She wanted to take his advice. She really did. But when she returned to work after her lunch date with Max, she had four new files on her desk. On the way home, the skies opened up in a torrential downpour, and traffic inched along. The driveway was dark when she pulled in, and she stepped in a puddle on her way into the house. She stumbled inside late, wet and tired.
Woody was sprawled out on the sofa watching TV and eating potato chips. "Hey, sweetie, you're late."
"Yeah. Nice of you to turn on the porch light for me," she mumbled.
He smacked his forehead. "Aaaah! I'm sorry. I forgot."
She walked around to the back of the sofa. He was watching what appeared to be a home video of a man running around in the yard trying to pull an arrow out of his backside. Woody laughed uproariously.
"What are you watching?"
"America's Funniest Home Videos."
"'Cause nothing says funny like watching junior shoot dad in the ass with a bow and arrow." She threw her bag down on the floor for emphasis.
"I thought you liked this show."
"No, you like this show."
She flopped in the armchair and watched him. He burst into side-splitted laughter at some new video and crammed a mouthful of chips into his mouth. The crumbs dropped to his bare chest and down into the seat cushions.
And then he reached into the bag and took another handful of chips, and she watched as the crumbs fluttered down again. It was like this for five minutes, her blood pressure rising as he sat glued to the TV, chomping away, sitting in a pile of potato chip crumbs.
The program cut to a commercial for a local steakhouse. She cringed and held her breath. She knew what was coming. It was just a matter of time. She waited, and then:
"Did I ever tell you my story about that place?"
She exploded. "Yes! Yes! Yes! You told me your story about that place. Over and over and over again. Every time we pass it, every time the commercial comes on. How it was the first place you ate when you came to Boston and you found broken glass in your French onion soup and they gave you a free meal and a gift certificate for 50 but you've never used it blah blah blah BLAH BLAH!"
He looked up at her, incredulous. "What is wrong with you?"
"Look! The chips! You're shoving chips in your mouth and blowing the crumbs everywhere and then licking your fingers and sticking your hand back in the bag! It's driving me insane!"
He pointed to the bag with innocent eyes. "What this?" He reached in the bag and shoved a handful in his mouth and crunched furiously, sending the crumbs spewing across the room. "Does that bother you?"
"I can't believe you did that!"
"You think you're the only one around here who isn't annoying? You know what? You're really annoying! First of all, you put the toilet paper roll on wrong. Every. Single. Time. It faces out, not in. And speaking of bathrooms, every time I open the closet in there, I get hit in the face with a box of one of your lady things for your monthlies. I mean, how many of those things do you need? You got super, you got regular, you got wings, you got no wings. And you know what else? Your feet are really weird. You got that little toe with no nail, and it curls up onto the top of your foot. And you're always asking me to rub your feet, but to be honest, it grosses me out."
She jumped up. "Oh, my God! You are so shallow! I'm annoying because my feet are weird?"
"I'm shallow? You were ready to ban me from the breakfast table because my jaw annoys you!"
"That's totally different!"
The phone rang. He clapped his hands over his ear and crossed the room to pick it up. "Blah blah I am not listening blah blah."
She continued on while he answered the call, something about his snoring and failing to put the lid back on the toothpaste.
She couldn't hear him over her rant, but then he finally turned to her. She stopped, and her heart fell when she saw him there, grim faced with his hand still on the phone.
"Jordan...it's the hospital. It's your dad."
