Page 71 of The Fed Sex Man

Jarod looked at my father. “I was afraid something happened to your heart.”

“Something happened with my heart in nineteen and sixty-nine, when I met your mother. It was my junior year, right after History class.” He kissed her on the cheek. “That was the day I fell in love.”

My mother and father’s relationship was something to envy. They’d fallen in love as high schoolers. My mother was like me, reserved and quiet. My father was loud, boisterous, and the quarterback of the football team. According to my mother, he brought out all the good in her.

Over the years, their love never faded. Seeing them interact with each other was rewarding.

“Let’s sit down,” I said.

“If that’ll let us get to the crux of this situation, I’m all for it,” my father said.

We each took a seat, with me letting out a long breath as I sat down. I looked at each of them and let out another. “Tyson is coming for dinner on Sunday.”

“That’s exciting news,” my mother said with a smile.

“That’s not exciting enough to have me so worried I feel like I’m gonna shit my pants,” my father said. “I’ve been half sick since your mother told me you called. Now, I’ve got bubble guts for no reason.”

“You were asleep when I opened the door,” I argued.

“Exhaustion from pacing the floor for the last two hours,” he replied.

“Well, he’s coming for dinner, and I need to set some ground rules before he gets here.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

“No razzing him about his ankle,” Jarod quipped. “Right?”

I drew a slow breath, and then glanced at each of them. “There’s more to it than that. I’ve struggled all day with what to tell everyone, and then I decided just to tell you the truth.”

“Well, thank God for that,” my father declared. “I must have done something right.”

“Daddy…”

“I’ll listen.”

I looked at my mother.

She folded her hands and rested them in her lap. “I’m ready when you are, Josephine.”

“His ankle was broken in a car wreck,” I explained. “In that same wreck, his father was killed.”

My mothers face washed with grief. “Oh heavens,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry, Josephine.”

I swallowed against my dry throat and continued. “Someone crashed into the driver’s side of the car, killing his father on impact. The car he drives today is the same car his father was driving when they were hit. I just want to make sure no one mentions football, his ankle, his parents, the wreck, or asks how or why he rebuilt the car. I want him to be comfortable.”

“That’s just awful,” my mother murmured. “Was his mother hurt?”

I sighed. “She left when he was little. His father raised him. He hasn’t seen or heard from his mother in over twenty years.”

My father stood and began pacing the floor. “I know a little something about being attached to a car.”

I rolled my eyes.

I looked at Jarod. “Nothing about the ankle. Okay?”

“I won’t say a word.”

“No football questions,” I said.