Father’s Day Tales: The Short Straw
This one goes out especially to my bro @grahamgroans. Thanks for all the hot art (and artspiration!)
“Cheer up, buddy,” Phil said, clamping one big hand down on Jason’s shoulder as they walked down the dock. “It’s a beautiful day for a cruise. Just us guys.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jason scowled, shrugging his father’s hand off. “You’re not the one who —”
“Ah c’mon, lighten up,” said Graham. “You know we’re all gonna have a great time.”
“Especially you,” added Mike with a knowing grin, bringing up the rear with a cooler in each hand, the big muscles in his linebacker’s arms and shoulders carrying the weight effortlessly.
“Shut up,” Jason shot back over his shoulder at his cousin. “You think it’s so awesome, why’s it gotta be me who always draws the short straw? Why can’t it be you for a change?”
“Hey bro,” Mike shrugged at him with a chuckle that was both rueful and a little wistful. “Been there, done that.”
There was no drawing of straws, not really, and somehow that just made it seem all the more unjust to Jason. It was a way for him to put words to what went down out there, without having to do the uncomfortable work of actually saying it out loud. What was going to go down, and his part in it. Things had just kind of… played out a certain way, the first time he’d joined the men on their annual guys-only Father’s Day cruise around Jefferson Lake. And they’d kept playing out that same way every year since.
“A fine family tradition,” Graham said, gesturing vaguely at the air, a big grin on his ruggedly handsome face. He’d had a couple of cocktails already, and a beer in the truck on the way over, so he was getting nice and loose. “Who are we to question it?”
“Well I’ve got some questions,” Jason grumbled. Assholes, toying with him like they were. They knew how to push his buttons, and knew which ones in particular were blinking bright red today, and still they pushed them. Pushed him. They were good guys most of the time, and he loved them, but it was like they were taking a special delight in his discomfort today, like they did every time they all came out here. Toying with him, in more ways than one.
“And I’ve got some answers for you,” Phil said, throwing his muscular arm round his son’s broad young shoulders, giving him a friendly squeeze with an unmistakable paternal steel to it. “Is it Father’s Day? It sure is. Is this the one day of the year us men are guaranteed to have some us time?”
“Damn straight it is,” Graham added, hoisting the beer he’d brought with him from the truck, letting out a deep-chested burp.
“And are you gonna have a good time, son?” Phil grinned at his handsome son. “Damn right you are. You always do.”
He leaned in a little closer, a quick father-to-son word.
“You know you’re going to have a great time, buddy,” he murmured. “We all are. So let’s dispense with the bitching and the moaning, and get on with the relaxing, right?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jason mumbled, looking away so they couldn’t see the sudden flush in his cheeks, or the glint in his eye that he could never quite control, as hard as he tried. Glad they couldn’t see the way his heart was starting to beat a little faster, that low tingle deep in his core starting to grow stronger. He was glad they couldn’t see any of that — not yet, anyway. He manufactured a deep, put-upon sigh as they got ready to board the boat and get started on their annual tradition.