’s house. He lives on the lower east side in a studio apartment. The whole building smells like desperation and booze. Just being inside always makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I don’t know how he stands it here. The door opens to reveal my dad, craggy faced and bleary eyed. He blinks at me and clumsily motions for me to come in.
“It’s after noon, dad. Really?”
He rubs the back of his head. “I haven’t already been drinking, if that’s what you’re asking. Wish I had,” he adds, grinning briefly until he sees I’m not smiling. He smooths his features and rushes to clear fast food wrappers from his couch so I have a place to sit.
I cross my arms. “I’m fine,” I say. The truth is that I don’t want to touch any more than I have to here. “You said you needed to talk to me about something important. I’m here.”
“You sure you don’t want to sit?” he asks, motioning to the open spot on the couch and looking more pathetic than usual.
I sigh and take a seat to avoid hurting his feelings. It’s easier to be hard on him when he’s drunk. There’s a little girl somewhere inside of me that never gave up hope that the dad I knew before Mom died would come back. When he’s sober, I can see small glimmers of the man he was. It’s my undoing. It always has been. “Why did you ask me to come here, Dad?”
He uses his forearm to clear a space for himself on the coffee table, knocking chinese food containers and plates to the floor. He sits and rests his elbows on his knees, hanging his head for a second before looking up at me with tears in his eyes. “I’m in trouble, Aubs.”
The pet name grates at me. He hasn’t earned the right, I just don’t have it in me to tell him not to call me that. “What kind of trouble?”
“I took out some loans from some bad people.”
It feels like there’s ice in my throat and my chest. “Dad…”
He stands, pacing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I needed the money! I’m not a saint, okay? I’m not fucking perfect. I’m not some animal that’s happy just living off scraps and beans, spending my whole day cooped up because I can’t afford to go out.”
I swallow the first unhelpful sentences that rise to my mind. You would have money for take out if you stopped spending it on booze. You would have money if you didn’t keep getting yourself fired. You can’t live like an animal, but you expect me to live like one to pay your bills? Instead, I take a deep breath and reach for his forearm. “Come on Dad, sit down. You’re getting worked up. I need to know how much you owe these people.”
He pulls his hand away and walks to the other end of the small apartment before turning around. He shakes his head slowly. “Ten grand.”
I feel numb. I don’t yell or scream or lose my calm. It just washes over me, so unbelievable that it refuses to sink in. “How long do you have to pay them?”
“I owed them last month. Every month I don’t pay, they charge me another grand. These guys don’t have unlimited patience, Aubs. They are going to hurt me if I don’t pay soon, and bad.”
It finally sinks in. They are going to kill him. I can barely manage to scrape an extra four hundred dollars a month to pay for his bills and basic needs as it is. It would take me more than a year at that rate, and if they charge $1000 a month in interest? There’s no way. “You’ve got to get a job, Dad. Something. I can’t come up with that kind of money.”
“What about your car?” he asks.
“I drive a Corolla, I’d be lucky to get a $1000 for it. It’s like ten years old.”
He puts both his hands on his head, pacing back and forth. “I’m dead. They’re going to kill me.”
“What did you need a loan for? You’ve been bleeding me dry for money. What else could you possibly have needed ten grand for?”
“I thought I could make a few good bets and get back on my feet. I just…”
I hold up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “You’re unbelievable.” I stand, grabbing my things and heading for the door. I stop before leaving, one hand on the door. “I can’t save you from this.”
He looks so pathetic standing there with his arms limp at his sides that I almost feel bad. Who am I kidding, I do. I feel like the world’s worst daughter, abandoning my own dad when he needs me most. I don’t know what else to do, though. I can’t come up with ten grand.
I meet Aria and her brother, Adam, at a local taco place. The decorations are cheesy. It looks like an American’s stereotypical idea of Mexico. Sombreros, maracas, Dia de Muertos decorations, and paintings of short men with thick mustaches on the walls. Despite the gaudy furnishings, the food is delicious. I have a fish taco with a shrimp aioli sauce and cabbage. Aria’s eating crisped tortillas with pork and a pineapple sauce. Her brother chose the most boring thing on the menu, as usual, and has a large basket of nachos with a bowl of queso.