four | fathers | 256 words
Updated: 8/18/2018
"Is there a reason behind the house call, or should I call a taxi and tell 'em you lost your way?" Alan glanced up from the studying the water stains on the floor to regard his son's tired face. He'd gotten so used to the constant use of sarcasm, that the bite of his words didn't register in his head as anything except a question.
Alan gestured casually to the front door, a bemused smile on his face. "My car's outside, but thanks for the concern," Alan replied. Jet hung his head low and muttered under his breath and began to count the seconds.
He knows Alan means well. Even at 28 years old, Jet knows Alan just wants to do right by his son. However, the easy acceptance or readiness to accept his father's hand had fallen away when he was eighteen.
Eva loathingly regarded it a remnant of his "teenage angst" years and Jet would agree, at the age of fourteen he wasn't the easiest person to deal with. He was a full-blown troublemaker, through and through.
He'd done enough things with computers to land him in jail or saddled with community service more times than a little bit, but his mother and father were always there to bail him out.
But he wasn't fourteen anymore. He knew what he wanted, where he was going in his life, and knew what not to do.
Unfortunately Alan's inability to shut-off the parental compulsion to tell him how to run his life, had no room in the schematics of his plans.