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The door creaks and Zeke comes walking into the room.
“Hey, I only need to grab a few things, then we can head out.”
“Cool,” I respond, propping up my cheek with my fist, fighting exhaustion.
“Honey, you know your father. He only wants the best for you. He had plans for you, for your life. I mean, goodness, he and Tony were already planning to buy you and Hilary a house,” my mom paces the floor in front of me, sipping her glass of red wine.
Always with the wine.
“You didn’t see his face mom. He hasn’t spoken to me in two weeks. I just don’t understand, why can’t I live my life? Why does everything need to be pre-planned for me? I don’t want any of it,” I huff, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. I’m choosing my words carefully, because I’m angry and I’m hurt, but I’m not stupid.
Garrett and Colette Lennox are all about the image. The package. The presentation. Who gives a shit if everything beneath the surface is decayed and rotten?
“Cole Lennox, that’s enough. You should be nearly done with college by now, but you took your little gap years, and I fully supported you. I even argued your side to your father, reassuring him that you just needed time. And now you’re what? Spending all your time sucking dick and doodling, and you still haven’t made plans to enroll?”
“Mom, what the hell?”
“Where’s the lie?” she shrugs, rolling her eyes at me. “Your father was hoping you’d get all of this shit out of your system by now. Christ Cole, you’re supposed to be marrying Hilary next June, and what? Now you’re gay?”
“I never cared about Hilary, mother, she has a boyfriend anyway.”
My mother gasps, clutching her imaginary pearls and I roll my eyes.
“Surprise, surprise, she doesn’t want the cookie cutter life that was planned for her either. I’m also not gay, I’m pansexual thank you very much, dad just happened to see me with a guy that day. Why is this such a problem anyway? Who gives a shit?”
“Because Cole! This world we live in, there are expectations! Your father has an image to uphold and you’re expected to follow in his footsteps. I suggest you fall in line. I love you darling, I do, but consider this rebellious phase of your life over,” she pinches the bridge of her nose as though merely being in my presence gives her a tension headache.
“Mo-”
“No,” she snaps. “I’m through with your antics.”
Spinning around on one foot, I watch her leave for the last time. As her Louboutins clack across the hardwood floors of our den, I stand up and make my way up the stairs to pack a bag and plan a trip to nowhere.
“What are you doing?” Zeke’s voice stirs me from my nap, and I yawn looking up at his face which is laced in confusion and minor irritation.
“Huh? I’m sorry, I was so tired,” I mutter, as I sit up and stretch.
“No, I mean,” he motions down at the photograph sitting in my lap.
“Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you about this.”
“What about it?” he eyes me cautiously.
“I know you were a foster kid, is this your dad? I know the Hellhounds, they come into the bar all the time, but I don’t recognize him.”
“Not my dad,” he snatches the photograph and plops down on the couch next to me.
“Oh, an uncle or something?”
“Jesus, you’re nosey,” he mutters.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to -”
“No, it’s fine,” he runs one hand through his hair and stands the photo on the coffee table. “I am a foster kid. Well, former foster kid. But it was a bad situation, so I went from foster care to homeless. I was on the streets for weeks when Rodney found me sleeping out back and he uh, well he put a roof over my head. The rest is history. You wouldn’t know him because he died a few years back, before you came to Havok Hills. Bike accident.”
“Oh,” I instantly feel like a complete jerk for prying into his life, and I’m not sure what to say. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you had him for the time that you did though.”
“Thanks,” he cracks a half smile. “Me too. Closest thing to a real dad I ever had I guess. Taught me to defend myself. Taught me to tattoo. Did a lot for me. How ‘bout your dad?”