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“Done!”
When he doesn’t attempt to speak further, I consider getting up to resume my booze search yet find my legs incapable of moving.
Perhaps I’m paralyzed.
Perhaps being disfigured and permanently unable to move would be the appropriate penance for shunning a sibling I never knew.
Denying her access to our resources.
Our reach.
Having her live a partial truth simply because my family refused to live a full one.
She deserves more than the funds that had been deposited into her mother’s account.
More than the hush money that put her through college.
And she wants more.
And she’s gonna get it.
On. Live. Fucking. Television.
All of a sudden there’s a sharp pounding on my office door that shoots my eyes back open. “Weston fucking Wilcox you open this goddamn door right now!”
Fuck, she’s loud.
Too loud.
An unexpected hit is delivered to the locked door. “Now!”
Too loud and too fucking angry.
“You open this goddamn door and tell me how you could stand me up at the fucking doctor!”
Doctor?
What doctor?
Why was she at the doctor?
“How could you not be there for your child?!”
No.
That’s not right.
That appointment is for…
Well it shouldn’t have been until…
Huh.
What day is it?
What time is it?
“How could you not even answer my fucking phone call?!” Another hit lands on the barrier, although I’m not sure if it’s from her hand or foot. “How could you not text me back?!” More banging. Pounding. “How can you treat me worse as your fiancée than you did when I was a fucking stranger here just to make sure you didn’t kill my mom!?”
