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Something I can’t do at all, now that my fucking dad decided that my money was his money, never mind the fact that he hasn’t done anything good for me since I was a little kid.
Melissa’s just asked me to give her my worries, but I can’t. She doesn’t need these worries, ones that routinely walk around in nothing but their underwear with their beer belly hanging out for everyone to see and claiming that they’re God’s gift to women.
So, I just tell her maybe I’ll tell her later, even though I have no intention of telling her anything. Doing that will just ruin this day more than it’s already been ruined, not to mention the rest of the weekend, whatever can be salvaged from it.
I do the only thing I can do; stay silent, try to relax myself with the music Melissa’s got playing through the speakers of her nice car — something New Age or South American at the moment by the sound of the pan flutes — and keep my eyes focused out the window on the freeway, on where we might be heading for our date. Our shopping extravaganza.
After a little bit of time on the freeway and taking a particularly infamous exit, I know where we’re headed almost immediately: to a very ritzy, a very well-traveled outdoor shopping mall. It’s a combination between a strip-mall and a regular big, department-store type mall. I see it looming on the horizon shortly after taking the exit.
A beautiful red brick and silver-metal lined building, with exquisitely designed walkways, marble statues, and water features, along with a classy clock tower. There are street signs to point out each area of shopping, as well as food courts, bathrooms, and so-called “scenic” areas. In addition to a shopping mall, this is practically a national Monument with the views of the city, and parts of the developing neighborhoods, a lot of people come here for the views as well as the clothes and other goods.
The moment we pull into the parking lot to this massive mecca of shopping, I despair of ever finding a parking place. Most look full up already, and it’s not even past ten a.m. Initially, I’m a little disappointed by how many people are here and how crowded it’s going to be. How many people are probably going to be going to the same shops as I will be.
And then I remember: I don’t have nearly the shopping money I’d planned to have, thanks to Dad. Thanks to his selfish assholery.
I sigh and flop my elbow and cheek against the window. As I do, my hair comes out of its styling job, where I tried to slick back my growing bangs. Just as I see part of my mopey, moody expression on my side of the window, Melissa chuckles and says, “Brighten up there, Mr. Gloomy.” Though I don’t feel much like smiling, I do. “That’s better, my dear,” she says to me. “You’re on a date with me, after all. You could be a little happier about it.”
While I hear that she’s trying to be happy and playful, I also hear a bit of sadness and irritation, as well. She really does want me to be happy and is frustrated that I’m not.
Fuck. She doesn’t deserve my bad attitude on this date because of something my dad did. My dad has no right to ruin my love life like this. Not today. Not now. Get it together, Tommy. You’re not his little boy anymore. Your Melissa’s boyfriend. Start acting like it. It doesn’t matter if you have two hundred dollars with you, or two.
I sit up off the window, happy to see that there are some parking spots beginning to show. While they stand out like bald spots in the surrounding packed parking lot, they are a pleasant sight. Especially after we’ve been bobbing and weaving through aisle after aisle of cars.
I’m not happy about the lack of money, but I can’t take that out on her. I can’t hold onto it too much.
I look over at her and find a warm smile for her. “I am happy to be on a date with you, Melissa,” I murmur, putting my hand on hers — the one not having to manhandle the wheel. “I’ve just had some things going on since last night, but they don’t matter. Not right now,” I add, not wanting to disrupt any of her good mood.
But unfortunately for me, she already looks concerned. She turns to me and asks, “What kinds of things, Tommy?” as we finally find a parking space, and settle in. As she turns off the car to study me, I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I wish I hadn’t even let that much slip, seeing the concern and anxiety on her face. It’s almost completely replaced the joy that was there a second ago.
