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25
CHASE
“I fed your cunt.”
“Jesus, Liz.” I shake my head at the hotel room’s ceiling, hand holding my cell to my ear. “Way to take the finesse out of the joke.”
Sunlight filters through the white sheers covering the hotel windows. Bell got up a few minutes ago and demanded I stay put and let her shower in peace. She ambled off, muttering something about not being able to walk.
My sister scoffs at me. “Please, that’s what you meant when you named him Mike Hunt.” Liz’s usually chipper voice is deadened. “Might as well say what you mean.”
“What crawled up your ass today? Mike attack you with his claws of fury?” Last night, via text, Liz said she’d stop over at my place on her way to class to feed the hairless wonder this morning. Now I’m thinking I should’ve called a service. Mike can be difficult. I have the bruised dick to prove it.
“Mike?” She laughs. “You’re kidding me. That cuddle-cunt loves me.”
I shudder. “Seriously, you’ve got to stop saying that. Hearing my sister say that is just… wrong.”
I can feel her rolling her eyes at me. “Whatever. Like you don’t say worse on a daily basis.”
Liz “whatevered” me. Something must be wrong. “Okay, if Mike didn’t attack you, then what put you in this rare foul mood?”
“Dad,” she mutters. Her voice is flat and resigned.
Alert, I sit up. “What do you mean? What’s the old man gone and done now?”
The phone fuzzes with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s being weird.”
My turn to eye roll. “Way to be specific, sis.” Stan in general is weird. Although weird implies a sort of fun lightheartedness. Neither of those describe Stanley Moore. Personally, I’d go with an adjective more like demonic or malicious.
Liz sighs again. I hate when she’s upset. When she was little and upset, I’d race her around the house, make up funny stories, or take her to the park. I kind of miss how easy it was back then to keep an eye on her.
“Okay. Explain what you mean by weird.”
“Never mind. I’m fine.”
I scoff. “Yeah, I’m not stupid enough to believe a woman when she says she’s ‘fine.’”
“That’s extremely sexist, you know that, right?”
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
“Humph.”
“Come on, spill. You know you want to.”
She’s silent for a minute before giving in. “Well, you and I both know that I’ve always hoped for more paternal involvement in my life. Some semblance that Dad cared. Any kind of effort on his part, you know?”
Boy, do I know.
“Well, he finally is, but…”
I fight my surprise at my father actually doing something other than be a jerk-off father and focus on Liz’s concerned tone. “But what?”
“He’s hovering, Chase. It isn’t normal, and I can’t take it. I am literally pulling my hair out while talking with you about it.” Another pause. “Maybe I’m being contrary, but I want my distant, unfeeling father back.”
Okay, this definitely deviates from Stan’s normal daddy M.O. of ignore, shout/lecture, ignore, ignore. “How is he hovering?”
“He follows me around the house, asking if I’ve seen you. If I’ve seen Thomas. If I’ve talked to you. If I’ve talked to Thomas. Asking where I’m going all the time.” She huffs. “He even asked if I wanted a ride to class today.” She pauses as I take that in. “He doesn’t even drive, Chase!”
