I repressed a sigh. “Hi, dad.”
“And you brought backup I see,” he said, looking towards Zack and shaking his hand. “How are you, young man?”
“I’m doing well, sir.”
“I ran into your father last week at the club; I heard you got a promotion.”
I glanced at Zack, who was nodding self-consciously. I wondered why he hadn’t told me that he’d gotten promoted. Was he worried I’d be jealous or something? Dad proceeded to talk to Zack and ignore me completely, and I sat back down, feeling like I had made a huge mistake by coming in the first place.
“You know, your father just helped me purchase a fantastic set of antique revolvers; would you like to take a look.”
“Uh, sure,” Zack said, shooting me an uncertain glance.
Without even sparing a glance my way, dad took Zack and left the room. Mom sat down opposite me with her hands folded elegantly over her lap. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“By that do you mean you’ll get the new Rosita to bring me a drink?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “Must you always be so difficult?”
“I’m really, really trying not to be,” I said. “What did I leave behind?”
“What?”
“You told me that I had some stuff here that you were going to get rid of if I didn’t come and collect it.”
“Oh… yes,” she nodded. “A few of your paintings from high school.”
“Ok,” I said. “Where are they?”
“In the garage,” mom replied. “I’ve packed them all up for you.”
“Ok, great, thanks,” I said, in a clipped voice.
I shouldn’t have expected anything more from either one of them, but a part of me was hurt that they hadn’t wanted to keep even one of my paintings. Of course there were several paintings lining their walls all over this house, but since the painters themselves were famous and well respected, it was worth it to display those prints.
I wondered what they would do if I actually made a name for myself and my paintings ended up selling for a couple grand a piece. It was a sweet dream, but I knew how far out of my reach it really was.
“How are you?” mom asked, even the silence stretched on.
“Uh… yeah, I’m good.”
“And you’re still going for your community service?”
“Yes, only a short while left to go.”
“And how is your money situation?” mom asked.
That surprised me. They never really asked about money… mostly because they didn’t want to give me any, but I realized that that probably came from dad.
“I manage,” I said, too proud to admit that my art couldn’t support me right now.
“If you need a little help—”
“Dad will kill you if you help me,” I said before she had even finished.
“I have money of my own,” mom said. “He can’t object to that.”
“But he will,” I said. “You know the man better than I do. It’s best you don’t help me out.”