Just a Number(41)

After taking my shoes off, I grab my bag and walk through the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and making my way for the living room so I can do a little bit of my homework. I put my books on the sleek glass coffee table and sit on the floor with my back against the black leather couch, flipping on the TV.

I see that Owen has HBO, and I’ve been meaning to catch up on Game of Thrones, so I go to his On Demand menu and locate the show. Naturally, this means I won’t be getting any homework done, but I have all weekend, right?

An hour later, and fifteen minutes into my second episode, my books remain untouched, and my apple is finished. It isn’t that I haven’t tried to do a little homework, but every time I look down at my books, something huge happens on the show. There’s no way I can multi-task this time.

I’m so caught up in my show that when my phone buzzes on the table in front of me, I pick it up without looking at the caller ID, figuring it’s probably just Owen calling to ask what kind of pizza he should pick up. “Hey,” I say, unable to take my eyes off the TV during one of the many bloody crusades. “I’m here already.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad replies, shocking me.

“D-dad,” I stammer, sitting up quickly, my back going rigid. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good. How’re you doing? How’s school?” he asks as I’m still trying to find my bearings.

“School’s good.” I haven’t spoken to my dad since everything happened last week. I knew that if I tried to talk to him then, he’d figure out something was wrong, so I just let him think I was busy all weekend. Sure, it was a pretty asshole thing to do, but I was still pretty visibly shaken after Friday night.

“What are you up to? Homework?”

I try not to laugh too loud as I shake my head and pause the TV. “No, actually. I’m just catching up on Game of Thrones while I wait for my pizza to get here.” Yes, I could have lied to him, but I’m so bad at it that it’s always just been easier to omit a few key facts instead. As long as he doesn’t ask if I plan to hang out with anyone, I should be okay.

Dad pauses. “Never heard of it. Is it any good?”

I try to think of a way to explain it to my dad without letting him know that his “little girl” watches a show as sexually fueled as this one. “I enjoy it. It, uh, has a tendency to be a little risqué, but it’s a good story with interesting characters.” There, that should cover up the fact that I enjoy the sexy parts just as much as the rest of it. Wouldn’t want my dad thinking I’m less than angelic, after all.

He clears his throat, clearly not wanting to discuss just how explicit the show might be. “Well, I know you probably have plans tonight…” There’s a certain inflection in his voice, and I wonder if he’s going to ask about the guy he knows—but doesn’t really know—I’m seeing. When he doesn’t mention it, I breathe a sigh of relief; he probably figures that Owen will talk to me about it…which I suppose he kind of did. So to speak, anyway.

“Anyway, I’m just calling about Christmas this year,” he continues, breaking me from my confusing merry-go-round of thoughts. “You’re still coming home, right? You don’t have…other plans?”

What he really wants to know is if I’m going home with my fifty-year-old boyfriend. I can read between the lines when everything is bold and underlined.

I laugh. “Yes, Dad, I’m coming home for Christmas. Who else is going to cook that big feast?”

Dad snickers in response. “Good to hear. I was thinking of inviting Owen, too. Maybe even have his sister and her husband come to the Christmas Eve get-together. What do you think?”

I’m successful in holding back a squeal of excitement—barely. Christmas with Owen? While this is hardly the first time we’ve spent the holidays together, this will be the first time we’ve spent the holidays together. What makes this especially funny to me is that Dad seemed a little concerned that I’d be spending Christmas with the much-older guy I’m seeing and has now, inadvertently, offered to make this happen.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Just then, the front door opens, and I see Owen appear. He sees I’m on the phone and simply waves, not wanting to interrupt. He enters the living room and leans down to kiss me. When I mouth that it’s my dad on the phone, he turns tail and heads into the bedroom like a bat out of hell.

“Okay, well I’ll do that, then,” Dad says. “Enjoy your show. I’ll call you next week.”