Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,73

help. And for that, I thank you.”

“Typical,” he says, then stands up abruptly. Rocky and I both brace ourselves, thinking he’s coming at us. He’s come at us before. Instead, he shuffles over to the bar cart for a refill. “No college. No ambition. You think I don’t look at your social media, but I do. I see you, working hard.” He laughs, but there’s no joy in it. He pours a stiff drink.

“I’m an artist,” Rocky says. “I don’t expect you to understand what I do.”

“Head in the damn clouds—that’s what I understand.”

She yawns, trying her best to act ambivalent. “And you wonder why I don’t come home more.”

Dad grips his glass tight and sits down. “And this one?” Motioning to me. “This one wants my money to cut her tits off. Just look at both of you. Bunch of—”

“DAD.” Rocky slams her hands on the table.

“Freaks.”

“Who’s ready for cake?” Mom returns singing but immediately picks up on the tension like a whiff of foul odor. “Norman?”

“He called us freaks, Mom.” Rocky is pissed. I’m frozen, as usual.

“Norman,” Mom repeats with way more downward inflection. “It’s my birthday.”

“What? Our kids have new names, new nose piercings, new genders. That’s not freaky?”

He finishes the drink he just poured. My body is tight, ready for any sudden movements. On nights like tonight, I go into protector mode.

“Same old drinking problem for you, Dad,” I say.

He stands back up with enough force that the chair flies backward, hitting the ground with a thud. I match him with the same intensity. Thud. Our eyes deadlocked.

“Oh, you want to be a tough guy? Look at you. You’re a coward. No one will ever see you as a man.”

I flinch. His words hit harder than a fist or palm or belt. He’s right. I’m not a real man. And I’ll never be one. My dad removes the Jenga piece, and I come crashing down.

“JUST STOP, YOU ASSHOLE,” Rocky screams, standing up and knocking her chair to the ground, too. THUD. She digs the credit card that caused this fight out of her purse and hurls it at Dad. “There. You no longer own me. I am done with you. I am free. Come on, Pony.” She takes my hand and leads me away. Before I am out of the room, I look back at my mom and mouth, I’m sorry.

8:32 P.M.

Rocky puts her feet on my dashboard. “Pony, I didn’t expect to spend my night out in Addison at Sonic.”

“Not my fault. Addison is no Dallas. Nothing going on.” I hold up my phone. “But I can probably find a party in the woods?”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

“Maybe this will help?” I pull out a flask from under the seat. It’s half-full of cheap vodka. Rocky snatches the flask and dumps most of it in her Blue Raspberry Slush. She reclines the seat and hits her vape pen.

“Are you vaping pot?”

“CBD. It’s cannabis minus THC. I get all the medical benefits without feeling stoned. I need something to take the edge off after that shitshow.”

I drum the steering wheels. “Aaaaaand that concludes another episode of Jacobs Family Shitshow!”

Rocky laughs. We take care of each other on nights like tonight. Dad Rage doesn’t happen often. Maybe once every couple of months. But when it happens, it happens. Drinking is like a Duraflame log to his anger. It’s messy. And scary.

“Pony, you need to get out of there,” Rocky says.

“I know.”

“I know you know, but do you have a plan, man?”

Man.

“I have no plan,” I admit. “Guess I’ll have to survive on my good looks.”

“No, you won’t last a day! You need a plan. Maybe two!” She nudges me. “But seriously, my exit might have looked spur-of-the-moment and flawlessly executed, but I had that plane ticket for three months. And I found an apartment before I kissed the tarmac at JFK.”

“Please say you didn’t actually kiss the ground,” I beg.

“Moral of the story, having that plan was how I survived. Things happened in high school, Pony. Things I haven’t told you about. But that exit plan was my light at the end of a dark tunnel. I needed it. And you do, too.”

“I started thinking about it, but I have been busy . . .”

“With?” she asks.

“With Georgia, and my job, and figuring out how to get enough money to cut my tits off,” I say, calling back my dad’s harsh words. We both cringe. “I was thinking of staying at home until I can pay for