Tell Dad it's okay.
It's funny that people think I make up stories about my childhood. I don't. Every story is true. My father marches to the beat of his own drum. Always trying to make more money, even when he had none. Always trying to woo the ladies. Always drinking. I know in his own way, he loved my mother. I know in his own he loves me. I have to credit him for my love of movies, though because if he hadn't out galvanting maybe we would have more quality time meaning less time for movies. For that, I wouldn't change it.
oOo
"Want an apron?" Boss Man asked. Like I really had a choice. Dad was holding the turkey gizzard asking me to do something with it. What? I went for the trash barrel. Ugh, that's why I don't cook.
Of course, Gibbs would let Dad stay with him. That was fine, I guess. I think I'm going to need some bourbon. Gibbs has it around here somewhere.
"Sure." I responded. Gibbs reappeared with one pretty quickly. Then he went back to looking over his bills or whatever he was doing when I got there.
"So, make yourself comfortable, Junior. We are cooking an entire feast? Do you cook a lot?"
"Why? Thanksgiving is Thursday. Me cook? Not too much. I use the microwave. I have some numbers on speed dial or I go out and sometimes Ziva cooks."
"And how are you Ziva not involved yet?"
"Dad, I don't want to talk about that?"
"Like I said before, you better come to your senses soon."
"I heard you the first time."
"Alright." Dad was brining the turkey. The stovetop had a pot boiling with potatoes.
"Dad, I just want to tell you that it's okay."
"What is?"
"Us. Since you heard everything before, I wanted to tell you I will always to my best to protect you but you need to start taking better care of yourself."
"I know."
"Do you? You need to stop this pretending. You're living in fantasy world."
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing, Dad." I shook my head. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time."
Thanks for reading.