rolled my eyes and shook my head.
Without a reply, she left the house, closing the door noisily to ensure I knew she was gone. Left alone with my father, I decided I wouldn't be the first to speak. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. I steepled my hands and stared ahead, at the wooden china cabinet, so clean and bright. It made me think of my own furniture and how much more comfortable I was with all that black paint and dark wood. My mind wandered to what felt like every criticism my parents had ever shot my way. They hated my style. My tastes in clothing, furniture—even my career. I was the rebel, and they were the disapproving parents, waiting for their boy—their only normal child—to grow out of his little phase.
I shook my head, sending the thoughts away. I was too fired up, too angry, and making something out of nothing. I needed to calm down and go the fuck home. But how could I when Jake was upstairs, also trying to calm down? I needed to be there for him. I needed to fight for him.
"Blake."
I closed my eyes to the cabinet. "Dad. I think I'd really prefer to not talk right now. Okay?"
He sighed but wouldn't budge. "This wasn't meant to be an attack. We've given it plenty of time. But it's not helping, and—"
I turned to him with fire in my eyes. "So, what, then? What do you want to do with him, huh? You want him to sit in this fucking house doing nothing all day, like he used to?"
Dad's throat moved with a deep, slow swallow. "We were thinking we should look into other options."
"Oh, yeah? Like what? What other options have you thought of that I haven't already considered?"
"Maybe an assisted living facility, or—"
"You want to send him away?" My hands dropped to the table with a thud and I stared at my father while the anger burned my eyes. Tears I'd never let fall formed, and I blinked them away.
"Not away, Blake." Dad scoffed and ran a hand over his balding head. "For Pete's sake, you make it sound like we want to get rid of him or something."
“Oh, I know that’s exactly what you want,” I accused, shaking my head. “You don’t even deal with him now!”
He shook his head but I couldn’t miss that blink of shame that passed over his eyes. “Blake, he’s out of control. These tantrums are hard to deal with and you know it.”
“I don’t seem to have any problem calming him down.”
Narrowing his eyes, he jabbed, “Well, that’s great for you, but you’re not with him all the time, are you?”
“Maybe I should be,” I snapped back. “Maybe he should come live at my place. Then the two of you could be done with both of us. How would you like that?” I hardly knew what I was saying, but as the words spilled out of my mouth, the more I liked the idea.
“Well, we think this is the option we should explore,” he replied curtly, not even entertaining the thought of Jake living with me. But why not? He’d be happy there. I’d even allow that damn dog to live under my roof if it meant Jake would be out of this house for good.
“And you know what I think?” Dad spoke, proving he wasn’t quite finished.
“Oh, here we go,” I muttered.
"Knock it off," he scolded me. "This angsty, the world hates me attitude of yours was acceptable when you were sixteen, but guess what, pal? That ship sailed a long time ago. You're a man in your thirties, for crying out loud, and it's about time you acted like one and owned up to your bullshit. You can start by shutting your big mouth and listening to me right now."
He pointed at me from across the table. "You are not Jake's parent; we are, your mother and I. I know how much you love your brother and how much you take responsibility for him. But you've done so much—too much, if you ask me. We're thinking maybe it's time we tried something different for a while. And maybe we could all use a break," he lowered his finger and tapped my arm, "including you."
Scoffing, I shook my head. "A break ..." I nearly choked on the concept and scrubbed a hand over my face. "I don't want a break, Dad."
"You're miserable."
"I'm fine."
He folded his arms on the table. "Are you? When was